Page 26 of Deception and Desire
“Ye should ken that I dinna usually make such overtures…” Her eyes had turned to storm clouds and fixed on his mouth. He bent toward her slightly, his voice lowered. “In public…” Lachlan recognized desire when he saw it. His pulse raced as his head dipped a bit more. “In the rain…”Sweet Jesu!He wanted to kiss her again. Her bottom lip trembled slightly and her teeth caught at it.
“Lachlan!” roared his brother from the dock entrance. “Yepromised.”
Both their heads jerked toward Ian’s voice. Fenella flushed and Lachlan knew his face matched the deepest red streaks in his hair. He held out his arm, trying to put on a repentant expression.
Then it happened. Fenella began to giggle. A soft feminine sound that grew in volume until her arms wrapped around her middle, and she doubled over with tears in her eyes.
Laughter bubbled up in Lachlan’s throat. He soon joined her, hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. She hiccupped. They looked at one another, she blinked, and it began again.
As the chortles subsided, the soft sound of hiccups took over. “Och, now look what we’ve done,” he said as he wiped the tears from his eyes. “I have just the thing for that.”
Lachlan reached into his sporran and pulled out a small hip flask. He uncorked it, then handed it to her. She stared at it.
“Go on. Have a wee nip,” he said, waving it at her.
Fenella accepted the tin, tipped back her head, and took a drink. She spluttered and coughed. He choked back a laugh and smacked her on the back several times.
“Weel, I see I dinna have to worry about ye wooing her with a gentle touch.” Ian snatched the flask from the poor girl. “Are ye all right, lass?”
She nodded and dragged air into her lungs.
“What the devil were ye thinking?”
“She had the hiccups.” Lachlan gave Fenella a sideways glance and saw her grin. “Aye, and I was being a gentleman by helping her get rid of them.”
“It worked,” she squeaked. “Though a drink of water… perhaps…”
Ian shook his head. “Her throat is probably on fire, ye mindlessnumpty.”
Fenella took a deep breath and turned to Lachlan with a brilliant smile. “Shall we continue, Mr. MacNaughton?” she asked huskily, the harsh liquor still affecting her voice.
“I’d be delighted, Miss Franklin.” He turned to Ian. “If ye would excuse us, Brother?”
Lachlan held out his arm. As he escorted her up the stairs, he realized all the previous awkwardness had vanished. She’d defended him in a way, taken his side.Sweet Mary.He was not only attracted to this exceptional woman, helikedher.
God in heaven, he was in trouble.
Chapter Seven
Flirtations and Fisticuffs
Fenella wished thetingling under her skin would cease. It was his touch, she realized with a shock.
She’d danced and walked with enough men to know this was not a normal reaction. Not even Lord Shelton, devil take him, had affected her like this man. With a covert glance from beneath her lashes, she studied his profile. Strong square jaw, straight nose, a generous mouth with soft lips… His auburn hair was longer than the current fashion and combed back, flashing deep brown then red, depending on the light. Thick tendrils curled low on his neck, and his Adam’s apple peeked out from his loose neckcloth.
The arm that brushed hers flexed as he moved, hard muscle barely contained by the soft linen. Her fingers moved involuntarily as she wondered what his skin would feel like. Ascending the stairs, her eyes moved lower and were mesmerized by his wool kilt. The deep green material pulled back, showing his knee as he took the next step, then fell softly over it as his opposite foot moved up. She had always wondered about men wearing these Scottish skirts, but found there was nothing feminine about the attire. No, quite the opposite. The man, the skirt, and that bare flesh was wholly masculine.
“Do ye keep a journal, Miss Franklin?”
Her eyes snapped away from his leg. “Wh-what?”
“I asked if ye kept a journal?”
“No.” She looked at him, her eyes trapped by his forceful blue gaze. “Why would you ask?”
“Ye’re studying me with great intensity. I thought ye might be committing my image to memory, so ye could write about me in yer journal.” The laughter danced in his eyes now.
What a wet goose she was.
