Page 19 of What a Highlander’s Got to Do

“Why, the London lords, of course.”

“Because they are popinjays.”

“In tights and heels. Aye.”

“Have you met so many of them, then?”

She snorted. “I’ve met enough. Not one of them has been remotely interesting. And more than their share, utterly revolting.”

“As bad as all that?”

“Definitely.”

“What if you arrive in London and find they are not all like that? What if you find a man who doesn’t wear heels and tights?”

“Doona they all?”

“I cannot imagine they all would.”

She thought about this for a moment and then popped another strawberry into her mouth and shook her head. “It doesna signify. He would still be English.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” Was it childish to be peeved that she lobbed them all together into one prancing pit?

She stared at him for a moment. “If I married an Englishman, he would expect me to live in England, would he no’?”

“Probably.”

“Well, there you go.”

“There I go, what?”

“Is it no’ obvious?”

“Not really.”

She tipped back her head and rolled her eyes. “I love Scotland. My family is there. How could I leave all that behind for a man?”

The way she said it made her feelings clear. A man was of no significance to her.

And again, peevishness rose in his chest.

“What if you met a man you could not resist?”

There was no call for her to snort.

Then again, Edward Nicholas Wyeth recognized a dare when he saw one.

“For example . . .” He took her face between his palms and stared at her lips. “What if he made you feel like this?” And he kissed her. Slowly. Gently. He savored the sweetness of the fruit on her lips. He kissed her until she was breathless.

“And what if he made you feel like this?” He made his way across her cheek to the cork of her neck, which he now knew would make her sigh and moan.

“Or this?” He cupped her breast. Thumbed her nipple.

“Oh, do stop,” she breathed. But her tone was husky and inviting, and she held her hand over his so he could not pull away.

He had to touch her again, to kiss her and suckle her nipples over her chemise and stroke her soft center. He was tempted to continue, after she came again, after she came apart in his arms.

But he eased away before he did, and watched her reclaim herself. She was beautiful in her passion and he memorized each and every feature. He had no idea where he’d dredged up the strength to leave her—cursing himself as a fool and taking pride in his restraint.