Page 49 of Scandalous: Family Ties and Spies

Lady Patience was the first one through the salon doorway. Amalie was next, but stopped short of entering the room. Awareness drew Valeran’s muscles taut. It was as if someone had driven a sledgehammer into his chest in an effort to cleave him in two. A voice in his head reminded him of their first meeting. Amalie had affected him with just as disturbing a potency then as now. Dragging in a deep breath, he told himself it was simply lust. Valeran bowed slightly to Lady Patience and kissed her hand in greeting.

“Forgive our late arrival, Val, but for once, I am not responsible for our tardiness.” The woman’s husband snorted with amused disbelief, and Lady Patience sniffed as if affronted before she laughed. “Do not mock me, Julian MacTavish. The blame rests squarely on your daughter’s shoulders.”

As Lady Patience walked toward her husband, Valeran slowly turned toward the outline of Amalie’s voluptuous curves. Even though he’d not seen her since the morning of his proposal, her sweetly lush figure was firmly engraved in his memory. From the moment he’d seen Amalie’s shadow move on the cnoc beag, he’d begun to memorize every one of her curves.

Later, his hands and fingers had continued to commit her Rubenesque body to memory. Suddenly, his hand tingled as he experienced an abrupt craving to resume his exploration of every enticing inch of her. Valeran immediately suppressed his need and greeted Amalie quietly as she took a hesitant step into the salon.

“Good evening, Amalie.”

“My lord.”

Her reply made his mouth twitch in order to keep from smiling. What was clearly meant to be disdainful acknowledgement of his presence had been little more than a breathless purr of sound. Instinct made him thwart her sudden attempt to put distance between them.

Capturing her hand in his, he felt the tremor shaking through her as he brushed his lips over her fingers. Carnal in nature, his reaction to her sent his heart crashing into his chest with an unbelievable force as he drank in Amalie’s delicate perfume. It was different from the exotic, sultry fragrance on her skin the other times he’d held her close. Then she’d smelled like a hot desert breeze, complete with sweet notes of jasmine and frankincense.

Tonight, her scent was as gentle and soft as her lush curves, yet sensual and beguiling. Unlike other women who always smelled of violets, Amalie’s fragrance was uniquely hers. It was as if she’d been standing in a forest during a gentle rain.

Floral and citrus scents mixed with the fresh notes of lush green grass. Distinct, unusual, and enticing, her scent was one he recognized, but from where? A memory fluttered on the edge of his consciousness before it darted out of reach.

“You smell like a soft, spring rain, warm and fragrant.”

At his compliment, she drew in a quick breath, and he enjoyed the warm, minty breeze that brushed across his face the moment she exhaled. Valeran’s finger pressed against the underside of her wrist to test her heart rate. The fierce throbbing against the pad of his finger surprised him, especially since she hadn’t tried to tug free of his grasp.

“Describe for me what you’re wearing this evening, Amalie,” he said softly, while his forefinger began to circle the spot where her heartbeat pulsed beneath her soft skin.

“A dress.” Despite her clipped words, there was a breathless note in her voice.

“Is it made of silk?” he murmured. She jumped at the question.

“Yes, but how…”

“Have you not already learned how good my hearing is, Amalie?” A sudden change in her heartbeat and the way she’d stiffened puzzled him, but he didn’t wait for her answer. “What color?”

“Color?” Her bewildered tone indicated her state of confusion, and he smiled.

“Yes, what color is your dress, or would you prefer I imagine you wearing nothing at all?” he murmured for her ears only. Valeran paused for a small fraction of an instant before grinning. “Something I confess I’ve imagined quite a bit in the past three weeks.”

He knew Amalie’s parents couldn’t hear him, but it didn’t prevent her small gasp. The manner in which she held herself so rigidly made him think she was appalled, but his smile broaden as another tremor pulsed from her hand into his.

“Do I need to repeat my question?”

“Peach, ye odious bastard,” she whispered fiercely. He chuckled softly at her reply.

“But what color peach, Amalie?”

She sucked in a hiss of air, and the memory of his tongue exploring the heat of her mouth sent a raw hunger surging through his blood. His cock stirred in his trousers, and he fought to tame the beast inside him as he smiled and bent his head toward her.

“Is it the dusky white hue of an unripened peach my mind sees whenever I touch your silky skin, or is it the warm pink color my fingers feel in your cheeks when you’re angry with me?” he asked, deliberately lowering his voice even further.

“I already told you the color was peach,” she bit out in a fierce whisper.

“Very well, you leave me no choice.” Valeran turned slightly so the ghost-like figures of the Laird and Mistress of Crianlarich came into view.

“Lady Patience, your daughter’s lack of vanity is admirable, but she’s reluctant to describe her appearance tonight. Would you be kind enough to indulge my curiosity?”

“I already told you what color my gown is,” Amalie snapped. Valeran almost smiled, but managed to maintain a somber expression as she tugged her hand free of his.

“But that’s all you’ve told me, Amalie,” he replied softly.