Nothing happened.
Her heart sank. What if he wasn’t here? No, the maidservant had assured her that he had retired for the evening. Meg drew up her shoulders and banged on the door.
The door burst open and slammed against the wall.
“What the hell!” he bellowed at the unknown person who had dared to disturb him.
Meg flipped back her hood and watched his face register shock as he realized just who had knocked on his door. His expression would have been comical if he didn’t look so distraught.
His beautiful golden hair was tousled, his blue eyes tired, his face strained. He looked sad. Weary. But for a moment, before his face hardened, she saw a flicker of happiness at the sight of her. He wasn’t indifferent. And the knowledge bolstered her courage.
But only for a moment.
Her eyes fell to his chest and widened.Oh my.It was a warm evening, and he’d removed his doublet. He wore a simple linen shirt and trews. A simple linen shirt that was opened at the neck, displaying a triangle of fine golden hair sprinkled across a broad, tanned chest plainly visible through the thin fabric. There was a raw sensuality to him that made her tremble with awareness, raising gooseflesh on her arms. The intimacy of the scene was hardly lost on her. Half-clothed. In his chamber. Alone. She hoped.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
She lifted her chin, tearing her eyes from the naked flesh revealed by his shirt. “I need to talk to you.”
He didn’t respond, but simply stared at her with a dark intensity that sent shivers racing up her spine.
Nonetheless, Meg took his silence, brooding though it was, as sufficient welcome and pushed past him into the room, immediately smelling the peaty aroma of whisky. Noticing the half glass on the table, she thought she could use a glass herself. But, no, she didn’t want her senses muddled. His seemed as sharp as ever.
She glanced around, curious to view the lion’s den. It was a small chamber, nowhere near as fine as her rooms. But she supposed the stark furnishings were adequate, if not luxurious. She ignored the rumpled bed. The rest of the room was surprisingly neat and tidy, with no personal items scattered about as she would have expected. Disappointed not to learn anything further about him from his room, Meg was nonetheless glad to confirm that he was alone—it would be impossible to do what she had to do with an audience.
“Why don’t you come in?”
Meg frowned at his sarcasm and glanced at him again. His expression was hard and impenetrable, his body tense and watchful. He looked awfully forbidding, she thought, losing a bit of courage.
“You said you needed to talk to me?” he asked impatiently.
This was more difficult than she’d realized. She bit her lip. How to start? “I just wanted to let you know that I don’t care what you are really doing at court. Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter. I think I can offer a solution, one that will be beneficial to both of us.”
Alex went still. If it weren’t for the quickening pulse in his jaw, she might have thought he had not heard her. But he had.
He frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“An alliance—”
“Bloody hell, are you proposing to me?”
Meg blushed. At least he wasn’t frowning any longer, she thought, looking at his expression of utter incredulity. That was a start. She took a deep breath and blurted out, “I suppose so. Yes. Whatever has happened in the past doesn’t matter. I know you’ve helped manage your brother’s lands before—”
“What did you say?” he asked sharply.
“Isabel told me about Rory’s injury a few years back. She spoke of how well you managed Rory’s lands.” If the fabled Rory Mor had trusted Alex with his clan, it spoke much of Alex’s abilities.
“What else did she tell you?” he asked, suspicion edging his voice.
Meg shrugged. “Oh, nothing much.”
Alex folded his arms across his chest and glared at her, brilliant sapphire eyes hard and piercing. He was doing his masculine best to intimidate her. It might have worked had the bulging display of muscles straining against thin linen not set her mind on something else. Her mouth went dry. Unconsciously, her tongue flicked out to moisten her lips. He truly was magnificent.
“What else, Meg?” He took a threatening step toward her, enveloping her with the heady scent of whisky tinged with the heather and myrtle of his soap. Her pulse raced. The room felt even warmer and smaller. And teeming with raw masculinity.
She stepped back, and her leg came into contact with the bed. Though half tempted to fall and proceed directly to the second part of her plan, Meg grabbed the bedpost to steady herself. She forced her mind to focus on the task at hand, reminding herself that it might not need to come to that if he would listen to reason.
“Not much more than I already knew.” Was that her voice squeaking?
