The source of his angst looked at him with tired eyes.
“What are ye doing awake, Lass?”
She pointed to the pot on the flame. “I couldna sleep. Needed my trusty warm milk to help.” Her gaze met his, her eyes warm and inviting.
He clenched his jaw, not daring himself to speak.
“Today was quite the whirlwind. I find my excitement of all that’s happened is keeping me awake.” She turned off the flame and poured the milk into a mug.
Sidling up to him in a way he found way too erotic, she didn’t stop until she was flush against his chest.
He closed his eyes. But Lord help him, he couldn’t resist this woman. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, kissing the top of her head. Inhaling, he savored the scent of her shampoo. He would miss this scent.
Because surely, on the morrow, when he revealed the truth, she would banish him from Tolton Hall and never want to speak with him again. Never want to see him again.
So he would enjoy this last moment of peace with her, snuggled against his chest, sighing in contentment.
And when she tipped her face up to his, it took all of his strength not to capture her lips in his. He wanted to, though. Lord how he wanted to.
Instead, he placed a soft kiss on her forehead, letting his lips linger for just a moment too long. “Ye better get back to bed, lass. I dinna think your father would be too happy if he found ye down here with me.”
She pushed back, creating a small distance between them, and he immediately missed the heat of her.
“Why are ye no’ in your room?”
“Pardon?”
“I came down for a cup of warm milk. What is your reasoning?”
“Och. I also couldna sleep.”
“Here. Take this.” She offered him her mug of milk. “I can warm up more.”
He shook his head. “Nay, lass. Ye go on. I fear I’m in search of something stronger.”
She studied his face and he felt as if she could see into his very soul. Read all the thoughts going through his mind.
“Is something amiss?” she asked, her brows creased in concern.
“Nay. All is well,” he lied.
The narrowing of her eyes told him that she didn’t believe him.
“What arena ye telling me? Malcolm?”
Pressing his lips together, he shook his head. “’Tis naught. Please, Lass,” he nearly begged. “Return to your chambers. I will be doing the same as soon as I find what I’ve come in search of.”
“What are ye looking for? Mayhap I can help,” she offered. Stubbornly ignoring his plea to go to her room.
“Whisky.”
“Hmmm.” She tapped her finger on her cheek. “Papa always has some in his study, but I believe Cook uses it as well.” She placed her mug on the counter and grabbed the lantern to search the cupboards and shelves. “Aha!” She spun around, whisky bottle in hand. “Here ye go.”
He accepted the bottle and dipped his head in thanks. “Now, go back upstairs afore someone sees us.”
She grabbed her mug of milk and approached him. Lifting on her toes, she placed her lips on his cheek, and he leaned into the kiss. “Sleep well, Malcolm. I shall see ye in the morn.”
He nodded, and watched her disappear out of the room, taking the light of the lantern with her. When he was drowned in darkness, he popped the cap off the bottle of whisky, and most ungentlemanlike, took a swig straight from the bottle.
