“This is none of your concern, Lady Annabella,” he said. “You are my prisoner and, as such, you do not get to deliver justice here.”
“Prisoner or not, I will not stand by and watch you deliver your justice harshly.”
MacDonald stared her down but she would not back away. Tension rolled off him so thick she could almost see it.
“Rhona,” he said, while still locking gazes with Annabella, “return to the kitchen and await me there.”
The woman had the sense to do as he bade, and not talk back. When she was gone, MacDonald leaned down close to her face.
“Do not ever interfere in my affairs again. Do you understand?”
“Oh, I understand perfectly. You presume to rule over these people by dishing out justice based on anger and not logic.”
“You know nothing about Rhona or her family.”
“I know that when a woman engages in an affair, she is likely to lose her heart to the man. It is sadly not true the other way around.”
His brows drew in tight. “With whom is Rhona having an affair?”
“I do not care that you engage with your servants. Most lords do, and though ‘tis shameful, you must have a care with the woman. Be sure she does not expect more than you are willing to give.”
His jaw dropped. “You cannot be serious.”
“What do you mean?”
“Exactly what did Rhona say?”
“That you are hers.”
“I am not.”
“Perhaps not now, but she still harbours feelings for you, and you must have a care with her.”
“No, I must not.”
“How cruel you men can be.”
“We men? Lady Annabella, you do not know what you are talking about. That young lass has been chasing me for months, and I have told her time and again I am not interested. I cannot help it if she has concocted some fantastical relationship.”
“You do not see that any attention you give her may end up being construed as some favour. Men are daft when it comes to the delicate female heart.”
“I cannot help or anticipate how my words will be taken, but I assure you,” he said, and stepped closer, “I have never engaged with that lass in any way that can be construed in the way that a man wants a woman.” He stroked her cheek. “In the way that I want you.”
Annabella gasped. Before she could respond, his lips claimed hers. His hand on her lower back drew her closer as he deepened the kiss. Annabella wanted to break away but found herself becoming more and more swept up in him. His clean, rich scent enveloped her just as his arms encircled her. His hot tongue danced with hers, coaxing her to play. If she did not break away soon, she might not be able to. God help her.
* * *
Angus broke the kiss and placed new ones along her jaw and neck. She smelled of lavender, and he could not get enough. His loins had tightened to the point of pain, and he desperately wanted to bury himself in her and bring them both to the soaring heights of passion.
He brought his hand around to her breast and lifted its weight, then squeezed.
She responded by pushing into his hand. Her soft gasps encouraged him to continue. He claimed her sweet mouth again, and slipped her gown from her shoulders. Hooking his thumbs underneath the neckline, he slid her gown down until her breasts were exposed. He ached to taste her flesh.
Breaking the kiss, he stroked the soft flesh of her chest and trailed his tongue down her neck until he reached the top of her breast. Lifting one, he flicked her nipple with his tongue and grinned when she moaned low in her throat. He then took it into his mouth and sucked hard.
Small fingers bit into his shoulder as she cried out. God, he had only barely touched her and already she was ready for him, he was certain of it.
He had to know.
