Page 23 of The Laird’s Sinful Claim

"So ye've mentioned." His shirt came off, revealing broad shoulders and a lean, muscled back crisscrossed with faint scars. "Were ye plannin' tae stand there all night? Or are ye goin' tae get ready fer bed?"

Elinor's mouth went dry. She'd seen men's bare chests before, farm workers in summer, her father's guards training in the yard. But somehow this felt different. More intimate. David wasn't a stranger laboring in a field. He was her husband, undressing in the room they were meant to share.

"Turn around," she commanded.

"What?"

"Turn around. I need tae undress."

David glanced over his shoulder at her, and she saw amusement flicker across his face. "Ye're me wife, lass. Ye dinnae need tae hide from me."

"I'm not hiding. I'm asking for basic courtesy."

"And I'm askin' ye tae get over yer modesty and get ready fer bed."

"Turn. Around."

Something in her voice must have gotten through to him. His expression shifted, the amusement fading into something more serious. He turned to face the window, presenting her with his back.

"Better?" he asked.

"Yes. Thank you."

Elinor's hands shook as she reached for the laces of her gown. She'd dressed herself that morning, as her maid had been dismissed when her father had decided she no longer needed her and that he could use the money. But her fingers felt clumsy, thick with nervousness.

She glanced at David's back. He stood very still, his hands braced on the windowsill. The candlelight caught the edges of old scars, white lines against tanned skin. Evidence of a life she knew nothing about. Battles fought, wounds endured.

She forced her attention back to her laces. The gown loosened, slipping from her shoulders. She caught it before it could pool on the floor, stepping out of it carefully and draping it over the room's single chair. Her stays came next, then her petticoats, until she stood in nothing but her shift.

The fabric was thin, too thin. She could feel the cold air against her skin, raising goosebumps along her arms.

"Are ye done?" David's voice was rougher than it had been.

"Almost. Don't turn around!"

"I didnae turn around." His voice was closer now. Right behind her. "But I can hear ye movin'. Are ye finished or nae?"

Her hair had got caught in a button. She struggled with it for a moment, cursing under her breath.

"Dae ye need help?"

"No."

"Ye're sure? It sounds like ye dae."

"I don't need help." She yanked the shift down over her head, finally freeing her hair. "There. I'm decent."

She turned, meaning to tell him he could look and found him already facing her.

"I thought I told you not to turn around!"

"Ye did. But then ye said ye were decent." His eyes weren't on her face. They were tracking down the line of her throat, the curve of her shoulder where the shift had slipped slightly.

"You—" The words died in her throat as she realized what he was seeing. The shift was thin and with the candlelight behind her, it was probably rather transparent. "Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like… " She couldn’t find the right words. Instead she crossed her arms over her chest, trying to hide herself. "Just stop."