Page 17 of Deception and Desire
Her straw bonnet was askew, tiny droplets of rain sparkled in her pale blonde hair, and long lashes spiked like jagged crescents against her smooth cheeks. Her alabaster skin gave her the appearance of a fine Greek sculpture, except for the pink spreading across her cheeks. When her lids fluttered open, clear gray eyes blinked owlishly at him. Mesmerizing was the first word that came to his mind. He was unable to tear his gaze from the exquisite face.
A wet angel,he thought.
“Oh,” was all the angel said, a sheen of moisture covering her skin. A hand went to her neck– a long and graceful neck.
“Aye,” said Lachlan, though it sounded more like a growl to his ears. Her warmth seeped into his upper body, and he squelched the urge to toss her up and resettle her closer to his chest.
She trembled slightly; her full, pink lips slowly turned up in a half-smile. A single drop of moisture clung to the corner of her mouth. It beckoned to him, dared him… Lachlan dipped his head and brushed his lips against her velvet ones, his breath catching at his own audacity. The rain swathed them, their damp clothes sticking to slick skin, diminishing the barrier of her cotton dress. Her chest rose and fell, pushing against his own.
Those liquid silver orbs blinked again as he raised his head and went wide with surprise, accentuating their dark outer ring of black. Then her feet kicked against his tight hold. His gaze traveled down her legs, long shapely limbs molded by her damp skirt, then back up to the bonniest face he’d seen in years. Carefully, Lachlan set her down, gripping her elbows to give her some support. She was slender but tall for a female, the crown of her head just at his eye level. He wouldn’t get a crick in his neck looking down at her. Aye, he’d like to spend more time… exploring that face.
“Are ye hurt, lass?” he asked, still hypnotized by those ashen eyes.
She shook her head, a golden strand clinging to her cheek. His finger twitched to brush it away, feel the silkiness of her hair, trace the contour of her jaw. But the anger darkening those fine eyes distracted him.
“I’d like to apologize—”
“I would think so!”
“But I canna, since there’s nothing I’d like more than to do it again.” He bowed and doffed his cap, a spray of water from its crown dousing them both, and grinned at the lanky beauty. “May I assist ye to wherever ye’re going?”
Resolve glittered in her soft, dusky eyes. “I think you’ve done quite enough already.” And with that, she picked up her limp skirts and stomped up the stairs of the mill with as much grace as a fallen angel could manage. With surprising strength, she pulled open the heavy oak door and stepped inside without a backward glance.
Lachlan walked backward a few steps as she disappeared from his sight. He wondered if she were looking for work or was related to one of their employees. Her clothes were plain and unadorned, but of good quality. She might be a skilled worker. Perhaps a weaver for the upstairs room. He picked up his pace and whistled a jaunty tune. He’d find her. Someone would know the identity of such a beauty.
Chapter Four
A Not-So-Subtle Scottish Seduction
The blood pulsedthrough Fenella, her temples throbbing as she gripped the iron handle and yanked with all her might. She stepped inside the entrance hall of the warehouse and leaned back against the great oak door. Her trembling hands pushed against the solid, ridged wood, trying to steady her racing heart.Mercy! What just happened?
Heat flushed her cheeks again as his image came back to her. The warmth spread to her belly, doing somersaults that pushed a giggle up her throat. Her hand went to her mouth, still tingling with the touch of the man’s lips. He’d kissed her. He’dkissedher while he held her in his arms. As if she weighed no more than a child. She smiled as her fingers traced her lips.
My first kiss.In the rain. With a stranger.Oh, if her mother could see her now. Would she approve, or only be irritated he’d been a Scot?
A handsome Scot in a kilt, his knees showing above muscular calves. He’d held her close, and she’d been transfixed by those cobalt blue eyes.
And all Fenella could manage was, “Oh.” She tipped back her head and closed her lids, shutting out the world for a moment. The image of his thick auburn waves, damp against his strong neck and chiseled face, made her shiver. He was the most divine man she’d ever seen. Touched. The only man she’d ever touched. Like that. Her heart pounded, and she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. Isthiswhat sent those silly London girls into high-pitched titters?
Steady, now!Fenella took in deep gulps of air, hoping to recover some semblance of her wits. She had to present herself for an interview, in a bedraggled state, after being ravished by a stranger. In the middle of the afternoon! Her sister couldn’t have read a better plot in one of her romance novels. Her bonnet tipped, now perched precariously over one ear.Oh, Lord!Her hands flew to her damp locks, quickly smoothed them back, and adjusted her straw hat. She retied the ribbons and wiped the remaining moisture from her face.
Her dress hung limply against her legs, clinging to her thighs. This wouldn’t do at all. She picked up the material and fanned it out. The thin cotton would dry quickly in this hot room. Thank the Lord she hadn’t been caught in a downpour. Peering at the workers closest to her, she was relieved there were not dozens of eyes on her. No one seemed to have noticed her entrance. No one had witnessed the spectacle outside. No one knew how she longed to run back down the steps and kiss that presumptuous Scot again.
While she flapped her dress back and forth, Fenella took in her surroundings. The large room was filled with rows of steel machines clicking and clacking. An employee stood in front of, or next to each power loom. Two boys moved along the main wide aisle, the taller one with a bucket, the smaller with a basket. The noise was deafening, and she thought how sad it would be to work all day without conversation.
Pulling away from the door, she straightened her pelisse, smoothed it out over her dress, and adjusted the ribbon above her waist. She was as presentable as possible, considering the circumstances. Moving down the aisle, Fenella looked for a supervisor or someone other than a laborer. An extremely tall man with dark hair, streaks of silver at the temples, and familiar blue eyes stood wagging a finger at the small boy, his face angry. She approached the pair and heard him shout at the child, catching only a few words.
“Stay away… machine running… get yerself hurt…” His face was stern, and the boy hung his head, studying the planked floor.
When the man looked up, curiosity replaced the harsh look, presenting quite a handsome face. The stream of shouting ceased.
Fenella moved forward and held out her hand, which he took as he bent down to give her his ear. “I’m. Miss. Franklin,” she yelled. “Bookkeeper.”
His bushy black eyebrows drew together, and he leaned closer. “Franklin?”
She nodded.
His face creased into a smile, then laughter, and soon he was doubled over. The irritating Scot finally straightened. He wiped at his eyes and motioned her to follow him. They walked past the looms and up a flight of stairs. A door led into another large but quieter room. There were two rows of handlooms, perhaps a dozen in each, she estimated, with women working and chatting. They gave her a curious look and several offered a friendly smile. Across the room, her escort opened another door and ushered her into an office.
