“MacKenzie, you are disheveled,” she said in her forceful voice. “Your shirt is creased and your jacket ill-made. Is it one of your old ones? At least your boots are clean.”
“Angus makes sure of that,” he admitted.
“Perhaps Angus should supervise the rest of you,” she said. Her judgmental gaze dropped to his pantaloons. “These are very baggy,” she said critically. “The fashion is for them to be as tight as is bearable to the wearer. What about the inexpressibles Mr. Doddington made for you?”
“They escaped my mind.”
“I can see that.”
“These were to hand, and I was in a hurry,” he admitted, wondering if they were really going to discuss his choice of pantaloons. He sought for some criticism ofherappearance, but she was perfect as usual, and he could only find one.
“I don’t like your hair,” he said abruptly. “You look like a headmistress about to give me the cane.”
She raised an eyebrow, but instead of engaging with that thought, she said, “Sit down.”
He sat and she arranged herself opposite him. By now he was beginning to wonder if last night had been a dream because this woman was so removed from the abandoned creature he had held in his arms. And she was not making it easy for him to find a way to bring up the subject. It was as if she had locked their intimate evening away and was refusing to acknowledge it.
“I think you will need to spend more time and thought on your appearance, MacKenzie,” she was saying. “What woman would shackle herself to you as you are now? Presentation is very important when it comes to attracting a wife.”
“Thank you,” he said, trying not to grit his teeth. “I am not used to worrying about my appearance overmuch. We do not have many social occasions to dress up for at Bonnyrigg.”
“Well, if you marry the sort of woman you have described to me, you will have many more social occasions. You need to prepare yourself.”
He groaned in real despair, and she narrowed her eyes at him.
“Don’t you want to be admired and looked up to by your neighbors? I thought that was the point.”
“My father wants us to rise in the world, but I’m not sure he wants to be admired. He does not need the admiration of others to be the man he is, and neither do I.”
She blinked at him. “Callum,” she began, with a sigh, “how can I change you for the better if you will not listen?”
“I am listening,” he retorted.
“At least have some pantaloons fitted to your figure and—and shape,” she said, unexpectedly stammering on the words. “It would be such an improvement. That garment is so very loose.”
“It’s getting tighter by the minute,” he muttered.
Her eyes narrowed. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It’s that voice you use when you are scolding me. It... I find it very stimulating.”
She went still. “Callum,” she said.
“Penelope,” he replied.
And then with a sound very like a whimper, she stood and launched herself into his arms. Surprised and elated, Callum caught her, gripping her waist as she leaned over him, her mouth already seeking his.
And just like that, he was lost. The sensation of her lips against his, the desperate need that was right there, was more important than anything else. The mask she had been wearing was stripped away and the woman from last night was back, a little more frantic perhaps, but she was in his arms just as he had hoped she would be when he set off in a rush this morning.
She was already fumbling at his pantaloons, the ones she had just been berating him for, and he was hard and ready.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she said in wonder. “I must be insane.”
“Welcome to the asylum.” He kissed her so that he could silence whatever else was coming from her mouth. It was too late to stop, it really was.
He lifted her, his hands finding the soft shape of her thighs and buttocks, adjusting her so that she was in the right position. She groaned softly as his cock brushed against that place he had discovered last night was her most sensitive and slid inside. She clung to him, murmuring encouragement, urging him to go faster. Already he could feel himself close.
“Hurry,” she panted. “Selina is bringing tea.”
