Page 168 of The Highlander's English Bride

“All right but you can’t stay. It would be most improper.”

He shut the door and leaned against it. “We’re not in the habit of being proper, are we?”

Her gaze flickered over him. Graeme wore only boots, breeches, and a shirt unlaced at the throat. She’d seemed to find the combination appealing last time, and he’d decided the situation called for a wee spot of manipulation.

“I like what you’re wearing,” he said.

Sabrina glanced down at her body, as if she’d forgotten how she was attired. A fiery blush reddened her cheeks.

Graeme waved at her frilly, beribboned nightcap. “Especially that cap. It’s like a topper on a wedding cake.”

“You’re a twit, Graeme Kendrick.”

She stomped over to a needlepointed armchair by the fireplace, plopped down, and primly folded her hands in her lap, doing her best to look stern. But her pretty bare feet and the outline of her nipples through the delicate fabric of her nightclothes ruined the effect. Graeme felt a surge of heat in his groin as he settled his shoulder against the solid wood mantel of the fireplace.

“Aren’t you cold? No slippers, lass.”

She tucked her feet under the lace-trimmed hem of her wrapper. That was unfortunate, since Graeme liked looking at her toes. He rather thought he’d like to nibble them, too.

Well, at least the nipples were still in view, pert and begging for attention. Sabrina would have a heart attack if she knew just how pert they currently were.

“I never get cold,” she said. “And it’s barely the beginning of September. It’s still summer.”

“And it’s still the Highlands. And that’s quite the fire for someone who isn’t cold.”

The blaze was all but roasting his backside. Then again, the rising heat in his body was just as much the result of the salacious images pouring into his brain.

Her continuing scowl did nothing to dampen that heat. He wanted to use all his skills to replace that grumpy expression with one of sensual ecstasy.

“Are you going to make your apology?” she demanded.

“Absolutely.” He was about to launch into his prepared speech when he finally took full notice of the bed on the other side of the long, low-ceilinged room. “Good God.”

She glanced over her shoulder to follow his gaze. “It’s ridiculous, isn’t it? I practically have to call a hackney to get from one side to the other.”

The obviously ancient bed was the sort of thing an entire family could sleep in. Four thick, heavily scrolled posts rose up a good ten feet to support an enormous wooden canopy that curved up into a carving of a crown. The bed would befit a Renaissance prince, one who would lounge in bed while receiving his court.

It was also the perfect bed for entertaining a royal mistress—or a pretty littleSassenach. Graeme could easily imagine spending a day or three in that bed with Sabrina.

“Apparently,” she added, “it was built for Mary of Guise, who was married to a Scottish king in fifteen-something-or-other. How it ended up at Lochnagar is a bit of a mystery.”

“Everything about this place is a mystery. But I have to admit it’s growing on me. It’s got good bones.”

“I think so, too.” Then she pulled a face. “I hate that my father has neglected it.”

Graeme hunkered down, lacing their fingers together. “That doesn’t make you responsible for what happened here. Nor do you need to fix it all at once.”

She tried to tug her hands away. “Are you actually going to apologize, or are you about to lecture me again? If it’s the latter, you can leave.”

He took one of her hands and turned it over, pressing a kiss to the inside of her wrist. Her pulse jumped against his mouth.

“Of course I’m going to apologize.” When he licked her delicate skin, she startled a bit.

“Then perhaps you’d best get on with it,” she said rather breathlessly.

He let go of her hand and cupped her delicately determined jaw. “Lady Sabrina Bell, I sincerely apologize for saying such idiotic things. I hope you realize that my . . .”

“Bad temper?” she prompted.

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