admit that there was a part of her—a very large part—that had wanted him gone for her own peace of mind. Damn the whisky smuggling; she wanted rid of him because of the way he was looking at her now and the way that made her feel. She could not be attracted to a servant over a half dozen years her junior. It was outrageous. It was wrong . She did not want it.
She took a breath to steady her erratic pulse. “I am not in the habit of giving my servants grounds to blackmail me, Mr. Ross,” she said coldly. “And since that was precisely what you tried to do to gain a job, is it any wonder I don’t trust you?”
Lucas smiled, his teeth a flash of white in his tanned face. “When you put it like that,” he said, “I can see your point.”
“Thank you,” Christina said shortly.
“But you can trust me.” Lucas had turned aside. She could not see his face. “I work for Kilmory now.”
“I’m gratified to hear it,” Christina said drily. “If you try to blackmail me again I will sack you. And damn the consequences.”
This time he did look at her. There was admiration in his eyes and something else that for a second looked oddly like regret. The silence rippled between them. “If I make the same mistake twice,” Lucas said softly, “I will deserve it.”
A clatter of hooves in the courtyard outside reminded Christina that they could be interrupted at any moment. It was time she ended this before it went any further.
“Good day, Mr. Ross,” she said. She spun on her heel to leave and in doing so her shawl caught on a loose nail sticking out from the wall. There was an unpleasant ripping sound.
“Wait a moment.” Lucas had moved quickly to her side, reaching to free the delicate material before she could damage it further. “You’re trapped.”
For a second she felt so overwhelmed by his physical proximity that she almost tore the shawl from the nail simply to escape. With the greatest effort of will she squashed the feeling down and stood still whilst Lucas’s dexterous fingers worked to slide the delicate material free. There was something disturbing about watching his hands, strong and brown; she felt another wave of heat engulf her and fixed her gaze on his chest instead.
It seemed to take forever to unhook the shawl. Christina’s heart beat a fierce tattoo in her chest. The atmosphere in the tight confines of the room had thickened further and felt as oppressive as a thundery day. She did not dare look up into Lucas’s intent dark eyes.
“Thank you,” she said, and it came out as a whisper.
He stood back. “My pleasure, ma’am.” His voice was very smooth. It seemed to vibrate deep inside her.
Christina pulled the shawl tight about her even though it was a warm day, and she almost ran through the doorway into the courtyard. Once in the fresh air she turned her face up to the sun and took several long, deep steadying breaths. She felt as though she had run a mile. She was shaking. And yet nothing had happened.
* * *
L UCAS STOOD IN the doorway of the drawing office and watched Christina walk away. She moved with an innate dignity and elegance, unhurried, as though those long, turbulent moments between them had never occurred. Yet he knew how much it had shaken her. He had seen the pulse drum its frantic beat in the hollow of her throat. He had seen her hands tremble. He had felt the same irresistible pull of attraction that she had.
It was disconcerting to be so drawn to a woman whilst simultaneously suspecting her of involvement in his brother’s murder. The most disconcerting thing about it was that his intuition told him she was innocent. Since he was a man who operated on evidence, not emotion, this was more irritating than reassuring. He had no reason to exonerate her and every reason to mistrust her. Her professed hatred of violence fascinated him. She had saved his life but he wondered if she had failed to save Peter’s and that was why she was now revolted by brutality.
She took a breath to steady her erratic pulse. “I am not in the habit of giving my servants grounds to blackmail me, Mr. Ross,” she said coldly. “And since that was precisely what you tried to do to gain a job, is it any wonder I don’t trust you?”
Lucas smiled, his teeth a flash of white in his tanned face. “When you put it like that,” he said, “I can see your point.”
“Thank you,” Christina said shortly.
“But you can trust me.” Lucas had turned aside. She could not see his face. “I work for Kilmory now.”
“I’m gratified to hear it,” Christina said drily. “If you try to blackmail me again I will sack you. And damn the consequences.”
This time he did look at her. There was admiration in his eyes and something else that for a second looked oddly like regret. The silence rippled between them. “If I make the same mistake twice,” Lucas said softly, “I will deserve it.”
A clatter of hooves in the courtyard outside reminded Christina that they could be interrupted at any moment. It was time she ended this before it went any further.
“Good day, Mr. Ross,” she said. She spun on her heel to leave and in doing so her shawl caught on a loose nail sticking out from the wall. There was an unpleasant ripping sound.
“Wait a moment.” Lucas had moved quickly to her side, reaching to free the delicate material before she could damage it further. “You’re trapped.”
For a second she felt so overwhelmed by his physical proximity that she almost tore the shawl from the nail simply to escape. With the greatest effort of will she squashed the feeling down and stood still whilst Lucas’s dexterous fingers worked to slide the delicate material free. There was something disturbing about watching his hands, strong and brown; she felt another wave of heat engulf her and fixed her gaze on his chest instead.
It seemed to take forever to unhook the shawl. Christina’s heart beat a fierce tattoo in her chest. The atmosphere in the tight confines of the room had thickened further and felt as oppressive as a thundery day. She did not dare look up into Lucas’s intent dark eyes.
“Thank you,” she said, and it came out as a whisper.
He stood back. “My pleasure, ma’am.” His voice was very smooth. It seemed to vibrate deep inside her.
Christina pulled the shawl tight about her even though it was a warm day, and she almost ran through the doorway into the courtyard. Once in the fresh air she turned her face up to the sun and took several long, deep steadying breaths. She felt as though she had run a mile. She was shaking. And yet nothing had happened.
* * *
L UCAS STOOD IN the doorway of the drawing office and watched Christina walk away. She moved with an innate dignity and elegance, unhurried, as though those long, turbulent moments between them had never occurred. Yet he knew how much it had shaken her. He had seen the pulse drum its frantic beat in the hollow of her throat. He had seen her hands tremble. He had felt the same irresistible pull of attraction that she had.
It was disconcerting to be so drawn to a woman whilst simultaneously suspecting her of involvement in his brother’s murder. The most disconcerting thing about it was that his intuition told him she was innocent. Since he was a man who operated on evidence, not emotion, this was more irritating than reassuring. He had no reason to exonerate her and every reason to mistrust her. Her professed hatred of violence fascinated him. She had saved his life but he wondered if she had failed to save Peter’s and that was why she was now revolted by brutality.
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