For a moment, she thought he’d give in. Thought he’d finally let himself feel what was building between them. Then he stepped back, putting distance between them with visible effort.
“Nae like this.” His voice was strained. “Nae when I’m half-mad with wantin’ ye. Nae when I cannae think straight.”
“When then?”
“I daenae ken.” He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture frustrated. “I just ken if I take ye now, it’ll be rough and desperate.”
“And maybe that’s what I want.”
His eyes flashed. “Ye daenae ken what ye’re askin’ for.”
“Don’t I?” She pushed off the door, moving toward him with deliberate intent. “You think I haven’t noticed you looking at me? How your hands shake when you touch me? You’re not the only one fighting this, Declan.”
“All the more reason to walk away.”
“Or all the more reason to stop runnin’.”
They stared at each other, the air between them crackling with tension and unspoken need. Then Declan turned and walked away, his shoulders rigid with the effort of leaving.
Francesca leaned against her door, trembling with frustration and unfulfilled desire. Her lips felt swollen from his kisses, her body ached for completion, and her heart, God, her heart hurt in ways she didn’t know how to fix.
How much longer can we keep doing this?
She didn’t have an answer. But as she listened to his footsteps fade down the corridor, she knew one thing with absolute certainty—something had to give.
14
“Avisitor, Me Laird. Lady Gretchen Watson has arrived.”
Declan looked up from the stack of correspondence he’d been pretending to read, mostly staring at while thinking about yesterday’s scene in the chamber for the hundredth time. “Lady Gretchen?”
“Aye. Lady MacGhee’s aunt. Says she’s come to see how her niece is settlin’ in.”
Perfect timin’. Just when I’m barely holdin’ meself together around the woman.
By the time Declan reached the hall, Francesca was already hurrying forward, her skirts swishing, her face lit with surprise. The woman who had descended from the carriage was plumpand rosy-cheeked with bright eyes that missed nothing. She held her arms wide.
“Francesca! My darling girl!”
“Aunt Gretchen!” Francesca exclaimed, flying into her embrace.
Declan slowed, taking in the sight. The woman hugged with both arms and half her frame, patting Francesca’s cheeks as though to make certain she was real.
“Look at you! A married lady now and mistress of a castle no less! I told your mother you’d land on your feet, but did she believe me? No. Always thought Violet the shining star, never you. Hmph! Look how wrong she was.”
Francesca flushed. “Aunt, please.”
But the woman was already turning, eyes sweeping the hall until they landed on Declan. She marched forward with surprising speed, curtsied, and said in one breath, “So this is the Laird himself! Strong shoulders, grim jaw, aye, I see the appeal. Tell me, are you treating her well? Has she settled in? And when can we expect a christening, hmm?”
Lady Gretchen’s gaze swept over him with the assessing look of someone used to taking measure of men. “My, my…Francesca wrote that you were imposing, but she failed to mention how very Highland you are.”
“Aunt Gretchen!” Francesca’s cheeks flamed.
“What? I’m merely making an observation. The man is built like a mountain. It’s a compliment.”
Declan felt his lips twitch despite himself. “Welcome to Castle MacGhee, Lady Gretchen. It’s an honor to meet Francesca’s family.”
“Of course, I am welcome,” she said briskly. “But answer me. Is she happy? And what about children? A marriage is hardly sealed until there’s a little one in the cradle.”
