Kiss the Wallflower: Books 1-3

by Gill, Tamara

  He wrenched her back against his chest and she sighed, the hardness of him against her back warmed places in her body no lady should know could be warmed.

  She turned in his arms, determined to thank him and move away but her feet wouldn’t budge from their spot. Her blood pumped loud and fast in her ears and she watched, enthralled, as he leaned down and, finally, kissed her.

  His mouth covered hers and her mind whirred at the softness of his lips. For a man who was all brawn and muscle, hard about the edges, his lips were soft, supple and sending her wits to spiral.

  Sophie leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed him back, not willing to miss out on such a situation in life that had never been afforded to her before.

  His hands tightened about her waist, slid about her back and pulled her close. Her nipples ached and through her thin muslin gown she prayed he could not feel what he was doing to her body. He broke the kiss, staring at her as if she’d grown two heads.

  “I suppose this is where you tell me you’re sorry for kissing me and that it won’t happen again,” she said, breathless.

  His lips twitched. “Nay, lass. This is where I tell ye that now that I’ve tasted yer sweet lips, I’ll be doing it again.”

  Brice took her lips again, heedless of who may come upon them. At this point he did not care who saw them kissing. He liked the lass, she was kind, intelligent and unlike anyone he’d ever known. Certainly he’d never met a Sassenach like her.

  He pulled her close, her warmth and scent of lilies intoxicating his senses and making his head spin. Her kiss, untutored at first, followed his lead and he edged his tongue slowly into her mouth, inwardly crowing when she made a delectable mewling sound of pleasure.

  “Ye’re so sweet, lass,” he said between kisses, holding her close and dipping his head yet again. She met his desire for her with that of her own and he growled when she tentatively pressed her tongue to his.

  “Yes, lass, that’s it.” He wanted her to try, to tempt and tease him as much as he was trying to tempt her. It had been so long since he’d wanted a woman in such a way. Certainly a good few months since he’d bedded a lass. Such a courtship was a night of pleasure and little else. A woman who understood he wasn’t looking for a wife any more than she was looking for a husband.

  But the lass in his arms now, untouched and perfect in so many ways, was not for him. The reminder ought to have made him wrench away, apologize and leave her just as she’d said earlier, but he didn’t. If anything it made him to want to take all and everything she offered him. To be with her as long as she would stay at Moy.

  She pulled back, breaking the kiss and immediately he missed having her in his arms. Sophie stared up at him with something akin to awe and he knew deep down, to part from her, have her leave when her carriage was repaired, would be hard.

  Hard to watch and hard to allow.

  Her hand fluttered up to touch her lips, now red and a little swollen from his touch. “I’ve never been kissed like that before.”

  Damn it all to Hades, he’d never kissed anyone like that before either. Certainly not with the simmering emotion he felt coursing through his veins. He liked this lass and that in itself was more telling than anything. To spend more time with her would only mean he’d become more attached, less likely to let her go.

  He could not walk that path, no matter how tempting it was to go against everything he’d promised his parents. Elspeth was to be his wife. Not an English lass that, due to no fault of her own, ended up in his town.

  “Did ye like my kiss?” he couldn’t help but ask. He was a glutton for punishment.

  She nodded, her eyes glazed in wonder. “I did.” She stepped against him, taking his hand. “While I do not know what such a kiss means, if anything or nothing, I will tell you this. While I’m here at Moy, and a guest in your home, if you feel the inclination to kiss me in such a way again, I’m more than open to it.”

  He chuckled, unable not to. “’Tis a fine idea, lass. I’m in agreement of yer proposal.”

  “Very good. Now, shall you show me the ruins?”

  “Come,” he said, leading them toward the old fort. “There is much to see.”

  Sophie found herself staring at the laird on and off during the remainder of the day. Within a few minutes of stepping into the old Viking ruins, they were joined by Elizabeth and Elspeth, who both had childhood stories of playing within the grounds, of fascinating finds, like swords and coins, along with what they thought the different buildings and areas that spread out through the wooded area were used for.

  The day was long but enjoyable, and Sophie had to admit that she felt quite at home here so far north in Scotland and so very far away from her family.

  While she tried to take everything in about the ancient site, her mind kept wandering to the kiss she’d shared with the laird. What did it mean? Was he going to start courting her? Did he see her as a possible candidate for a wife?

  She had very little experience with such matters. Her life in Sandbach had been closeted, her aunt venturing out very little unless it had something to do with their church.

  When she had left Cheshire for London and to live with Louise, although she’d stepped out in Society at times, nothing like what just occurred with the laird had ever happened to her in Town.

  If he did wish to marry her, make her his wife, Moy was a very long way from her family and she’d only just gotten them back. They had been separated from Louise since their older sister was only eight years of age. Sophie wasn’t sure she was ready to part from her yet, or certainly part from her when the Scottish highlands were so very far away.

  She sat at the small table set up for their luncheon and dismissed the fanciful thoughts. The laird had simply kissed her. To read anything more into the act would be silly and she would be foolish to believe that from one kiss one could decide to spend the rest of their lives with that person.

  She was sure there were plenty of people in London who kissed and did not expect a marriage proposal the very next day.

  “What do you think of the lemon pie, Sophie?” Elizabeth asked, biting into her own portion.

  Sophie glanced down at her plate, having forgotten the food sitting untouched before her. She forked a piece of the pie and placed it in her mouth. “It’s very good,” she said, between chews.

  Laughter caught her attention and she looked over to where the laird was walking with Elspeth. Elspeth was laughing at something the laird had said, and she was smiling up at him. It was the first time she’d seen Elspeth react in any way toward the laird. Sometimes when his lordship tried to engage her in conversation, Elspeth looked bored and disinterested at best. “Elspeth looks very pretty today,” Sophie said, watching the two and ignoring the bite of jealousy that assailed her.

  Elizabeth looked to where her brother was walking. “Yes, she does. We’ve been friends since infancy and our parents were the best of friends.”

  “She’s spent a great deal of time here from what she said earlier.” Sophie did not understand why she needed to know these things, but something inside her chilled at the sight of the laird with another woman. A Scottish, eligible woman.

  “We all grew up together practically, either here or Elspeth’s home Brodie Hall.”

  She watched as the couple walked, arms linked, toward the river that ran past where they were picnicking. “And Elspeth has not married?”

  Elizabeth popped a piece of fruit into her mouth and shook her head. “Nay, she’s never been inclined as far as I know. Although an heiress and set to inherit her father’s holdings, she’d be a catch for anyone.”

  Even the Laird Mackintosh…

  The words were unspoken, but they hung in the air all the same. A warning of sorts assailed her that perhaps the laird wasn’t looking at her for a wife at all, but the Scottish lass he’d grown up with and already cared for.

  Sophie turned in her chair and glanced in a different direction, not wanting to think such a thing. The laird wouldn’
t kiss her and be setting his cap for someone else. He wouldn’t do that. Scottish or English, he was a gentleman and to court two women at once would not be gentlemanly behavior.

  The thought was little comfort for she knew very well that gentlemen did such a thing all the time and she’d be a simpleton indeed to think this one was any different.

  Chapter 7

  Later that night Sophie sat at the desk in her room and penned a letter to Louise. She had never been one not to be honest and open and so she told her sister of her growing feelings for the laird Mackintosh.

  She threw her quill down on the desk, a sense of impatience overcoming her. Sophie looked out the window and stared at her reflection instead of the outdoors, the daylight giving way to night. The house had been abed for hours, even her maid Gretel was long asleep, but it eluded Sophie. Her mind would not settle after her kiss this afternoon or the laird’s marked attention toward Elspeth not long after.

  She picked up her glass of water and found it empty. Her stomach rumbled and she sighed. There was no use in trying to sleep unless she had a little bite to eat and drink.

  Sophie wrapped a shawl about her shoulders and, picking up a candle from atop the mantel, she made her way to the door and the servants’ stairs that came out near the kitchen on the first floor.

  She made the kitchen with little trouble, and with the stove still simmering with coals, the room was warm and smelled of flour and baked meat. She walked along the table, lifting up some linens to see what food lay beneath and found some bread from dinner that evening.

  She sat on a stool, pulled the plate toward her, and started to eat. The aroma of yeast filled her senses and she sighed in pleasure as her stomach stopped protesting its hunger.

  “Are ye alright, Miss Grant? I was making my way upstairs when I saw ye come out of the servants’ stairs.”

  Sophie jumped at the sound of the laird’s voice and she chewed quickly, needing to swallow before she spoke. “I hope you do not mind me coming in here at this late hour. I was writing a letter to my sister and I found myself a little hungry.”

  He came into the room, wearing nothing but trews and a shirt, which scandalously was not tucked into his pants. There was no cravat, a smooth, tanned chest peeked out from his untied top and his hair looked mussed as if he’d run his hand through it too many times.

  Her stomach clenched, all hunger deserted her for another hunger altogether. She stared at him, taking her fill and not quite believing that he’d kissed her. After their little slip in etiquette, he’d kept a polite distance for the remainder of the afternoon, never cold or aloof, but he was certainly watchful for what he said or did.

  But now, here in the small, warm room, her body longed to be in his arms again and she couldn’t help but hope that he wanted to kiss her again too.

  “Ye are more than welcome to whatever ye want, whenever ye want, lass.” He walked over to a nearby cupboard and pulled out a bottle of wine. “Cook always keeps a well-aged red in here. I’ll have a drink with ye and then escort ye back upstairs.”

  Sophie smiled, watching as he sat down opposite her across the table. He poured two glasses, sliding her drink across to her. She picked it up and drank deeply, parched after eating the bread and taking her fill of him.

  “The bread is good, is it not? ’Tis one of my favorite dishes on a cold winter’s night.”

  “It’s very filling and fresh.”

  He reached over and she started as he wiped off what she imagined was a little crumb from her cheek. Her heart thumped loudly in her ears when he didn’t immediately move away, and instead cupped her cheek in his hand.

  “Ye’re so beautiful, lass. I dinna know how I’m going to stay away from ye.”

  Sophie swallowed, having never heard such a sweet thing in her life. She stood and moved about the table to come to stand before him. He turned in his chair to face her and she reached up, smoothing out the small line that marred his forehead.

  “You’re not what I expected to find in the highlands either. You’re quite a surprise, Laird Mackintosh.”

  He reached up and hugged her loosely about her back. “Call me Brice, please. I think after this afternoon we’re past formal forms of address.”

  Her face heated a little at his reminder of what they’d done. “Will you call me Sophie?”

  His mouth lifted in a small grin and her nerves skittered across her skin. “Aye. Sophie,” he said, in a heavy brogue. “I can call ye that.”

  “I like the sound of my name on your lips,” she whispered, stepping between his legs and coming up hard against him. His arms tightened about her back, his large hands splaying across her spine. It felt right. That she was in the right place for the first time in her life.

  “I like the sound of yer name on my lips as well,” he said, before he leaned up and kissed her.

  Sophie met him halfway, having wanted to kiss him since the afternoon. The moment their lips touched, the agitation, the restlessness that had plagued her the whole night dissipated and everything was right in the world.

  The kiss was everything and more. His mouth coaxed and tempted her, made her feel things she’d not known were possible between two people. His lips were soft, moved over hers like silk, his tongue tempting and warm against her own.

  She met his kiss with her own, wanting to show him she too could tease and explore. His hand slid up her spine, sending a delicious shiver to course across her skin before he clasped her nape, turning her slightly to deepen the kiss.

  Sophie clutched about his neck for purchase as the kiss turned from sweet and slow to something completely opposite. No longer did he tease and tempt her, the kiss now took on a life of its own. He kissed her hard, deepening the embrace and taking control of where the kiss was going.

  Sophie’s knees gave way and his arm clasped tight about her back, hoisting her onto his lap. She went willingly. How could she not? To be kissed in such a way made her mind blank, and she didn’t wish to be good. Not right now in any case. She’d been well-behaved all her life. One scandalous kiss in a kitchen in the middle of the night would not hurt.

  She didn’t know when she’d get another opportunity for such a treat. Maybe with her husband if she was fortunate enough to marry a man like the laird who made her burn, made her mind constantly busy with thoughts of him.

  “You’re so sweet, lass. Ye make my teeth ache.”

  She pulled back, running a hand across his stubbled jaw. “Mine too,” she said, seeing no reason not to be honest. He did make her long for more stolen kisses, for nights such as these that would never end.

  Even if that meant that her time in England with her family, a family that had only recently been reunited, would be separated again by hundreds of miles.

  He kissed her again, slower this time before he pulled back and helped her to stand. “I’ll escort ye back to yer room. ’Tis late and the house can sometimes be hard to move through when the candles have all been doused.”

  Sophie checked that her dressing gown and shawl were still covering her before she allowed him to escort her from the room.

  He took her hand, his large palm encasing hers as he led her from the kitchen. How was it that a simple touch of hands could discombobulate her so?

  She glanced up at his profile, strong and rugged, a perfectly straight nose and cutting cheekbones. A devastatingly handsome man and one who made her stomach clench. Would he ever lose control with her? Would there be more kisses? Oh, how she hoped there would be.

  Tonight, however, was not the night. The gentleman that he was, he escorted her to her room and simply bowed before leaving her staring after him. She watched as he strode back up the corridor, heading toward his own part of the house.

  She sighed. “I hope I find a husband like you,” she whispered into the dark. To live a life beside a man that excited, challenged and tempted her were what dreams were made of. Her sister had been so fortunate, maybe she would be as well.

  In London no one had
ever tempted her as much as Brice did, but that did not mean they were not out there. She simply needed to give it more time.

  “Are you coming in, Miss Sophie?” Gretel asked, from inside the room.

  “Oh yes, thank you,” Sophie said, pulling off her shawl as she came inside and set it down on a nearby settee.

  “Was that Laird Mackintosh I saw leaving down the hall?” Gretel asked, picking up the shawl and placing it over the back of a nearby chair.

  Sophie went over to her bed, climbing in under the covers. “I went to the kitchens for some food. I’m sorry that I woke you. You may go back to bed now.”

  “May I speak plainly?” Gretel asked, standing at the end of Sophie’s bed and ignoring Sophie’s vague answer.

  Sophie didn’t like the sound of such a thing, but they had been friends for so long that she would not deny Gretel her opinion. Whatever it may be. Some women of nobility would never allow a maid to speak such, but that was not who Sophie was, or who she wanted to be. “If you like.”

  Gretel nodded. “Take care with the laird, miss. The staff here seem adamant that his lordship will marry the Scottish lass Elspeth and before the year is out. If that is the case, please take care if he happens to escort you back to your room in future.”

  Elspeth. Sophie frowned, having wondered the same thing, but having never heard this desire spoken aloud by anyone. “I’m sure you’re mistaken,” she said, her voice unsure even to her own ears. She played with her blankets, smoothing them out over her legs. “He’s not injured me in any way, but should he be engaged to someone else, I’m sure he would be honest and tell me. We’re friends, you see, and I can promise you the laird is not a deceiving man.”

  Gretel took in her words before moving back over to where the door to her adjoining room stood. “Even so, guard your heart. I do not wish to see you hurt. One never knows what the future holds.”

  “Goodnight, Gretel,” Sophie said, putting an end to the conversation. The laird would not deceive her so. If he was intended elsewhere he would not kiss her with such passion. He would not kiss her at all.