his knife. He lifted a piece and regarded it on the tines of his fork.
Sophia sighed. "It's wretched fare, isn't it? There's no stove, just an old fireplace with a spit. It's not what Mary's used to."
Dougal set down his knife, apparently giving up on the thought of breakfast. "We are to ride out this morning, I hope? I slept so well I've been looking forward to the ride."
Sophia's smile froze. "You… you slept well?"
"Better than I have in weeks. It must be the fresh air."
Blast it, that wasn't what she wanted to hear.
"I'm glad you slept well. I suppose, then, that your chimney didn't smoke the way mine does?"
"It did at first, but I put out the fire. It's not healthy to be overly warm when one sleeps."
She frowned. Was that some odd belief he'd gotten from London ? If so, it was inconvenient, to say the least.
He glanced out the window. "I am particularly keen to see the vistas and the hunting lands."
"Hunting lands?"
"Yes." He pushed his plate aside and said lazily, "It occurred to me that the best use of this property might be as a hunting box. I could abandon the house and build a smaller, more compact structure somewhere else."
Dougal had to fight a grin when her mouth dropped open, then closed, then opened again, outrage plain on her face.
He couldn't help adding, "
Or
I might turn the place into a horse-breeding farm. I daresay with a little work, I could turn the bottom floor of this house into additional stables and—I'm sorry? Did you say something?"
Sophia choked, her face turning red.
Dougal lifted his brows. "Sophia, are you all right?"
She gasped, saying in a hoarse voice, "Yes! I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?"
"I don't know. You just seemed… upset."
She shook her head, her golden curls dancing in the warm sunlight. "I merely swallowed the wrong way." She took a deep sip of her tea as if it demonstrate.
Dougal found himself mesmerized as her lips touched the delicate porcelain cup. Damn, but she had a lovely mouth, full and red and made for kissing. He imagined what she'd taste like now, a hint of sugar and cream and ripe lust.
His body stirred, and he shifted in his seat, reminding himself to be patient. The longer they lingered on the cusp of the relationship, flirting and testing, advancing and retreating, the more satisfying their joining would be.
In Dougal's experience, it was after passion abated that the spark left and never returned. He'd had many relationships, but none had lasted beyond three months.
His brother Gregor said he couldn't focus on any woman long enough to fall in love. Recently married, Gregor was a fine one to talk about focus, given the leisurely way he'd finally realized he loved Venetia , whom he'd known since they were children.
Still, Dougal wondered if perhaps he was too quick to form relationships. Was it possible that he'd never been more then temporarily attracted to any woman because he didn't take the time to get to know her?
Surely not. He was a normal, healthy man with a normal, healthy appetite—one that was being thoroughly and deliberately whetted by Sophia.
He watched as she bit her lip, her brows drawn as she considered his statement about making her house into a stable. She was no innocent miss, this worldly trickster. Not once had she mentioned the awkwardness of being alone with him; not once had she completely rejected his advances; and, with the exception of one or two moments, she'd shown only the boldest character.
Dougal liked that about her; there was none of the silly games played by so many of London 's ladies.
The door rattled, and Sophia sighed. "Angus."
The lout probably had his ear pressed to the door. Time to spirit his lovely hostess away, far from the watchful eyes of her servants.
Dougal stood and captured her hand, gently pulling her to her feet "Shall we ride?"
She smiled up at him with a warmth that made his body leap in response, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm and leaning against him. "It is a lovely
Sophia sighed. "It's wretched fare, isn't it? There's no stove, just an old fireplace with a spit. It's not what Mary's used to."
Dougal set down his knife, apparently giving up on the thought of breakfast. "We are to ride out this morning, I hope? I slept so well I've been looking forward to the ride."
Sophia's smile froze. "You… you slept well?"
"Better than I have in weeks. It must be the fresh air."
Blast it, that wasn't what she wanted to hear.
"I'm glad you slept well. I suppose, then, that your chimney didn't smoke the way mine does?"
"It did at first, but I put out the fire. It's not healthy to be overly warm when one sleeps."
She frowned. Was that some odd belief he'd gotten from London ? If so, it was inconvenient, to say the least.
He glanced out the window. "I am particularly keen to see the vistas and the hunting lands."
"Hunting lands?"
"Yes." He pushed his plate aside and said lazily, "It occurred to me that the best use of this property might be as a hunting box. I could abandon the house and build a smaller, more compact structure somewhere else."
Dougal had to fight a grin when her mouth dropped open, then closed, then opened again, outrage plain on her face.
He couldn't help adding, "
Or
I might turn the place into a horse-breeding farm. I daresay with a little work, I could turn the bottom floor of this house into additional stables and—I'm sorry? Did you say something?"
Sophia choked, her face turning red.
Dougal lifted his brows. "Sophia, are you all right?"
She gasped, saying in a hoarse voice, "Yes! I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?"
"I don't know. You just seemed… upset."
She shook her head, her golden curls dancing in the warm sunlight. "I merely swallowed the wrong way." She took a deep sip of her tea as if it demonstrate.
Dougal found himself mesmerized as her lips touched the delicate porcelain cup. Damn, but she had a lovely mouth, full and red and made for kissing. He imagined what she'd taste like now, a hint of sugar and cream and ripe lust.
His body stirred, and he shifted in his seat, reminding himself to be patient. The longer they lingered on the cusp of the relationship, flirting and testing, advancing and retreating, the more satisfying their joining would be.
In Dougal's experience, it was after passion abated that the spark left and never returned. He'd had many relationships, but none had lasted beyond three months.
His brother Gregor said he couldn't focus on any woman long enough to fall in love. Recently married, Gregor was a fine one to talk about focus, given the leisurely way he'd finally realized he loved Venetia , whom he'd known since they were children.
Still, Dougal wondered if perhaps he was too quick to form relationships. Was it possible that he'd never been more then temporarily attracted to any woman because he didn't take the time to get to know her?
Surely not. He was a normal, healthy man with a normal, healthy appetite—one that was being thoroughly and deliberately whetted by Sophia.
He watched as she bit her lip, her brows drawn as she considered his statement about making her house into a stable. She was no innocent miss, this worldly trickster. Not once had she mentioned the awkwardness of being alone with him; not once had she completely rejected his advances; and, with the exception of one or two moments, she'd shown only the boldest character.
Dougal liked that about her; there was none of the silly games played by so many of London 's ladies.
The door rattled, and Sophia sighed. "Angus."
The lout probably had his ear pressed to the door. Time to spirit his lovely hostess away, far from the watchful eyes of her servants.
Dougal stood and captured her hand, gently pulling her to her feet "Shall we ride?"
She smiled up at him with a warmth that made his body leap in response, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm and leaning against him. "It is a lovely
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