ye.”
“Yer behavior doesna inspire that much trust in me,” she countered.
“Touché, angel.” Still, he made no move to leave.
Rob whirled away, and mumbling to herself about his Highland pigheadedness, marched across the chamber to her privacy screen. She’d spoken truthfully to the marquess; she didn’t trust him not to peek. Rob slipped the bed robe off and let it drop to the floor where she stood, then slipped into the emerald gown and pulled it up. She fastened the two top buttons first and then the two just above her waist. At that point the battle with her gown began in earnest. Though the top and the bottom buttons were deceptively easy to fasten, the ones running down the middle of her back were unreachable.
Rob contorted this way and that but only managed to become flushed and damp from her exertions. Oh, why was a grown woman incapable of dressing herself?
“Great Bruce’s ghost,” she grumbled, frustrated with her uncooperative gown.
“Did ye say somethin’?” the marquess called.
With a high blush coloring her cheeks, Rob stepped from behind the screen. “I said, would ye —?”
A wolfish gleam of understanding lit his eyes. Gordon sauntered across the chamber toward her and said, “Turn around then.”
Rob suffered the worst embarrassment of their renewed acquaintance. Asking for his assistance with such an intimate task humiliated her. Without a word, she showed him her back.
Exhibiting the practiced skill of a man who has fastened hundreds of women’s gowns, Gordon completed his task within seconds. He leaned close and pressed his lips against her ear, whispering, “’Tis done, angel.”
A delicious shiver slid down the length of her spine. Steeling herself against his disturbing nearness, Rob turned around and said to his chest, “Thank ye for yer assistance, my lord.”
“I assure ye ’twas my pleasure.”
Only when he offered her his arm did Rob lift her gaze to his. They stared at each other in silence for a long moment. Gordon raised his brows, and reluctantly Rob accepted his arm. Together, they left the bedchamber and walked down the corridor to the stairs.
Supper was a huge success.
Almost.
Rob breathed a sigh of relief when she managed to sit on Gordon’s left side at the high table, which meant Old Clootie’s mark upon her left hand would be easier to hide from his piercing gaze. Beyond Gordon sat Uncle Richard, Aunt Keely, Summer, Autumn, and Blythe. Aurora and Bliss were seated on Rob’s left.
Earl Richard and Gordon spoke almost nonstop about business, politics, and their respective monarchs throughout the meal. Being neglected didn’t bother Rob. The marquess’s inattention gave her the opportunity to study him without being observed.
When he reached for his goblet of wine, Rob noticed his hands. With their long fingers, his hands looked strong enough to handle a claymore with deadly ease and expertise. Yet his touch on the delicate goblet stem appeared gentle, as feathery light as his hand upon her had been when he’d fastened the buttons on her gown.
Rob slid her gaze upward slowly. His posture was arrogantly erect yet relaxed, his profile pleasingly chiseled, his chestnut brown hair a mite too long on his neck.
Great Bruce’s ghost! The man even possessed attractive ears.
Rob quickly glanced away when she sensed him beginning to turn in her direction. Had he felt her interested gaze upon him? His hand reached for hers in her lap, and he leaned close to whisper in her ear.
“Would ye care to walk aboot the garden before ye retire for the night?” Gordon asked.
“Aye,” Rob answered, raising her gaze to his. She loved the night’s dark beauty because it shrouded all manner of flaws. She felt safe enough; her five young cousins would surely accompany them.
Rob looked down the length of the high table toward Blythe and asked, “Would ye care to join us?”
Blythe, Summer, and Autumn smiled at her but shook their heads. That surprised
“Yer behavior doesna inspire that much trust in me,” she countered.
“Touché, angel.” Still, he made no move to leave.
Rob whirled away, and mumbling to herself about his Highland pigheadedness, marched across the chamber to her privacy screen. She’d spoken truthfully to the marquess; she didn’t trust him not to peek. Rob slipped the bed robe off and let it drop to the floor where she stood, then slipped into the emerald gown and pulled it up. She fastened the two top buttons first and then the two just above her waist. At that point the battle with her gown began in earnest. Though the top and the bottom buttons were deceptively easy to fasten, the ones running down the middle of her back were unreachable.
Rob contorted this way and that but only managed to become flushed and damp from her exertions. Oh, why was a grown woman incapable of dressing herself?
“Great Bruce’s ghost,” she grumbled, frustrated with her uncooperative gown.
“Did ye say somethin’?” the marquess called.
With a high blush coloring her cheeks, Rob stepped from behind the screen. “I said, would ye —?”
A wolfish gleam of understanding lit his eyes. Gordon sauntered across the chamber toward her and said, “Turn around then.”
Rob suffered the worst embarrassment of their renewed acquaintance. Asking for his assistance with such an intimate task humiliated her. Without a word, she showed him her back.
Exhibiting the practiced skill of a man who has fastened hundreds of women’s gowns, Gordon completed his task within seconds. He leaned close and pressed his lips against her ear, whispering, “’Tis done, angel.”
A delicious shiver slid down the length of her spine. Steeling herself against his disturbing nearness, Rob turned around and said to his chest, “Thank ye for yer assistance, my lord.”
“I assure ye ’twas my pleasure.”
Only when he offered her his arm did Rob lift her gaze to his. They stared at each other in silence for a long moment. Gordon raised his brows, and reluctantly Rob accepted his arm. Together, they left the bedchamber and walked down the corridor to the stairs.
Supper was a huge success.
Almost.
Rob breathed a sigh of relief when she managed to sit on Gordon’s left side at the high table, which meant Old Clootie’s mark upon her left hand would be easier to hide from his piercing gaze. Beyond Gordon sat Uncle Richard, Aunt Keely, Summer, Autumn, and Blythe. Aurora and Bliss were seated on Rob’s left.
Earl Richard and Gordon spoke almost nonstop about business, politics, and their respective monarchs throughout the meal. Being neglected didn’t bother Rob. The marquess’s inattention gave her the opportunity to study him without being observed.
When he reached for his goblet of wine, Rob noticed his hands. With their long fingers, his hands looked strong enough to handle a claymore with deadly ease and expertise. Yet his touch on the delicate goblet stem appeared gentle, as feathery light as his hand upon her had been when he’d fastened the buttons on her gown.
Rob slid her gaze upward slowly. His posture was arrogantly erect yet relaxed, his profile pleasingly chiseled, his chestnut brown hair a mite too long on his neck.
Great Bruce’s ghost! The man even possessed attractive ears.
Rob quickly glanced away when she sensed him beginning to turn in her direction. Had he felt her interested gaze upon him? His hand reached for hers in her lap, and he leaned close to whisper in her ear.
“Would ye care to walk aboot the garden before ye retire for the night?” Gordon asked.
“Aye,” Rob answered, raising her gaze to his. She loved the night’s dark beauty because it shrouded all manner of flaws. She felt safe enough; her five young cousins would surely accompany them.
Rob looked down the length of the high table toward Blythe and asked, “Would ye care to join us?”
Blythe, Summer, and Autumn smiled at her but shook their heads. That surprised
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