Secrets to Seducing a Scot by Michelle Marcos Page A

dampness.
    “Thank you, Mr. Slayter, but I’m afraid—” The next thing she knew, she was bent forward over his shoulder like a sack of barley.
    He carried her in that ignoble manner all the way to the carriage, and tossed her through the open doorway. She clambered to the seat just as Zoe ran inside, and Malcolm ensconced himself on the opposite seat.
    She stared at him, her mouth open in affronted pride.
    “No thanks necessary,” he said. “It’s reward enough that yer shoes are still dry.” A knock on the carriage roof signaled to the driver that they were ready, and with a lurch they were off.
    In the seat opposite her, Malcolm ran a hand through his wet hair, which spiked chaotically. He seemed entirely unaffected by the rain on his skin. She, on the other hand, found the look of it on him quite irresistible. As he adjusted the plaid back in place over his shoulder, Serena stole a long look at him. Rainwater glistened on his face, giving his complexion a bronze sheen. His eyelashes became tiny black daggers as they fanned across his wet cheek. The damp shirt turned invisible now that it stuck to his chest and arms. For the first time, Serena could see the well-defined bicep that mounded over the crook of his arm, and the thick pads of muscle on his chest. He was a stallion of a man, all hard curves and beautiful lines. A rivulet of rainwater fell from the hollow of his throat, and Serena watched as it slowly caressed the valley of his chest and disappeared behind the open shirt.
    Serena looked away. The vistas of rolling hills and lush greenery became nothing more than a languid blur as her thoughts wandered to the man in the opposite
seat. Her skin still tingled from where he had handled her. Breathlessly, she began to imagine what such a man would feel like wrapped around her entire body. To feel those knotted forearms wrapped around her waist, that hard chest pressed against her exposed breasts, those lean hips spreading her thighs …
    She pulled a frilled kerchief out of her reticule and dabbed it upon her reddening cheeks. How heavenly it would be not to have to be so strong, so proper anymore. If she could cease to be Serena Marsh, the ambassador’s daughter, and just be Serena, an ordinary woman? Maybe then she would be able to give vent to the desires that consumed her.
    Malcolm sat back in the seat and peered out of the window. What a mystery he was to her. He was always present, but never there. Close at hand, but inaccessible. Beautiful to look at, but unavailable to the rest of her senses.
    If only he would touch her first, then perhaps it would be easier to reciprocate. But he never made any overtures toward her. After he’d checked her room last night, he’d never come back in, even though she’d secretly hoped he would. It was almost painful knowing that his bed was so close, his nearness tempting her like a forbidden sweet. There, through that secret door in her bedroom, slept a healthy, gorgeous man. If she had dared to go to his room to steal a kiss, no one would ever find out.
    And yet, she was forced to wonder if he would even welcome her attentions. Malcolm was the most inscrutable man she’d ever met, and even when she could read him, he seemed so hard and unyielding. The only time she’d seen him less than self-assured was the moment she discovered the brand on his hand. That scar seemed to be his private shame, his Achilles’ heel. The thing that made him most human.

    “Your gloves are wet,” she ventured. “Perhaps you ought to remove them to let them dry.”
    He shot her a warning look. “No’ the now.”
    “Oh, I’m sorry. I’d forgotten about your scar.”
    Zoe’s ears perked. “You have a scar?”
    “Aye.”
    “May I see it?” she asked.
    “No.”
    Zoe blushed. “That was rude of me, wasn’t it?”
    His eyes bore into Serena’s. “No ruder than Miss Marsh was for bringing it up.”
    Serena stiffened. “I was only trying to pass the time.”
    “Find some