Page 49 of The Laird’s Wrong Wife

She crossed to him and laid her palm over his heartbeat. “Stay.”

His fingers closed around her wrist. “If ye want me to stop, tell me.”

“I will. And ye will listen.”

“Aye.”

She searched his face. “Do ye always break yer promises so quickly?”

“Ye are the one who tested me.”

“A laird ought to survive one question.”

“It wasnae the question.”

“Then what was it?”

His gaze traveled over her slowly before returning to her face. “It was the invitation.”

Heat spread across her cheeks, though she kept her hand against his chest. “Then I meant it.”

A cheer rose from the hall.

Oscar released her and crossed to the window. He drew the inner shutters closed, dulling the music to a pulse beneath the floor. The celebration continued beneath them in muffled fragments. He then went to the chest, unbuckled his sword belt, and laid the weapon across the lid.

Each slow step gave her time to refuse the next. When he stopped before her at last, he reached around her and waited.

“Aye,” she whispered, then turned.

He undid the laces. Each pull released another eyelet, and the gown grew loose around her ribs while his knuckles brushed her through the linen of her dress. With each released eyelet, more of the gown’s weight settled into his hands.

Ceana held her breath until it hurt, then let it out slowly. Halfway down her back, she caught his wrist and turned around. “I want to see ye.”

He reached around her again and undid the remaining laces while she watched his face. She eased one sleeve from her shoulder, and he guided the other down her arm. The heavy wool slipped to her waist before he lowered it to the floor.

Oscar carried the gown to the chair. Paisley’s embroidered ribbon slid from the folds, its end falling toward the floorboards. He caught it and placed it on top, smoothing the silver stitching with his thumb.

Ceana swallowed thickly and went to him. Her first attempt at unfastening his coat failed. Oscar covered her hand with his, guided the hook free, then let her continue. His coat opened beneath her hands. She pushed it off his shoulders and loosened the ties of his shirt, grazing warm skin with her knuckles. He watched until she lifted the linen over his head.

Scars marred his body. Lots and lots of them.

“Oh,” she gasped.

A pale line marked one shoulder. At his ribs, a thick scar pulled the skin when he breathed. Ceana pressed both palms against his chest. The beat under her right hand was faster than the one she had felt through his coat.

She brushed her fingertips over the scar on his ribs. “This one?”

“A blade.”

She traced the raised edge, and his body tightened beneath her touch. He caught her hand and pressed her palm flat over the scar.

She rose onto her tiptoes and kissed him.

Oscar went still beneath the first brush of her lips. His hand rose to her waist when she kissed him again, firmer this time. He gave her a breath to retreat, but she curled her fingers around his neck and opened her mouth beneath his.

He drew her against his chest, deepening the kiss with the care he had used on her laces, though his restraint had begun to fray. Ceana kissed him harder, coaxing a rough sound from his throat. When his mouth moved away, she followed it.

Oscar looked down at her, his breathing ragged. She caught his lower lip between her teeth and pulled him back by the nape of his neck. His hand curled around her waist as he kissed her again, nudging her one step back. He followed until her knees met the mattress and she was forced to sit down.