“Aye,” he said, blowing out his breath. “The lad has the right of it, ye ken.”
The right of what? That almost no one here found her charming? That she didn’t belong here any more than she did anywhere else? “Oh?”
The fingers of his free hand brushed against hers. “Aye. I do find ye charming.”
This time she felt her smile all the way to her insides, and the world seemed to right itself again. When his opinion had come to mean so much to her she didn’t know, but it clearly did. “You have your moments as well, I suppose,” she conceded. “When you’re not trying to bully me.” Aside from those long, delicious moments in his bedchamber, she liked seeing him with his brothers. The warmth and affection they felt for each other was palpable—and very compelling.
“Johnny,” he called, as the groom finished untangling himself from still more twine and approached. “Take Honker back to his pen, will ye, lad?”
“Of course, m’laird.” The groom took the gray-blue bird. “So ye think ye can escape, do ye? We’ll see if ye get that extra measure of corn tonight.” The gander honked at him. “Och, dunnae try apologizing. Ye made a mess of the meadow.”
With her still laughing at the exchange, Graeme moved closer to her. “Ye didnae try to run,” he murmured.
She nodded. “I considered it,” she admitted. He would only call her a liar if she claimed the thought had never crossed her mind. “We know Sir Hamish is nearby, so I decided not to risk stumbling across him.”
The explanation made sense, at least. Otherwise she was going to have to face something that made no sense at all; in spite of being kidnapped, locked in a room, chained to a bed, and very nearly forced into a marriage, she… liked it here. Being among the wild-hearted, unconventional Maxtons made her forget how badly she’d been failing in London.
It wasn’t merely that she’d been occupied with pretending to be Connell’s tutor, either. When she’d served as a lady’s companion she’d frequently spent her nights lying awake as dread shoved down her throat until she nearly suffocated from it. A lifetime spent fluffing pillows and fetching tea for women who’d likely failed their own run at Society had felt forever and empty and useless.
She didn’t feel that, now. But what in the world did that say about her and her life, if staying in her captor’s house in the middle of the Scottish Highlands left her happier than having money and status in London?
“What’s troubling ye, lass?” Graeme asked, stopping her at the front edge of the drive.
“I hadn’t realized how much I miss walking,” she improvised.
“Liar,” he returned, and moved past her into the house.
Well. “What makes you think I’m lying, you rude man?” she retorted, pursuing him down the hallway.
“Because ye didnae weep when the lads dragged ye off to Garaidh nan Leòmhann. Missing a stroll wouldnae make ye so much as blink. If ye dunnae want to say why ye’re crying, just tell me so. Dunnae lie aboot it.”
“I’m not weeping,” she stated, wiping a tear from her cheek. “I got goose down in my eye.”
“And I’ve got goose down in my brain, then,” he countered, striding into his office.
“You said it; not I.”
As she pushed inside the room after him, Graeme sidestepped, yanked her over by the desk, and shut and locked the door behind them. She opened her mouth to protest once again that she wasn’t weeping, and to point out that a gentleman didn’t pursue such a line of questions, but he stopped her words with his own mouth as he kissed her. Their tongues tangled, her pulse skimming and skipping as he slid his hands around her hips and pulled her against him.
“That’s better,” he finally said, lifting his head. “It’ll do until tonight, anyway.”
It took a moment for her to gather her thoughts enough to form words again. “What’s tonight, then?” she asked, even though that kiss gave her a very good idea.
“Tonight’s when I’ll have ye again, Marjorie,” he drawled, running a finger along the neckline of her gown. “I’ve been patient fer two days, and I’m nae a patient man.”
“What about all the lasses in the area, Graeme? Surely any number of them would be eager to share your bed. To have a place by your side, even. Connell’s not an infant any longer, and you don’t have to continue to do this alone.”
He frowned. “Dunnae ye want me, lass?” he murmured, turning the attention of his mouth and lips to her jawline.
Did she want him?She could scarcely think of anything but being naked with him again. “That’s not the point,” she insisted, her eyes closing at the lightning shivers his touch elicited. “A chieftain of clan Maxwell needs a wife and heirs. I…”Oh, goodness, what was she saying?“I mean to say, I’m not…” She cleared her throat. “I’m ruined now, as I’ve said, and as such I have no objection to a dalliance. But Connell—and Dùghlas and Brendan—need a female influence in their lives. Badly. And a little bit of taming wouldn’t hurt you, either. Perhaps, then, you shouldn’t be wasting your time with me.”
Somewhere in the middle of all that he’d stopped those toe-curling, feather-light kisses and straightened, gazing at her. Marjorie didn’t know which would be more painful—to have him agree that she was a dalliance when he had better things to do, or to hear him say that she needed to mind her own business because she was, after all, just a Sassenach surrounded by Highlanders.
“Ye sound like Father Michael,” he finally said, “always trying to get me leg-shackled to some ‘promising’ lass or other. I’m nae a monk, Ree. Ye’re nae the first lass to lie in my bed.”
Well, that hurt. “I didn’t think I was,” she said stiffly. “But that—”
“I’m nae some moonstruck bairn who needs to be led aboot. I have eyes… and I’m looking at ye.” He stirred a little. “And since we both know ye’ll be gone as soon as I let ye, then I dunnae see any hearts in danger of being broken. I ask ye to share my bed. If ye’ve nae objection, then leave yer damned door unlocked tonight.”
