Highland Scoundrel (Campbell Trilogy #3)(63)
What had happened between them was a long time ago. A lifetime ago. Too long to hold onto such anger.
She still wanted Duncan to leave—the danger to her son had not lessened—but she could wait until he recovered.
She'd almost reached the top of the stairs when the deep rumble of his laugh stopped her cold. Her chest squeezed. She'd forgotten that sound. Forgotten how it affected her. How it wrapped around her and penetrated with a bone-deep contentment. How at one time it had made her feel as if she were the most special woman in the world.
Years ago he'd been so serious that his laughter had felt like a rare gift. And now, hardened by age and battle, it was even more so.
She bit her lip, wondering what had made him …
She took a few more steps and the answer to her question became painfully obvious. She sucked in her breath, the lash of hurt as strong as it was unexpected.
Duncan stood in the middle of the room, knee deep in the water of his bath, naked except for the damp drying cloth slung low around his waist, with the young nursemaid Beth plastered against his chest. His muscular arms were wrapped around her. Jeannie's heart strained to beat. Both were laughing and the pretty fair-haired maid's cheeks had flushed a very becoming pink.
A sharp stab of what could only be termed jealousy landed precariously near her heart. Why should it affect her? He didn't belong to her. There must have been numerous women in his life after he'd departed Scotland. Duncan was a sinfully handsome man—strong and undeniably virile. Women would naturally flock to him. But knowing in the abstract and seeing in the flesh—very wet, naked flesh—were two entirely different things.
Both Duncan and Beth turned at the sound of her gasp and instantly (guiltily?) sobered. As always, Duncan's implacable expression betrayed none of his thoughts, but Beth had the same look on her face that Ella often did—what Jeannie called the “I-didn't-do-anything” look when caught with her hand in the biscuit jar.
Duncan released his hold on the maid and the girl stepped back quickly. The entire front of her kirtle was damp, revealing the outline of her pert young br**sts.
“I slipped,” Duncan said, by offer of an explanation. “And almost landed wee Beth here in the bath with me.”
Was this supposed to make her feel better? “I see,” Jeannie said, feeling like a humorless old goat, like her mother-in-law, actually. Why was she acting like this? There was nothing unusual about a servant helping a man to bathe—Jeannie had made the suggestion herself. She just hadn't thought it through very well.
Beth held out her arm again and this time he stepped easily from the wooden tub.
Jeannie's mouth went completely dry. Modesty had little place in a castle, and even less among warriors, and one glimpse in his direction reminded her that he had nothing to be modest about. She could see everything. Every muscle, every bulge. She sucked in her breath. Every long, thick inch of him.
Her stomach muscles clenched.
Very purposefully she kept her gaze above his neck. But even that wasn't safe. He'd shaved and her eyes were drawn to the deeply tanned skin and strong angle of his jaw. He'd always been so ridiculously gorgeous—now even more so.
Remembering the task that had brought her here, she slid the pack from her shoulder. “I've brought you your things.”
He grinned, an errant lock of wet hair sliding forward across his face roguishly. Her memory jumped to the loch, and the jabbing in her chest grew more insistent.
“Ah, thank you. I was just going to ask Beth here to fetch them.”
Feeling like a fool for letting him get to her, Jeannie started to back away. She'd been down this path before. But she was no longer a girl caught up in romantic fantasies who saw something she wanted and acted without thought of the ramifications. Her life had been one big long ramification. She was wiser now and would not tempt discretion.
“I'll leave you then. I've asked one of the servants to bring you some food, and when you are ready, I believe your men are anxious to see you.”
“I can imagine,” he said dryly.
She turned to leave, but he stopped her. “Wait. If you have a moment, there is something I would like to speak with you about.”
Very conscious of the other woman in the room, Jeannie nodded stiffly. “Of course.”
Beth's gaze shifted between them. She seemed uncertain what to do. Duncan came to her rescue. “I think I can manage from here, thank you, lass. Sorry about getting you all wet.”
Beth didn't look like it had bothered her at all, but she bobbed her head and quickly bustled out of the room. A room that suddenly seemed much smaller.
Jeannie hoped he didn't intend for her to help him dress. She didn't want to get any closer to him than she already was. Even five feet away, her body hummed and every nerve ending pulsed with a restless energy.
He didn't look at all like a man who'd just escaped the clutches of death. He looked strong and powerful and more attractive than anyone she'd ever known.
His body was a thing of beauty, exuding raw masculinity that called to her on a base level she couldn't explain. It was something intangible, something involuntary, but undeniable.
It wasn't merely his physical appeal. Her husband had been a handsome man, but she'd never responded to him this way—though she'd tried and tried. The lack of passion between them had been a disappointment to them both—one that had eventually driven Francis from her bed. Despair cut through her, knowing how much her tepid responses had hurt him.