needed a little release.
But all thoughts of another woman fled when Flora entered the room. The breath left him as he caught sight of the achingly beautiful woman heading toward him. She possessed such a regal grace; she seemed to be walking on air. Her golden hair caught the flickering light, shimmering like an ethereal haze around her.
The room, boisterous and raucous before, suddenly hushed.
It was at once clear to him, as it was to every person in this room, that she did not belong here. The humble keep of Drimnin was a poor backdrop for such magnificence.
She wore a gold brocade French gown with a low square neckline and tight bodice. The contrasting sleeves and forepart were of ivory silk embroidered in gold and encrusted with hundreds of tiny pearls. The farthingale was relatively tame by court standards, as was the soft ruff that framed her face. Her long blond locks had been twisted into some complicated arrangement that he was sure Morag had never attempted before. The overall effect was stunning—heightened by the fact that he knew exactly what was hidden underneath.
But it also served to illustrate the wide gap between them. The cost of her ensemble probably could have fed his entire clan for months.
For the first time, Lachlan experienced a moment of uncertainty. Convincing her to marry him might be a bit more difficult than he’d anticipated. She was one of the wealthiest women in the kingdom, and a woman used to the splendor and riches of court. He was a Highland chief who’d been under constant attack since he was a lad. His clan had had to struggle through more lean years than he’d like to recall. He was a fighter, a warrior. Nothing like the polished popinjays she was used to. He’d been too busy fighting to attend Tounis College in Edinburgh, as many of his Highland counterparts had, and he’d avoided court like the plague. How was he going to convince her to forsake such riches for the simple Highland way of life?
But as quick as the flash of uncertainty came, it went. Replaced by renewed determination. The battle would not be easily won, but it would be won. By him. There was no other choice. Just as he’d fended off her brother’s attacks for years, he would use the tools he had at his disposal. What he lacked in wealth and education, he made up for in wit and cunning.
She was not indifferent to him. He thought of her response to his kiss, the way her body had instinctively reacted to his touch. No, not indifferent at all. Attraction could be a powerful weapon. If wooing didn’t work, seduction just might. Whatever it took, just as long as she agreed.
He stood as she neared. Their eyes met. The memory of that heated moment in her room flared full force between them. She was remembering it, too. The sudden pinkening of her cheeks gave her away. With a slight gesture of his hand, he indicated for her to take the seat beside him.
Gilly, who was seated on his other side, spoke first.
“You look beautiful, Flora.”
The longing in his sister’s voice hit him hard, angering him. A resplendent Flora forced him to confront what he could not give his sisters.
“Thank you, Gilly.” She gave him a sidelong glance, as if seeking his approval.
He looked her over appraisingly. “We’ve been waiting.”
Her cheeks flushed hotter, and he could swear he saw a flash of disappointment in her eyes. “I came as fast as I could. Morag is not experienced with this type of clothing, and I usually have two maidservants to help me dress.” Before he could respond, she added, “I’m not criticizing, simply pointing out that donning a gown like this is not a simple matter.”
He eyed her carefully. “I can see that.”
A delicate frown marred her lovely features. Tiny lines appeared between her brows. He felt a strange urge to rub them away with the pad of his thumb. But his finger would be too rough and unwieldy on such baby soft skin.
“Perhaps I shouldn’t have worn it. The gown you
But all thoughts of another woman fled when Flora entered the room. The breath left him as he caught sight of the achingly beautiful woman heading toward him. She possessed such a regal grace; she seemed to be walking on air. Her golden hair caught the flickering light, shimmering like an ethereal haze around her.
The room, boisterous and raucous before, suddenly hushed.
It was at once clear to him, as it was to every person in this room, that she did not belong here. The humble keep of Drimnin was a poor backdrop for such magnificence.
She wore a gold brocade French gown with a low square neckline and tight bodice. The contrasting sleeves and forepart were of ivory silk embroidered in gold and encrusted with hundreds of tiny pearls. The farthingale was relatively tame by court standards, as was the soft ruff that framed her face. Her long blond locks had been twisted into some complicated arrangement that he was sure Morag had never attempted before. The overall effect was stunning—heightened by the fact that he knew exactly what was hidden underneath.
But it also served to illustrate the wide gap between them. The cost of her ensemble probably could have fed his entire clan for months.
For the first time, Lachlan experienced a moment of uncertainty. Convincing her to marry him might be a bit more difficult than he’d anticipated. She was one of the wealthiest women in the kingdom, and a woman used to the splendor and riches of court. He was a Highland chief who’d been under constant attack since he was a lad. His clan had had to struggle through more lean years than he’d like to recall. He was a fighter, a warrior. Nothing like the polished popinjays she was used to. He’d been too busy fighting to attend Tounis College in Edinburgh, as many of his Highland counterparts had, and he’d avoided court like the plague. How was he going to convince her to forsake such riches for the simple Highland way of life?
But as quick as the flash of uncertainty came, it went. Replaced by renewed determination. The battle would not be easily won, but it would be won. By him. There was no other choice. Just as he’d fended off her brother’s attacks for years, he would use the tools he had at his disposal. What he lacked in wealth and education, he made up for in wit and cunning.
She was not indifferent to him. He thought of her response to his kiss, the way her body had instinctively reacted to his touch. No, not indifferent at all. Attraction could be a powerful weapon. If wooing didn’t work, seduction just might. Whatever it took, just as long as she agreed.
He stood as she neared. Their eyes met. The memory of that heated moment in her room flared full force between them. She was remembering it, too. The sudden pinkening of her cheeks gave her away. With a slight gesture of his hand, he indicated for her to take the seat beside him.
Gilly, who was seated on his other side, spoke first.
“You look beautiful, Flora.”
The longing in his sister’s voice hit him hard, angering him. A resplendent Flora forced him to confront what he could not give his sisters.
“Thank you, Gilly.” She gave him a sidelong glance, as if seeking his approval.
He looked her over appraisingly. “We’ve been waiting.”
Her cheeks flushed hotter, and he could swear he saw a flash of disappointment in her eyes. “I came as fast as I could. Morag is not experienced with this type of clothing, and I usually have two maidservants to help me dress.” Before he could respond, she added, “I’m not criticizing, simply pointing out that donning a gown like this is not a simple matter.”
He eyed her carefully. “I can see that.”
A delicate frown marred her lovely features. Tiny lines appeared between her brows. He felt a strange urge to rub them away with the pad of his thumb. But his finger would be too rough and unwieldy on such baby soft skin.
“Perhaps I shouldn’t have worn it. The gown you
Similar Books
