Her Wicked Highland Spy (The Marriage Maker #10)(17)

Rosalyn nearly choked, and half started up from the table. “Is he back already?” She’d managed to avoid him the entire day. She wasn’t about to look him in the face now.

“Not yet, I believe.” Her aunt lifted a brow. “Where are you going? You’ve spent far too much time in your room lately. You need fresh air. Perhaps, we should try one of those bathing machines on the beach. I’m sure it would do you a world of good.”

Rosalyn drew her lips into a line and put down her napkin. “If you will excuse me.”

“Where are you off to, child?” Her aunt frowned. “Ethan’s promised a whist rematch and I’ve made a caraway cake for the occasion. He should be here soon.”

Playing cards with Lord Brodie would be the last thing she’d do. She forced her lips into a smile. “Have fun, auntie dear.”

She left before her aunt could continue.

Rosalyn was halfway up the stairs when she the front door opened with a creak. She picked up her skirts and ran. Yes, eventually, she’d have to face the man—if she couldn’t find a way to leave first. She escaped to her room and slammed the door. Perhaps she could find a way to return to London.

For a time, she thought of various excuses and scribbled some down in her journal, ranked by suitability and chances of success, then with her head pounding and thoroughly sick of the affair, she settled on her bed with a book for distraction.

She awoke some time later and sat up, surprised she’d fallen asleep.

The room was dark. She’d slept straight through dinner. The clock downstairs began to chime. Eleven o’clock. She scooted off her bed. It was far later than she’d thought, and her stomach rumbled loudly. She stretched. Perhaps there was a bit of her aunt’s caraway cake left in the larder. The frosting was her favorite part. It couldn’t hurt to sneak downstairs and take a peek.

The house stood silent as she stole down the stairs and padded to the empty kitchen. Moonlight streamed through the window, illuminating the tidy sink, table, and the china cabinet nearby. The first door opened onto a stairwell, but when she opened the second, the scent of spices and herbs greeted her nose. Here, there would be something to eat. She squinted inside, but it was too dark to see a thing. She needed a candle. Rosalyn turned, just as a large body loomed up and a hand quickly clamped over her mouth, muffling her scream.

“Hush, lass, there’s no cause for alarm,” Ethan’s deep brogue assured.

The scream died on her lips as his hand dropped away.

“Hungry, are you?” he rumbled.

She took a step back, heart thudding. “I’m fine. I’m leaving.”

He grasped her arm and shepherded her into the larder, pulling the door shut behind them. Utter darkness fell.

She gasped. “What are you doing?”

He didn’t reply, but walked her back, step by step, until he’d pressed her against the larder wall. Heat radiated from his hard chest. Her breath caught in her throat. Merciful heavens. His body felt so good pressed against hers, and with the darkness so complete, she could do nothing but feel.

“You’ve been avoiding me, lass. Why?” he asked.

She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

“I’m going to kiss you. I’ve thought of nothing else.”

Kiss her? Shocked, she breathed, “Why?”

“Why? By God, woman. Why?” His Scottish burr sounded torn between amusement and shock.

“I don’t want your pity—”

He seized the word. “Pity?”

The next thing she knew, his large hands gripped her shoulders and his mouth covered hers in a hot, savage kiss. The intensity of her own response frightened her. There was no doubt, no worry, not one thought of pity as she met his passion full force. She kissed him back in a kiss as fierce and hungry as his own. His mouth felt marvelous on hers. Nothing else mattered. Nothing but his hands on her, his sheer size and strength pressing her back against the wall, and his searching tongue plundering hers.

Abruptly, his mouth left, and he pressed his forehead against hers.

“Did that feel like pity to you?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.

She drew a long, shuddering breath. Her knees felt like jelly. “No,” she had to admit.

He shifted aside. Something rattled on the shelves to her left.

“Open your mouth, lass,” he said, his voice low and smoky.

Rosalyn shivered as something touched her bottom lip. His thumb. The devil inside her made her lick it. His breath hitched. She smiled, then something soft replaced his thumb and the sweet taste of caraway cake and cream frosting filled her mouth. Before she could bite down, he pulled it back, then teased her by inserting it again, only to thrust it between her lips again, several times.

His meaning sent a shiver of arousal straight to her core. She couldn’t stop her body from arching against him. The movement pushed her breasts into his firm, muscled chest.

He groaned.

The cake vanished.

His hands dropped to her hips and moved lower, cupping her bottom firmly before he pulled her against his hard, ridged erection. He began to rock against her. She knew she shouldn’t allow it, but God help her, she wanted him. The surrounding darkness covered her like a blanket, somehow making it easier to forget everything but her need and the sensations he pulled from her body. She rolled her hips forward, her body beyond her control as she rubbed herself against him.