Her Wicked Highland Spy (The Marriage Maker #10)(19)

Obviously, it was time for another swim.

The cold water succeeded in caging his passion, and an hour later, he strode up the path, the warm summer wind against his back. It was late. He’d wondered if Rosalyn had yet gone to bed. He stepped through the hedge and glanced up to her balcony. Her room stood dark. He weighed the decision to climb up and speak with the lass, when a flicker of light in the library window off to the side caught his attention. Curious, he crept up to the window and peered inside.

Rosalyn sat at the polished oak table, the line of her sensuous neck illuminated by the warm glow of the oil lamp. The cut of her dress’ neckline drew his attention to her flawless skin, and the ribbon of her empire-waist gown only made him want to unwrap her like a present. A dark strand of her hair fell across her cheek and she lifted an absentminded hand to brush it away, unaware she’d left behind a smudge of ink.

A soft smile stole over his lips.

Aye, he’d find out what bothered her. Straightway.

“Are you writing your own Sense and Sensibility?” he teased lightly as he stepped through the library door.

Rosalyn gasped and slammed her hands over the pages of her journal with such force, the bottle of ink nearly tipped. “What are you doing here?”

Again, such a strange reaction to the journal. Perhaps he should take a peek.

“What secrets are recounted there, I wonder?” He lifted a brow.

“It’s nothing,” Rosalyn flipped the journal closed. “Merely private thoughts.”

Her curves beckoned. He wanted to kiss her again, but he couldn’t read her mood. “Private thoughts? I quite like the sound of that,” he dropped his voice in a suggestive tone.

She didn’t step back as he approached. Her breasts heaved. She looked so adorably sensual with her hair falling about her face and the ink smudge on her cheek. Slowly, he reached out and dusted her jawline with the back of his hand.

She took him by surprise. Fisting her hands in his shirt, she yanked him forward as she lifted on tiptoe and crushed her lips against his.

He grasped her shoulders, and kissed her at once, plunging his tongue into her hot, sweet mouth without mercy. A low growl escaped his throat as his erection flared to life. The sound along with his swelling shaft fired her passion even more. She thrust her breasts into him and nipped his bottom lip with her teeth. Nails digging into his arms, she pressed her sex against his erection.

He wanted to tip her back onto the library table, push her dress up to her waist, and bury his cock to the hilt between her sweet, warm thighs. She’d be wet for him. She was clearly so ready. He slid his arm around her waist, then down over her buttocks as their tongues sparred. He pulled her, hard, into his throbbing arousal, and cursed the fabric between them. Soon. Soon his cock would feel her wet heat. He couldn’t wait to see her face as she came. The writhing minx in his arms would be so pleasingly wanton in her release.

Then she went rigid in his arms. “This is a mistake.”

“No,” he growled. “It’s not.”

She drew a shuddering breath. Were those tears in her eyes?

“I can’t do this,” she choked. “My uncle would be so ashamed of me.”

Startled by mention of Lord Stafford, he released her.

“I…I must go,” she whispered. “I shouldn’t be here.”

He meant to catch her hand, to get his answers once and for all, but as she slipped away, his gaze fell on the journal she’d left behind.

A name caught his eye. The last one he’d ever expected to see: Lady Elana.





Chapter Ten


Caught



Lady Elana nodded her thanks to the footman and swept up the grand staircase with a smile. The glass chandeliers glittered around her like a thousand stars. An evening at the opera. She’d been looking forward to it, not only for the arias but for the information she’d gather there, as well.

Halfway up, an unexpected, yet familiar, hand gripped her elbow.

Only one man touched her that particular way, the thumb exerting a hairbreadth’s more pressure than the rest of his fingers.

“Good evening, Ethan,” she greeted calmly without turning. She smiled, knowing already just how he would respond. We must talk.

As if on cue, he replied, “We must talk.”

She merely inclined her head and ascended the stairs and another before entering her private box to take her seat on a gilded, brocade chair. He leaned against the door and causally crossed his arms, waiting until she’d finished adjusting her skirts and looked up.

He looked handsome, impeccably dressed in his finest, but the tense line of his jaw revealed his mood. Doubtless, his upset had something to do with Rosalyn. Had he discovered her meddling? She needed a hint as to which direction his thoughts ran.

“Well?” She tugged the fingers of her gloves.

He patted his coat pocket and withdrew a letter. “This is yours.” He extended it toward her. “She posted it yesterday. I merely helped the mail coach along.”

A letter from Rosalyn. Keeping a calm mask over her face, she broke the wax seal and read the carefully written text.

Dear Lady Elana,

I have most miserably failed in the mission of evaluating Lord Ethan Brodie. Against my better judgment, I am ashamed to confess, I have succumbed to temptation and my findings can only be considered biased…