The Virgin of Clan Sinclair by Karen Ranney

placing his mouth on hers. For a moment she was still speaking, the sensation of her lips moving beneath his intriguing before her mouth fell open in surprise.
    She tasted of tears and honey, a combination that had him reeling.
    This sweet girl was the same one who’d imagined the bathing scene in her book, who’d described several sexual positions he’d never considered. He found himself wanting to try them. Even more, he wanted to know if Lady Pamela was her double while Donald was his.
    Her hands gripped his shoulders, but not to push him away. He wanted to pull her onto his lap, cuddle her closer, slowly unfasten her blue dress with its bone buttons to see if her shift was lace trimmed like Lady Pamela’s.
    Her tongue darted out to touch his, slide against his bottom lip and retreat again.
    He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, needing this in a way he’d never before needed a kiss. He inhaled her breath, gave her his in exchange, and felt his heartbeat jump when she moaned.
    Fire traveled through his body when she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her hands traveling to stroke the back of his neck.
    She was trembling, and he caught her closer until he could feel the press of her breasts against his chest.
    He hadn’t felt this surge of lust for months or perhaps even longer. Had he ever been lost in a kiss?
    “Is this entirely appropriate?” a voice asked.
    S he flew out of Gadsden’s arms and stared, horrified, at Macrath.
    In the lantern light he looked terrible. His eyes were sunken and surrounded by dark shadows. His beard looked as if he hadn’t shaved for days. His hair was unkempt, falling down on his brow.
    “Virginia?” she asked, pushing back her dread.
    “She’s out of danger, Brianag says.” His voice carried the weariness of the world.
    She closed her eyes and said a swift and fervent prayer.
    When she opened them, Macrath was staring at her, a look in his eyes she’d rarely seen and never directed at her. Gadsden was not the only man who could affect a cold stare. This one chilled her down to her bones.
    How did she explain being in Gadsden’s arms? Or kissing him?
    “And the baby?” she asked.
    Macrath nodded, as if just remembering his child. “A healthy baby boy. A large child, Brianag says.”
    He looked past her to the earl.
    “In my library. Fifteen minutes.”
    He turned without another word and left. She’d never seen Macrath be so rude, but she couldn’t blame him for his words or the look he’d leveled at her.
    She was so thoroughly in the wrong that there was nothing she could do or say.
    “Apologies are in order,” the earl said in that proper voice of his, the one she was beginning to think of as his Pontificating Tone.
    “From me to you? From you to me? From you to Macrath? From both of us to everyone?”
    She wished she were a better person. If so, she’d want to undo these last few minutes. The truth was, she’d wanted his kiss, wanted another even now.
    She couldn’t even look at him. If she did, she knew she’d be trapped by those startling gray eyes. She’d stare at him until she lost her senses again. She’d let him kiss her and perhaps ravage her in full view of Drumvagen and the chaos within.
    When she stood, he made no move to stop her. She sincerely hoped he wouldn’t play the gentleman now and insist on escorting her back to Drumvagen.
    She needed to get as far away from him as she could, as quickly as possible.
    “I wondered if you’d imagined everything you wrote. Or had you researched your book.”
    She stood still. “And your decision?”
    “It’s not imagination, is it? You’re very practiced, aren’t you?”
    His accusation stripped the words from her.
    Once, she might have been overjoyed at his thinking she was experienced. Now she was strangely hurt.
    She left the gazebo, refusing to look back.
    W hy the hell had he said that? Why had he tossed words at her that made her face pale and her eyes widen? He’d been a pompous prig.