Page 66 of In Search of a Husband
Or perhaps that was Gabriel.
For years, he had done whatever needed to build his empire. Often, he was cold and calculated and moved through the world as if he had to prove he belonged. As if he had to prove to his brother and father that he was capable of building something when they had merely discounted his talents.
And now the balance was shifting, and suddenly, what seemed impossible was within reach.
“I need brandy,” she said, dropping to her knees to dig through the cabinet.
“I believe Mrs. Malcolm enjoys cookin’ with brandy,” he said, turning the beef over. “Might be out of luck. Too bad ye’ve no stomach for whisky.”
Kate laughed, rolling her eyes. “No fear, I found brandy. And the whisky was fine enough. I thought it tasted of apples and vanilla…” Her eyes widened, and suddenly she dashed off and dug through a drawer to find another pencil.
“I’ve been lookin’ for that,” he protested.
“Apologies,” she said, distracted. She scribbled something over a slip of paper, then glanced up, tapping the pencil against her lips.
Those lips.
Hell, those perfect lips of hers.
“Don’t burn the steaks now.” She quirked an eyebrow, her mouth twisted into a playful smirk. “Nothing to see here. Only a stroke of genius.”
There was everything to see.
But he turned to avoid her discovering the cockstand in his trousers. It had taken an unnatural amount of self-restraint not to take himself in hand once they had safely returned to the castle, but he couldn’t rid the memory from his mind of her body against his. How she had trembled in his arms after he pleasured her. He only wished they had remained and continued exploring one another.
But doing so put her reputation at risk. True, she was in Scotland to hide away from a scandal, but he wasn’t an idiot. He had no intention of marrying her, so the honorable thing to do would be to keep his distance.
Either he would be the villain for truly ruining her and leaving or marrying her and dying young. Leaving her with all this mess to sort out? To give her hope of a happy future, then strip it away?
Gabriel was nine when his father passed. He still remembered his mother standing by as they buried him, the way her body wracked with sobs. But it was after that, the slow goodbye of losing her to her own grief that remained with him. Of watching her smile fade and then never return. Of watching the apple orchard twist with age and disease as each year passed, and his mother first refused to leave the castle, and then near the end, her room.
He couldn’t be responsible for doing that to Kate. He wouldn’t.
“They smell delicious.” She poked around him, watching as he removed each beefsteak from the sizzling cast-iron skillet. Kate brushed against him, lowering her eyes to his mouth.
“Pour me a glass of whisky, please,” he said, clearing his throat. Anything to pull his attention away from her. His body thrummed being near her as if beckoned. He might be a patient man, but he was no damn saint.
He set the beefsteaks on two plates while she poured him a glass, then eyed the bottle before pouring a splash into her dessert.
“Perhaps I’ll like it better in custard.” Her cheeks were pink as if embarrassed.
“I was ten.”
She glanced up from pouring out the custards into two ramekins. “Hmm?”
“Ten when I did the same. Except it involved the piano and my tutor. Finn’s mother was furious with us and washed our mouths out with soap and boxed our ears.”
“Seems as if you had learned your lesson before then.”
“Aye, no’ my brother, mind. Nae, for him it was always a challenge.”
“And your father?”
“He passed when I was seven.” He set the plates on the table and grabbed his glass of whisky. “A toast, Kate.”
“To not failing,” she said with a laugh, raising up her glass of claret.
“To no’ falling.”
