Enraptured

by Candace Camp

  They started down the corridor to the kitchen, but Mrs. Ferguson stopped at the sound of footsteps coming from the rear of the house. Coll strolled in from a side hall. He stopped abruptly.

  “Mrs. Ferguson. My lady.” He nodded, his hand raking through his hair. “I was, ah, taking a last look around the house before I turned in.” He kept his eyes on the housekeeper.

  “I was about to give Lady Violet the supper Cook held back for her. Perhaps you would like some as well?”

  “Oh. No. No, thank you. I was at one of the crofters’, and they, um, offered me supper. I am sorry I missed the meal. My apologies.” His gaze slid to Violet, then quickly away. “You did not dine here either, my lady?”

  “No. I was at the ruins.”

  He stared at her. “Of course. Well, um, if you will excuse me, I must, um . . .” He made a vague gesture toward the stairs. “Good night.”

  Coll strode off without looking back. Mrs. Ferguson stared after Coll, frowning.

  “I’ll just get my food,” Violet said quickly, to distract the woman’s attention from Coll. The man was a terrible liar. Of course, she had not done particularly well in that regard either. She would have to be more careful in the future.

  Her intent was to take the plate up to her room. With luck, perhaps she would be able to slip out the back door and dump its contents under one of the bushes. But that plan was foiled when she found Cook still in the kitchen, and the woman happily sat down at the big wooden table to keep Violet company.

  At least she had had time to work on her story, and she spun what she felt was a credible explanation of examining the ruins at night, throwing in a number of scientific words and impressive-sounding phrases. Sally seemed to accept it easily enough, though Mrs. Ferguson continued to stand over her like a warden as Violet forced down a few bites of roast and potatoes.

  Finally the housekeeper left. Sally heaved a gusty sigh and turned her bright gaze on Violet. “She’s a suspicious one, that woman. Next time, best leave a note.”

  “Yes, of course. I am dreadfully sorry to put you to so much trouble. I hope you did not worry.”

  “Nae. I saw you go running off, so I knew.” Violet looked at her. Did the woman suspect? Sally’s eyes had a decided twinkle in them. “That you had something important to do, I mean.”

  “Yes. Well. Thank you.” Violet could feel color flooding her face.

  “Weel, I’ll let you finish on your ain now.” Sally rose from her seat. “If it’s too much food, just toss it in the dog’s dish. Nae doubt you took a wee bit of bread or something with you to eat.”

  Gratefully Violet dumped the remaining food into the bowl by the rear door and hurried out of the kitchen. The hallway upstairs was disappointingly empty. She told herself it had been foolish to think Coll was up here waiting for her. She started toward her room, and as she passed Coll’s door, it swung open, and a hand reached out to grab her arm.

  “Coll.” She turned to him with a smile. “You startled me.”

  “Aye, I can see how alarmed you are.” He stuck his head out his door and glanced up and down the hall. “I was afraid she would escort you up to your room.”

  “No, she went to bed. Sally and I talked a bit.”

  “Sally? She was there, too? Lord.” He closed his eyes.

  “She was very nice. I think she is fond of you.”

  “Yes, but . . .” He released her arm. “We must be circumspect, Violet.”

  “I understand.”

  “You should go on.” He nodded toward her room. “Someone might see us talking.”

  “We frequently talk.”

  “Violet . . .”

  “Perhaps you could walk me to my room.” She smiled. “ ’Twould be the gentlemanly thing to do.”

  He quirked an eyebrow, but fell into step beside her. “I am serious, Violet. You dinna know how talk travels here. It’s like lightning. If a servant saw me take your hand or . . . or look at you a certain way, it would be all over the glen in a matter of hours.” He grimaced. “Dinna give me that look. I know Loch Baille.”

  “I realize that you have a certain reputation to maintain.”

  He made a noise deep in his throat. “It is not me I’m thinking of. It is your reputation that will suffer. I will not set them to whispering about you. I will not let men look at you like—” He broke off. “It is for the best. Trust me.”

  “All right.” Violet opened the door to her room and turned to him. “Then I suppose you will not be coming in with me.”

  “Violet . . .” Coll grasped the doorframe on either side of her. “It canna be as it was in the gatehouse today.”

  “Very well.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “You are being very agreeable.”

  She laughed. “Now you are objecting to my being agreeable?”

  “Not objecting, no. But it seems . . . too easy.”

  “I am not always difficult.” She reached out a hand, toying idly with a tie of his shirt. “And tonight I don’t feel difficult at all.” She went up on her toes, leaning in conspiratorially, and whispered, “I think you have found the way to turn me sweet.”

  She walked into the bedroom, hands going to the buttons at the neck of her dress. She looked back at him over her shoulder. Coll still stood in the doorway, his eyes on her, jaw set, his fingers in a death grip on the frame. He let out an oath and stepped inside. “You are death to my good intentions.”

  He closed the door and strode toward her.

  19

  Violet woke up the next morning alone in her bed, but Coll’s scent lingered on the pillowcase beside her. She buried her face in the pillow, letting herself drift on warm waves of contentment. Her body ached a little, carrying the reminder of what they had done the day before, and her skin was supremely sensitive to the touch of the sheets against her naked skin. She smiled to herself and stretched like a cat, reveling in this new awareness of her body.

  By the time she washed and dressed and went downstairs, Coll had already eaten breakfast and left the house. It was just as well, she thought, for she wasn’t sure how she could look at him without giving everything away.

  For the first time she could remember, Violet’s work could not hold her interest. Her thoughts kept turning to Coll and the night before. The night ahead. In the end, she called a halt to their work a good hour before the usual time and followed the workers to Duncally.

  With the extra time, she took the opportunity to soak in a bath liberally scented with attar of roses. Remembering the way Coll had run his fingers through her hair as he lay beside her, watching the strands fall to spread featherlight across his chest, she washed her hair with the perfumed water and brushed it dry in front of the fireplace. She was not sure why he found her hair so fascinating—it seemed unremarkably brown to her and irritatingly thick as well—but she could not pass up the lure of pleasing him.

  Afterward, she searched her wardrobe for a dress that might bring that light of desire to his eyes. The choices were, she found, depressingly slim. Did she have nothing that would show off her bosom instead of concealing it? She finally settled on a dark blue velvet gown. At least the material was sensual to the touch, and once she removed the lace fichu, the neckline skimmed across the tops of her breasts.

  Satisfied with the results, she wound her hair in a softer style than usual—one more easily taken down. Surprised to discover that she was fifteen minutes late for supper, she hurried down the stairs and into the dining room, arriving a trifle out of breath and flushed. Coll, who had been sitting at the table, sprang to his feet as if he’d been stabbed with a pin.

  “Violet.” He took two long, quick steps around the table toward her, then halted, glancing over at the footman. Continuing at a slower pace, he cut off the footman to pull out her chair for her. “Good evening.”

  A shiver ran through Violet as his fingers brushed over her shoulder. She hoped the tremor did not sound in her voice as she replied, “Good evening. I apologize for being late.”


  Coll sat down across from her. “I was afraid that you did not want—” He cast another glance at the footman, now hastening to their table to serve them. “That you would miss supper.”

  “I lost track of time.” As the footman left the room, she went on, “It takes a while to dry my hair.”

  His hands stilled on his utensils. He cleared his throat. “You washed your hair.”

  “Yes. And took a long soak in the tub.”

  His eyes flashed. He began to determinedly spoon up his soup.

  “I thought after we ate, I might show you the books I looked through yesterday,” she said after a time.

  “What? Oh. The symbols. Yes, of course.” He set down his spoon with a clatter. Not looking at her, he said in a low voice, “I don’t know how to do this.”

  “To do what?”

  “Act as if everything was the same. As if nothing had happened.”

  “Must you act the same?” Violet set down her spoon as well.

  “We canna do anything, say anything, that would give us away.”

  “The footman is gone.”

  “Yes, but who knows when he’ll pop back in,” Coll growled. “Damnation. All I can think about is kissing you. You needn’t grin like that. I’ve been useless all day. When you didn’t come to supper, I thought you were afraid to face me.”

  “I am not afraid.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched. “I meant, I thought you might regret it.” He leaned forward. “Do you? Regret it?”

  Her gaze was unwavering. “Not a moment of it.”

  His eyes darkened, and he started to rise. The footman reentered the room, and Coll sat back down, turning his attention to the food.

  “We have uncovered a good deal more since you were at the ruins last,” Violet told him.

  “Indeed?”

  “Yes. We found a pit behind one wall.”

  “Interesting.”

  Violet looked at him in annoyance. Coll was hardly making the conversation easy. He was idly toying with the knife beside his plate, his gaze fixed on her chest. She cleared her throat ostentatiously, and he pulled his eyes back to her face.

  “I’m . . . uh, that’s good,” he added.

  “It may have been a refuse pit. With shells and such.”

  “Really? Well . . . that’s good.”

  Jamie laid out the second course and left once more.

  “Will you come to my room tonight?” Violet asked.

  Coll choked on his food. He took a gulp of wine. “Are you trying to kill me?”

  “No. Merely asking for information.”

  “It’s madness.” He cut up the fish on his plate with vicious swipes. “What if one of the servants sees me?”

  “The servants live in the hall below. There are a small number of them. And they are never on the family floor that late.”

  “The maid comes in the morning to light the fire.”

  “You left before that time this morning.”

  “And what if I fall asleep and I’m still there when she comes in?”

  “I shall lock the door.”

  He groaned, rubbing a hand across his face. “You will be found out. Your reputation would be in shreds. You could have a child. Don’t you understand? For me to take you to bed with no thought to the consequences would be reprehensible.”

  “Mm. And I am glad you are the sort of man who would care. Still, that does not answer my question. Will you come to me tonight?”

  His eyes glittered. “You must know I will.”

  In the days that followed, Violet spent each evening with Coll, carefully avoiding an accidental touch or heated glance or any other indication that more was between them than mere acquaintanceship. All the while, desire thrummed in her, her senses alive to even the faintest stimulation, thoughts of making love occupying her mind, making it hard to concentrate on anything else. As the evening drew to a close, anticipation built until she could wait no longer and retired to her room. There she waited, pacing, sitting, then jumping up to pace again. Then, at last, Coll came to her. And she could finally go into his arms to seize her hours of joy.

  Often she would change into her nightgown and brush out her hair before he came. Sometimes she left it to him to help her undress. Once, in a bold mood, she undressed and slipped naked between the sheets to wait for him. Another time Coll followed almost on her heels, whisking her inside as soon as she reached her room, his kisses and caresses feverish with desire. One long, aching night he did not come and she finally went to bed, feeling empty. But in the middle of the night, he climbed into her bed, making love to her with a desperate hunger.

  Every night ended the same way, with Violet falling asleep in Coll’s arms. Every morning she awoke alone.

  When Coll suggested that Violet abandon her work at the ruins for a day and spend it with him exploring the old castle, she was quick to agree. Even more than the chance to explore the castle ruins, she was filled with excitement at the prospect of spending an entire day with Coll away from the prying eyes at Duncally. Coll wheedled a cold lunch from Cook to take with them so that they would not have to return to eat.

  As Coll rowed across the loch, Violet luxuriated in the freedom of watching him without fearing she would reveal what she felt for him. He took off his jacket to wield the oars, and Violet studied the flex of his muscles beneath his shirt as he rowed. She wished that it were warm enough that he had rolled up his sleeves.

  “If you dinna stop looking at me like that, lass, I’ll forget what I’m about and we’ll both wind up in the loch,” Coll growled.

  Violet laughed. “I wouldn’t want that.” She leaned forward in a confiding manner. “But I do want you.”

  The rhythm of the oars stuttered and stopped. He rested on them, regarding her. “Do you just say anything that comes into your head?”

  “No. I’ve thought a great deal more than I have said.” She quirked an eyebrow at him. “Would you like to hear what else has been on my mind? I could tell you about the way the sun glints on your hair.”

  “Och, now, Violet . . .” Coll started rowing again.

  Delighted by Coll’s boyish look of embarrassment, Violet continued, “Or I could tell you I was contemplating how long your fingers are and how strong on that oar, but how gentle they feel on my skin.” The oars bit through the water with increasing swiftness. “Then there’s the length of your legs and how I’m tempted to slide right up them—”

  “Enough!” He flashed her a searing glance. “You’ll be the death of me.”

  “I wouldn’t want that. I’ll be good.” Violet propped her elbow on her knee and her chin on her hand and simply watched him, savoring the rise and fall of his chest, the blazing blueness of his eyes.

  When they reached the dock, Coll jumped out and tied the boat, not saying a thing, then reached down to lift Violet out. He set her down on the dock with a thump, and his fingers dug into her waist, jerking her forward as he bent to kiss her. His mouth was hard and hungry, and his hands slid down to her hips, pushing her pelvis into him. Violet wriggled. He groaned deep in his throat and tore his mouth from hers. He dug his fingers into her hips and rested his forehead on hers.

  “God, but you tempt me. I’d like to pull you down right here on the docks, and the devil with who might see us.”

  “I might like that.”

  “I think you would.” His mouth returned to hers just as the merry sound of a whistled tune came through the air. Coll’s head jerked up, and he bit out a short, sharp oath. “Angus McKay. I might have known.”

  Coll released Violet and took a step back, watching the old man stroll down the path toward them. A fishing pole rested on his shoulder, and his gaze was fixed on the path in front of him. He raised his head, and his steps checked.

  “Weel, Coll, not working today, eh?” Angus said in greeting and continued to the dock. “You grow more like your faither every day.”

  A dull flush rose in Coll’s face, and he started to retort, but
Violet spoke before he could. “Mr. Munro has agreed to help me today, Angus.”

  “Has he noo? You are not mucking about by the sea this afternoon?”

  “No. I have a mind to see the ruins of the castle.”

  “Ah, so that’s what you’re doing then?” He snorted. “Looking at the castle?”

  Coll sent him a sharp glance, but Violet merely smiled. “Yes. You, I see, have come to fish in the loch?”

  “I hae a standing invite frae himself.”

  Coll grunted. “Jack is generous with his friendship.”

  “Aye. He’s not one to begrudge a puir auld man a fish noo and again.”

  “No doubt that stretches to cover rabbits, too.”

  Angus’s eyes danced. “Mayhap it does.”

  Coll grimaced and reached down to the dory to retrieve the bag containing lunch. Slinging the sack over his shoulder, he wrapped his hand around Violet’s arm and started up the path, his face grim. Violet gave McKay a parting wave over her shoulder.

  “Meddling old fool,” Coll muttered.

  “Coll . . . I’m not your prisoner.”

  “What?”

  Violet looked down pointedly at his grip on her arm. “You’re hauling me off as if you think I’m about to bolt.”

  “Oh. Sorry.” He dropped her arm, and sticking his hands in his pockets, he strode on. “I think he saw us.”

  “Yes, of course, he saw us.”

  “Before, I mean.”

  “When we were kissing?”

  “Yes.” Coll shot her a flashing glance. “And it wasna only a kiss. I had my hands all over you.”

  “I remember.”

  “Well, I think Old Angus saw it. He just pretended to glance up and act surprised to see us there.”

  “Then he was unexpectedly tactful.”

  Coll snorted. “Oh, he let me know. That’s what his barb was about—that I’m like my father.”

  “I thought he was teasing you about not working today.”

  “That as well. Nothing makes him as happy as being able to slide in two knives at once.”