How could something so simple feel so heavenly?
“That feels so g—”
“What is the meaning of this?”
The damp cloth slipped from her skin and fell to the floor with a wet smack.
Her limbs aching, she slowly turned toward the doorway.
And froze.
Culross filled the entrance.
Salt spray clung to his cloak and darkened the shoulders of it. Those loose golden curls the angels envied him were wind-tossed, damp at the temples. A lone lock lay across his brow.
Meghan’s breath caught.
It was as if the tempest itself had tried and failed to tame the unconquerable August Archdale.
He had never looked more devastating.
Or more terrifying.
His handsome features were twisted into a mask of cold, unrelenting fury.
His eyes burned hotter than the Devil’s own, promising a swift and ugly death meted out by the long fingers curled into fists at his sides.
His burning gaze did not fall on her.
It speared past her.
Straight to Lord Greyhold.
Her eyes widened on August’s gloved hands.
One. Two. Three.
Oh, dear. Three pumps.
August.
Only…
August as she had never seen him.
At least, not on her account. Not onanyaccount.
And she had been present the day he and Captain Tremaine had nearly come to blows.
It was almost as if—
Her heart began to pound.
He was angry.
Angry at the other man for helping her? Surely not. Why should that matter to him? Unless he resented the gentleman’s familiarity with Meghan.
But that would mean…he cared—in some way. Even if it was a small one.
