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Had the man no sense of decency?
No, that wasn’t at all fair.
Hadn’t he risked his life to rescue her but hours ago?
She was made of sterner stuff than to get her feathers ruffled over a man’s naked chest. And deliciously carved torso. And the tantalizing strip of coal-black hair disappearing into the blanket…
Even if he was spectacular enough to rival Hercules. Adonis. Apollo. Zeus.
My word, she’d been so cold but a few moments ago. However, such was certainly not the case now. No indeed. Her swallow this time was more of a gulp of overpowering, sensual awareness.
Dragging her musings from dangerous paths, she forced logic and reason to the forefront of her mind. Undoubtedly, his clothing had been as saturated as hers. To expect him to sleep in the sodden garments to preserve her sensibilities—especially when she’d been insensate—was preposterous.
He motioned to a pail atop a narrow table beneath the window. “There’s fresh water in the bucket.” His long strides eating up the short distance, and his bare feet making soft slapping noises, he strode across the room. Dark sable hair covered his calves and even sprinkled his toes.
Never before had she considered a man’s feet sexy. But when had she ever seen a man’s feet before? Good God. She didn’t have some kind of warped foot fetish, did she?
He filled the cup then lifted it toward her. “Come, doe eyes. Dinna be shy.”
Doe eyes?
She rather liked that.
Conscious of the thin fabric covering her, Emeline seized a blanket off her bunk and, after wrapping it around her shoulders, crossed to him. She greedily drank the soothing water. The cool, sweet liquid was balm to her aching throat. Crying always made her throat hurt.
Anguish assailed her again, and she thrust the cup at him as she aimed her gaze to the floor.
Aunt Jeneva was dead. Dead.
Strict, a devout woman of faith, and disposed to punitiveness, she hadn’t been the kindest or most nurturing person. But she was the only mother Emeline had ever known. Her own had died giving birth to her. And now, she had no one, other than distant second or third cousins in France that she’d never met and had no desire to.
My God. What was she to do?
The position of governess for Laird Graeme Kennedy’s nieces was available. Emeline had been inclined to accept the offer of the position. However, Aunt Jeneva, in her typical formidable manner, had forbade it.
Nonetheless, at four and twenty, Emeline had reached the end of her patience and tolerance with her aunt’s demands and restrictions. She’d told her friend Berget Jonston that after returning to Edinburgh, she intended to have a very candid conversation with Aunt Jeneva and then she would strike out on her own.
Fate had deemed that wasn’t necessary now. No, not fate. A pair of despicable bounders.
Nonetheless, she wasn’t exactly destitute. Besides the governess post, there was Aunt Jeneva’s modestly successful and very exclusive modiste shop in Edinburgh.
Truth to tell though, Emeline wasn’t altogether as keen on sewing for a living as her aunt had been. The craft had been a way to earn a living and never a great passion. Employment as a governess didn’t exactly thrill her either but, at least, she’d have been out from beneath her aunt’s reproachful eye.
That troublesomeness no longer existed. For the first time in her life, she was free to do what she wanted. That freedom had come at a tremendous cost, however.
Emeline could sell the modiste business, she supposed. She assumed she’d inherit the shop, albeit, Aunt Jeneva hadn’t discussed anything of that nature with her.
To think she’d never see her aunt’s lace-capped head bent over her current commissioned garment, steadily stitching away, brought another wave of grief. A ragged sob escaped her, and she slapped a palm over her mouth, swiftly spinning away from Liam.
“Och, lass, come here.”
Resignation, reluctance, and compassion tinged his roughed voice. He came up behind her and gently turned her toward him, engulfing her in the warm circle of his arms. Smoothing the fly-away hair from her face with one huge hand, he lightly caressed between her shoulder blades with the other. “I ken ye’ve had a terrible shock. And I ken ye need time to accept what has happened. I’ll nae abandon ye. Never fear.”
More unexpected kindness from this gruff man who didn’t owe her anything.
She didn’t even pretend she didn’t desire his comforting embrace. She snuggled deeper into the broad breadth of Liam’s firm chest, welcoming this stranger’s soothing touch, desperately needing what he so gallantly offered. His crisp chest hair tickled her nose, and she inhaled his manly scent. He smelled of horse and rain and something slightly spicy. Manly.
He smelled of temptation.
