The Countess by Claire Delacroix

touched the curve of her cheek with one calloused finger, though he half-expected she would smote him for such boldness. Eglantine inhaled sharply. Her skin was softer than soft, but her eyes hardened.
    â€œHow dare you?” she demanded breathlessly and swatted at his hand. She was trembling with anger, but she did not step away. Indeed, she leaned closer. “You shall not touch me again, are we understood?”
    Nay, she would surrender naught without a fight, this one. The prospect emboldened him as naught else could have done.
    Could he drive her from Ceinn-beithe with his touch?
    â€™Twas worth a try. There were none from her camp within range to intervene—indeed, her vassals seemed intent on pursuing their own labor and ignoring the lady.
    Perfect.
    â€œOh, I would dare more far more than that,” Duncan vowed in a low voice. He moved quickly, capturing her chin with one hand and bending close. “Does my pledge strike fear into your heart, my lady Eglantine?”
    Her eyes narrowed, but not quickly enough to hide the heat of her response. “Nay!”
    â€œGood.” He whispered against her lips, deliberately trying to infuriate her. “For ’tis the way of barbarians to take what they desire.” Duncan brushed his lips quickly across hers, knowing ’twould take her precious little time to recover.
    â€œAnd you know what I desire,” he murmured, before claiming her with a thorough kiss. She parted her lips instinctively, the exquisite taste of her nigh making his head spin.
    Duncan’s head did spin when Eglantine slapped him, hard.
    â€œShameless rogue!” Her eyes snapped as he fingered his jaw. ’Twas he who inadvertently took a step back, though the lady immediately took a step to follow. “Have you no manners at all in this no-man’s-land? Do you not know your place, or respect the rights of a woman to say aye or nay?”
    â€œAnd what would you say to my invitation, Countess Eglantine?” Duncan demanded with a grin. “Aye or nay?”
    â€œNay! Of course!”
    He flicked a fingertip across the tip of her nose. “But your eyes say aye.” He noted how she caught her breath, his gaze drawn to the ripe curve of her breasts. He boldly let his hand fall to cup one breast, knowing she would not tolerate such familiarity.
    He was startled that the curve of her fit his hand so perfectly that they might have been each wrought for the other.
    â€œYou!” Eglantine exhaled in a low hiss, grasped his wrist and flung his hand away. Duncan had the wits to take a step back before she could slap him again.
    â€œTell me of the child,” he coaxed, telling himself that he fared well in provoking her. “Tell me why she fears you. Is it because you are a stranger to her?”
    Eglantine’s hands clenched into fists as she stared at him, her gaze hot, her cheeks red. How could he have imagined her to be wrought of frost? The lady’s passion raged like an inferno and Duncan wanted to touch her again—though not to drive her away.
    â€œI owe you no answers,” she spat. “I owe you naught , Duncan MacLaren—I owe you no explanation and no kisses and no ‘aye or nay’, and I would suggest you not forget the truth of that.”
    With that, Eglantine spun and stalked away, leaving one captivated man in her wake.
    She pivoted when she was a dozen paces away to jab her finger through the air at him. “And leave my land,” she demanded. “You are not welcome at Kinbeath now, if indeed you ever were.”
    The countess left Duncan no opportunity to reply before she marched back to her watchful company.
    Duncan most certainly would not leave Ceinn-beithe so readily as that. Aye, he had named Eglantine’s temperament wrong. ’Twas blood, hot blood, that coursed through her veins, that much was more than certain.
    What had driven her here? Duncan wanted to know. And why did her own