Page 60 of To Wed an Heiress
“Me,” she said. Another answer he hadn’t expected. “If anyone asks why I’ve changed, I might mention a certain earl in a certain castle.”
Once again, she surprised him.
“Why would I be credited with such a metamorphosis?”
“It started with you,” she said. “And now you’ve made me think. Although I’m not pleased with my thoughts, I should probably thank you.”
“For giving you uncomfortable thoughts?”
She smiled once more and this time he returned the expression, feeling buoyant in a way that startled him. He had that same feeling in his stomach when he took off from Ben Uaine, as if his insides were ascending as he dropped.
She didn’t say anything further and neither did he. When he took a few steps toward her, she didn’t move back. She only continued to smile, her eyes widening a little.
He reached out one hand, curved it around her waist and drew her forward. The other he placed flat on her back, feeling the fabric of her dress where the sun had warmed it.
He bent his head, even as he told himself that what he was doing was unwise, and slowly placed his mouth on hers.
She sighed against his lips and it wasn’t an expression of surrender as much as it was satisfaction. As if she felt what he did at this moment, a curious sense of homecoming, of welcoming. This was what he’d wanted to do for a very long time.
It didn’t matter that she was an American, that her home was thousands of miles from here. It didn’t matter that she’d soon be gone and he’d never see her again.
Nothing mattered but these seconds when he held her in his arms and she melted against him like pliant wax.
She smelled of sunlight and the formula he’d made to coat the struts.
He smoothed his hands up and down her back, pulling her even closer. One of his hands went to the nape of her neck, his fingers trailing through the tendrils of hair that had come loose from the bun she wore.
He wanted to see her hair down, spread across her shoulders. He wanted her in his bed, naked, so that he could kiss her everywhere. His lips would memorize the texture of her skin at the juncture of her neck and shoulders, smooth over her breasts, dance across her nipples.
None of his thoughts were sensible or proper. He’d lived alone for so many years that he’d grown accustomed to his solitary state. He told himself that companionship didn’t matter and, for the most part, he’d been correct.
Until Mercy came. Until she pointed her finger at him and demanded that he apologize.
“I’m sorry,” he said, pulling back.
“Sorry?”
She blinked up at him and he knew that he would always remember the sight of Mercy at that moment, a becoming flush on her cheeks, her eyes soft and lambent.
“For nearly landing on you that first day,” he said.
“But you’re not apologizing for the kiss?”
“I’m not a fool, Mercy.”
She smiled at him and that feeling was there again. He’d never expected that being around her could make him feel like he was flying.
She placed both hands on his shirted chest.
“Lennox . . .”
He had no idea what she was going to say, because the door to the Clan Hall abruptly opened. Ruthie and Irene stood there.
“Oh, Miss Mercy! You’ll never believe it,” Ruthie said, the look on her face one of barely contained terror. “He’s just arrived at Macrory House. Him, Miss Mercy. Mr. Hamilton.”
Mercy dropped her hands and turned.
“Gregory?” she asked.
