He opened the door without knocking and froze, finding his wife had just finished her bath.
At the sound, she started. Her head snapped around, and he could swear he detected a flash of apprehension in her fathomless blue eyes—almost as if she suspected the reason for his visit.Didshe suspect the reason for his visit?
The air was humid and sultry, heavy with the scent of lavender. She sat on a stool before the fire in her wrap, a serving girl combing out the long wet tresses of luxurious ebony hair—as thick and satiny soft as sable. The old woman stood protectively beside her, staunch as a guardsman.
His instincts flared.
He waved the two servants from the room. “Leave us. I wish to speak to your mistress.”
Mor took a step toward him, shielding Caitrina from his view. “As you can see, we are not quite finished—”
“Now,” he said in a voice that brooked no argument, meeting the old woman’s gaze.
Mor stood firm, but the young serving girl dropped the horn comb. It clattered on the wood floor, unnaturally loud.
Caitrina stood and moved around in front of Mor, the full ripeness of her sensual curves displayed to lush perfection beneath the thin, damp silk of her dressing gown. His body heated, the power of her sweet feminine charms over him potent and undeniable.
His eyes slid over her, stopping at her breasts where the fabric of her wrap crossed to reveal the deep crevice between the gently rounded edge of her soft flesh. Her nipples were hard and tight, and clearly visible through the thin silk.
He stirred, his groin heavy with a lust that was even more powerful now that he’d tasted her passion. Passion that was open and honest—or at least it seemed that way. He wanted to believe it wasn’t just lust between them, but something deeper. That he was not alone in these powerful feelings.
From the first moment he’d seen her, he’d known she was special and wanted her. He wished it were still that simple. But she’d changed, as had the complexity of his desire. At one time her body would have been enough for him, but not anymore.
He’d done everything he could to earn her trust, to show her that he was more than a name. But maybe he was a fool to believe that a Lamont could ever trust a Campbell.
But she was his wife, damn it.
Her welcoming smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. Disappointment hardened in his chest.
“You’re cold,” Caitrina said, moving toward him. “Come sit before the fire.” She looked to Mor and the terrified serving girl, who couldn’t seem to lift her eyes from the floor. “I can manage from here,” she assured them calmly.
The girl shuffled out as fast as she could, but Mor gave her a long look as if she meant to argue. At the pleading in Caitrina’s gaze, she made a sharp sound of displeasure and left them alone, closing the door with an impertinent slam behind her.
“That old woman needs to learn her place,” Jamie grumbled. He hadn’t been taken to task so many times since he was a lad.
“Her place is by my side,” she said. “You have to understand . . . when my mother died, Mor was there. She means no harm, it’s just that she thinks she has to protect me.”
“From who?”
Her gaze held steady as she met his. “From you.”
Jamie’s mouth drew into a tight line. Unrequited love burned in his chest. “I would never hurt you.”
“I know, but when you are angry—”
“Have I cause to be angry?”
“You tell me. You are the one who came storming in here, ordering everyone out.”
“Can a man not have some time alone with his wife?”
She arched a delicate black brow. “But it’s something else, isn’t it?” She walked toward him, the seductive sway of her hips all the more enticing because it was unconscious. Her hands slipped around his neck, sliding over the taut muscles bunched at his shoulders, feeling the tension. She was so damned warm and soft. Her delicate feminine scent laced with lavender rose up to envelop him in its sensual vise. He ached to pull her against him and take her mouth with his, driving away the thought of anything else but the two of them. Alone. Where nothing could come between them.
Unable to think when she was so near, he took a step back. She dropped her hands, and the wounded look on her face almost made him reconsider. Almost.
“Your father’s guardsmen are gone,” he said.
Something flickered in her gaze. “Gone? What do you mean, gone?” She sounded surprised. But was her voice just a touch high-pitched?
