Page 40 of Tempting the Earl

Even so, however, there was something about him that disturbed her immensely.

She propped the wide wooden mixing bowl on her hip as she mixed the ingredients together with slow, sure movements.

It could simply be jealously, she supposed, over his developing connection to Caillie as the two of them continued to spend a few hours together each afternoon, and his ability to offer her so much more for her future than Ainsworth ever could.

But deep down she knew that wasn’t it. Though she’d started this visit with a sorry attitude, in wanting the best for Caillie she could only be grateful for the lass’s good fortune in her growing family. She loved to see Caillie thriving in such a new and vibrant environment and it was all due to the earl’s insistence.

She made a harsh sound of exasperation as she realized she still wasn’t being fully honest with herself.

The earl disturbed her. But it had nothing at all to do with Caillie.

And everything to do with her own responses to the man. His reserved nature challenged her. His emotional restraint frustrated her. Every time she interacted with him, she felt more and more compelled to take some drastic measure to destroy his carefully constructed façade.

And she didn’t know why.

She scooped the lump of dough from the wide wooden bowl and plopped it down on the table top.

That was a bold-faced lie.

She formed the dough into an even mound then used her hands to spread it out a bit before folding it over. Then she shoved the heels of her hands into the dough, pressing it into itself, flattening and spreading it, before turning and folding once again. Over and over. Her movements rhythmic and strong.

She knew exactly why.

She wanted to break down his fiercely maintained reserve because she wanted to prove the intensity she’d sensed in him was not imagined. That the intrinsic pull and heated awareness were real. She wanted access to everything he kept locked up away from the world. She wanted to know him. She wanted to feel him. The real him. So badly, she imagined what it might be like every time she closed her eyes.

“Is everything all right, Miss Morgan?”

Her entire body reacted to the earl’s voice flowing through this dark, quiet, private space, causing her to stiffen sharply as her hands fisted in the dough. Although she surely would’ve avoided doing so if she’d taken a moment to think on it, she lifted her gaze to find him standing tall and formidable in the doorway. He wore fawn-colored breeches and a white linen shirt with a golden-brown waistcoat that had been unbuttoned. His coat and cravat had been discarded and with his fair hair slightly mussed, he looked shockingly human.

No, that wasn’t right at all, she corrected with a hitch in her chest.

He looked delightfully forbidden. An untouchable deity who’d wandered into her shadowed lair unawares and now stood at the threshold, uncertain if he dared to go farther.

Should she tempt him closer with a smile and a beckoning crook of her finger?

Nay. She was no temptress to lure a man of experience and sophistication. A man who’d known far more of the world than she could have imagined in her small corner of Dumfriesshire.

Goodness, she was in a mood tonight.

She quickly returned her focus to her task before he could happen to detect her melancholy state. “Everything’s fine, my lord.”

“What exactly are you doing in my kitchen?”

She folded the dough. “Baking.”

“Do you often bake in the middle of the night?”

“Nay, but occasionally, when the mood hits me.”

“I see,” he replied slowly. As he left his position in the doorway to approach the long work table, something weighty and disruptive coursed through her. “And what made the mood hit you tonight?”

Ainsworth clenched her teeth. With her internal awareness already overwhelmed by his unsettling presence in her thoughts, she wasn’t sure how she could endure his physical nearness as well. “I dinnae ken,” she retorted. “I reckon I just felt the need to...knead.”

“Is that what you’re doing?” he asked with a pointed glance at the ball of dough she was practically pounding with her bare hands. “It looks more like deathly assault.”

“Bluidy hell,” she muttered. She’d completely ruined the dough in her frustration and distraction. She picked up the toughened ball and tossed it into the bowl. “I blame that on you,” she accused.

He glanced skeptically into the bowl before shifting his bright gaze to meet hers. “I don’t see how you could when I just walked in the door.”

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