Scandal in Scotland by Karen Hawkins

lavender in her hair.
    She looked up at him. “I was so worried—” Her voice caught as if tears choked the words from her lips.
    She acts as if she cares for me, which I know to be a falsehood. Her seeming feelings are never real; I only wish I could say the same about mine . Truth be told, a decided amount of pleasure rose through him as he held her in his arms, which was a feeling best left unexamined.
    Irritated with his own thoughts, he growled out, “Release my neck, woman! I’ve need of it myself.”
    She gave a watery laugh and loosened her hold. “I’m sorry. It’s been a very trying hour. I-I was afraid that you were still on the ship when—” Her voice caught and she once again buried her face in his neck, her tears warm through his shirt.
    He quickly headed toward the carriage. The “overcome innocent” was a useless charade; he knew her too well. He should simply drop her onto her stockinged feet and let her limp back to the carriage.
    Instead, he found himself resting his cheek on her hair, the lavender scent tickling his nose.
    Before he’d stopped believing in love he would have given the world for this moment, when he could hold her as if no one in the world mattered but the two of them.
    But he was no longer that man. He forced himself to lift his cheek from her hair. “For God’s sake, must I ask again? Loosen your hold.”
    She looked up at him, her nose and eyes red, her hair mussed, a smudge of dirt on her cheek, a hurt expression on her face.
    “You look a fright,” he said.
    To his vast relief, she took instant umbrage and loosened her hold, her brow lowering. “Oh! You are so —” Her lips folded, then she snapped, “I’m sorry if I held you too tightly. I had no idea your neck was so weak.”
    That was more like it. William settled her more comfortably in his arms and turned toward the coach. He was certain people on the street were watching them with interest, but he didn’t give a damn.
    “You may release me now; I can walk the rest of the way,” she demanded.
    “Without shoes?”
    “Without shoes.” She didn’t give an inch.
    He never slowed. “I’ve too much to do to wait for you to mince your way to the coach.”
    “I don’t want you to carry me.”
    “That is too bad.”
    “Damn you, put me down .” Her furious voice tickled his ear. “I will scream if you don’t.”
    “I believe I owe you a spanking from earlier in the evening. If you scream, I will deliver it now.”
    “You wouldn’t spank me,” she replied in far too smug a tone. “You didn’t do it before and you won’t do it now.”
    She was right, but he wouldn’t admit it. Instead, he shrugged. “Fine. I’ll prove it.” He made as if to set her down, but she gripped him tighter.
    “You can’t do that here .”
    “Oh, but I can.” He lifted a brow. “Want to try me?”
    She shook her head slowly, but her expression said something entirely different. Her lips were parted, her eyes dark, and he knew she was remembering the “spanking” she’d gotten before. His body hardened at the memory and he was glad her long skirts covered his reaction.
    She sighed, suddenly looking as tired as he felt. “William, please … this is ridiculous.”
    He glanced down at her. Though she protested and kicked a little, her head was now wearily tucked against his shoulder.
    His heart ached in an odd way and he held her tighter. “There’s the coach now.”
    “You, sir, have a rude propensity for scooping me up as if I were a bag of flour.”
    “Bags of flour don’t kick,” he pointed out.
    Her lips twitched. “They would if you handled them so roughly.”
    He frowned down at her. “Did Poston let you out of the coach?”
    “No. He went to help you, leaving me trapped in the coach.”
    “You’re free now.”
    “I worked at it,” she replied huffily.
    With her hair in a tangle, and dirt smudging her face, she looked like an outraged kitten. He hid an unexpected smile and replied in a milder