“That's kind of you to say—”
“No,” he said, taking a step towards her. “You don't understand me. Whoever would make someone like you cry deserves far more pain than they could survive.”
Although Graham had decided not to like her before even meeting her, whether out of spite or principle, he now found himself wanting to comfort her. She sniffled again as her gaze fell, apparently unsure how to respond, and before he could stop himself, Graham lifted his hand and touched her cheek. She froze, as did he. Surprisingly, neither one pulled away.
“Mr. MacKinnon,” she breathed after a moment, her eyes lifting to meet his. “What are you doing?”
Damned if he knew, except that he was overcome with a desire to banish whatever bad memories haunted her that made her cry. A shiver went through her body and he wondered if she was cold. For the barest of moments, he speculated what it might be like to pull her into his arms—and perhaps even warm her lipswith the press of his own. What might she taste like if he were to lean down and kiss her? And would it be effective for making her forget all the things that plagued her?
He dropped his hand immediately. Clearing his throat, he turned, scraping his thumb nail against the pads of his fingerprints, as if to rid himself of any evidence of touching her.
What was wrong with him? And why was he so suddenly bewitched by a woman he had already decided had no business in his life? Even if she wasn’t aware of her aunt’s plot, he needed to remember and repeat it as often as possible.
Hope was not for him.
“My apologies,” he said roughly, hating his own voice. “I should go.”
“Oh,” she said as he turned his back on her. “Good-bye?”
But he didn’t answer her. Instead, he focused on long, deep breaths as he made his way to the stables, repeating his newfound mantra.
Hope is not for me. Hope is not for me.
CHAPTER FIVE
Hope had gone straight to her room after Graham left, carefully avoiding the dining hall as she made her way through the stronghold. She wasn’t sure what to make of the ill-tempered highlander, but one thing was for certain.
She had never been more attracted to a person in her entire life.
It was embarrassing, really, to be bombarded with thoughts and feelings that she had never experienced before. Her mouth had gone dry the moment he touched her and all she could think about walking up to her room was how much she’d wanted his hand to move down around her neck before pulling her into a searing, soul-shattering kiss.
Goodness. What would Jacob think of her if he could see her now? He’d be appalled by what Mr. MacKinnon had said and done—and likely disgusted with her for being so aroused by it. Where gentlemen like Jacob had always been respectful and courteous, Graham appeared annoyed and somewhat charged, as if he had never learned or never cared about the propriety of social normality. It shouldn’t have made her blood heat—but it did.
He was big, but not only in stature. His presence, his personality seemed to draw the attention of everyone around him and Hope had certainly been caught up in his magnetism. And there was no denying the man was handsome, with his dark, reddish hair had a slight wave to it. The squareness of his chin was terribly appealing and Hope hadn’t been able to take her eyes off his mouth when he spoke.
Hope had always wanted a more physical relationship with Jacob, albeit, a proper one. A few dozen kisses would have been plenty, but he had always told her that such behavior was unattractive. Therehadbeen a kiss once—a kiss she had initiated and that Jacob had allowed for a moment beforepushing her away. It had been, up until tonight, the most stirring event of her life. But it paled in comparison to what she and Graham had just shared. Even though Graham had pulled his hand away quickly, there was something different about his touch. It had scorched her, electrified her and she was rather ashamed at how much more she’d wanted to explore it further.
Her entire being had convulsed beneath his gentle brush of fingertips. She had never even shivered from Jacob’s kiss, let alone quivered.
Had Graham felt it? The shake in her body? Oh, what a humiliating thing to experience. Surely she would never be able to face Graham again.
Bringing her thumb up to her lip as she walked down the hallway, she unwittily traced over the skin, as if she could conjure up what it would have been like to kiss him. She had only her imagination to draw on, since her experience with Jacob had been so limited. After that first kiss, he had persistently rebuked her advances, calling them 'feminine wiles.’ He had explained that her attempts to lead him into temptation were evidence of the weak, sinful nature of women, and that once they were married, he could rein in her more sensual disposition.
Hope had spent many an hour wondering why, if it was the nature of women to be seductresses, Jacob was so very resistant to being seduced. She had stared at herself in the glass again and again, wondering if she lacked the face or figure to attract a man’s attention and desire. She had heard stories of aristocrat men who seemingly couldn’t help themselves when it came to the fairer sex. And while she knew she should be pleased that Jacob was too moral and upstanding to behave in such a manner, the truth was that she’d felt frustration at her own wants and wishes that she was forced to suppress.
Hope had wanted to kiss him, but her desire to kiss Graham now? Well, there was no comparison. Graham's sheerpresence had been nearly overwhelming and oh, how she enjoyed it.
Hope leaned her back against the heavy wood door in her bedroom. This day was proving too stimulating for her.
What if he had actually kissed her? Heat began to prickle at her skin as she recalled her sister's foolishness that night at the Spotsmore ball. Had she felt like this? And was this feeling worth the sacrifice that they had all endured since? Hope knew the correct answer of course, but it was very strange that the correct answer and the true answer were not one in the same.
Because if she could feel this way from Graham doing nothing more than touching her, she might have sacrificed her entire life for a kiss.Hiskiss.
Her shoulders slumped as her desires turned to shame. What a dreadful thing to admit. But she couldn’t fault Grace if she had felt something similar that night. No wonder Jacob had been so worried about Hope’s concupiscence. Her family was one of scandal and wantonness, and everyone in London knew it ran in her blood.
Hope sighed as she began to pull out the pins in her hair. She placed them in a little porcelain dish, painted with purple roses, that sat on the vanity table.
She couldn’t believe her aunt had been the mistress to the late king. Moreover, that Belle had won Lismore Hall in a card game. A card game! How could she ever look Mr. MacKinnon in the eye? No wonder he’d seemed so ill-tempered when they first met. He probably secretly hated Belle—and, by connection, Hope as well.
