“Not at all.” He swept an arm to guide her toward the door, reached for a candle burning it a dish, and opened the door. She stepped out on the landing ahead of him.
“Madam,” he said, his voice quiet in the darkness, his face glowing and hollowed by candlelight to hard, spare, masculine perfection, softened by the beautiful indigo eyes, the tender mouth hers had tasted. “That was my fault entirely. It will never happen again.”
She nodded in silence. Never? Her body still thrummed. She wanted that kiss to happen again, very much, and could hardly allow herself to think it.
Turning with a sweep of skirt hems, she took hold of the rope banister and stepped up. Her ankle’s stabbing protest made her wince, and she took the next step gingerly.
“May I help? We cannot have you fall again.” His hand cupped her elbow, and they went up carefully, step by step, in silence.
*
Never again, hehad promised. But he wanted to kiss her again, and never stop. Desire drove hard through him, startling in its demand. Aedan fought it with cool reason and the customary shield he kept over self and heart. He escorted her politely, slowly up the stairs, feeling like a cad.
He was at a loss to explain what had come over him. Finding himself alone with the woman whose painted image had taken hold of his imagination was hardly enough to override his usual caution in most matters. He was not one to give rein to fancy. Still, something powerful drew him to this young woman, and he had to be careful.
The girl had come too damn close to tapping his dreams and his tightly held reserve. The only woman he had ever yearned for lived safely in a painting, but now she was here.
As laird of Dundrennan now, he could not risk allowing himself to fall in love, plain and simple. The old family curse declared that love dangerous for the laird—and the woman he loved. He would not knowingly put a woman in that position, and so he was determined never to marry. His predecessors had married of course, had families and heirs. From what he knew of the family tree, many wives had died in childbirth or otherwise, and one calamity after another had befallen Dundrennan. That had to end somehow.
From what he knew, only those who did not especially love their spouses had come through the years without disaster. His parents had not been very fond of each other, despite years together, despite the children they conceived. His father had mistresses and his mother kept a limited existence, icy with her husband, but loving to her children.
Aedan did not want to endure the strain of such a relationship. For him, it would be love—a true, deep love for his wife, their children, their life together—or nothing. That decision was safe, and he was not inclined to change his mind. Let his brothers have loving marriages and children. They were not the lairds of the estate, but could continue the line.
Ah, but Christina Blackburn—she did not fit his plan, not in the least. For years, her image had fascinated him, but it was a pale reflection of the woman. Mrs. Blackburn might hide behind spectacles and dull colors, but real fire hid in her smoldering gaze and sensual presence. He wanted far more than to kiss her. He wanted to awaken the enchantress. But that was a risk he could never afford.
Distracted by his thoughts, he nearly stumbled on the next step as Christina Blackburn reached the upper landing and stopped. She set her hand to the door handle just as he reached past her to unlatch the old iron mechanism.
Their hands touched. It felt like warm, gentle, much-needed lightning.
“Your door, Mrs. Blackburn,” he said, pushing the door open, which swung into the room. As he reached, his chest met her shoulder in the small space of the platform. More lightning.
“Good night,” she said, stepping into the dark room. She turned toward him, adjusted her spectacles, and began to speak, but closed her lips on it. Her eyes were large, limpid, filled with something unsaid.
God, how he wanted to kiss her again. Falling in love had nothing to do with it, he told himself. What if a kiss could dissolve the spell the briar maiden painting held over him? What if one more kiss could prove that he felt only lust, and nothing more? Lust he could master. But he struggled against the deep, heartfelt feeling that pulled him to her.
It felt like love, like destiny. Yet he hardly knew her. He had to master that, too.
“Well,” he said, and he cleared his throat. “If you take these stairs again, wear more sensible shoes. I would not want to think you might fall without anyone knowing. We were fortunate this time,” he added.
“Thank you for your help.” Her chin lifted. “I will be careful.”
“You could take the main stairs to the library,” he murmured.
“I could,” she said. “Or I can be very careful on this one.”
“It is a wicked medieval staircase. I should have it closed off.”
“I rather like it, though,” she said.
He smiled. “Then I will leave it open for Mrs. Blackburn to take with great care.”
She nodded with a full smile. It was dimpled and impish, unexpectedly so, lending a touch of whimsy to her beauty. He caught his breath.
As she shut the door, he turned and went quickly and surely down the old steps he had taken all his life.
Chapter Four
Asaucer hurtledpast his shoulder, pale porcelain gleaming, to shatter against the wall. Aedan swept the toe of one black boot over the shards, recognizing a hand-painted view of the Great Exhibition of a few years earlier.
