Wouldn’t she spit nails to know his thoughts?
She’d probably clock him with the first thing she could put her hands upon.
Since that first night when he’d awoken to find her standing beside his bed, attired only in her nightclothes, her lovely, sable hair a thick, plaited rope across her shoulder, and suspecting she was most likely nude beneath the virginal trappings, he been unable to dislodge imaginations of her gloriously naked in bed beside him.
It had proved damned awkward with his cock rising to attention and tenting the bedding, as his mother puttered around his chamber. Only by focusing on the reason he found himself an invalid in the first place could he wrangle his ardor under control.
Now, as he guided Kendra down the passageway, her honeyed heat, mere inches away, beckoned him. As did her perfume, light and tempting with a promise of spring. Fully aware he flirted with danger and perhaps risked a slap, as well, he bent his neck and inhaled deeply.
Her womanly scent tunneled through him, an intoxicating elixir of femininity and Kendra.
She glanced up, curiosity rather than censure in her amused gaze. A winsome smile played around the edges of her soft, plump lips. “Are ye sniffin’ me, Broden?”
He chuckled as they turned the corner leading to the top of the stairs. No sense in denying the obvious. “Aye, I am. Ye always smell amazin’.”
His superior height gave him a delicious view of the tantalizing hills and valleys her bodice revealed. He was a lecher for taking advantage of it but, damn his eyes, if he could haul his attention away from the lush display.
Desperate for a distraction, he said, “Yer fragrance contains lemon?”
Those winged eyebrows of hers that so often pulled together in annoyance and scorn when in his presence, shied skyward, as a smile just this side of teasing, curved her mouth.
“Are we truly havin’ a discussion about my perfume?” A giggle escaped her, and she clapped a palm over her mouth.
He adored her laugh but was rarely gifted the chance to hear it.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m no’ laughin’ at ye. It just seems so ludicrous when a week ago, I wouldna have believed ye even aware I wore perfume.”
Oh, he was aware.
Too damned aware of everything about Kendra MacKay. That was the root of the problem. He couldn’t rid his consciousness of her. Even when he wasn’t with her.
“Never mind. It isna important.” Broden felt a sheer fool. He, who had his choice of any number of women, couldn’t hold an intelligent conversation with the only woman that mattered.
Her fingers tightened on his arm minutely, and she said, “If ye must ken, there is lemon in it. And camellia, along with the merest bit of juniper. That gives the fragrance a wee hint of mystery.”
“A bit of adventure and sweetness and mystery. And zest,” Broden murmured low, finding the conversation oddly arousing.
Did she dab the scent behind those delicate ears? Between her superbly ripe breasts? Inside her shapely elbows? Elsewhere?
Lord, help him.
He grew hard at once and closed his eyes for a blink against the tantalizing images springing to mind, as well as the groan bubbling up his throat. “So verra like ye,” he managed after what seemed a lust-ridden eternity.
At that ridiculous declaration, her winged, cinder-colored eyebrows rose, and her gaze fairly danced with hilarity. “Are ye positive about the sweetness part?”
They’d reached the stair landing, and he turned her to him, drawing her minutely nearer. “Och, I’m verra, verra sure about the sweetness part.”
Then he tipped her chin upward, and uncaring that someone could come upon them at any moment, he brushed her lips with his. God, such an exquisite, scrumptious mouth. And, heaven help him, she tasted as she smelled: sweet and zesty and lemony with a hint of unexplored mystery there, as well.
What he wouldn’t give to solve the mystery of her body. Over and over and over again.
Instead of jerking away or slapping him or berating him as an opportunistic fiend, she breathed out a ragged sigh and stepped nearer, bracing one hand on his chest and opening her mouth beneath his.
It was glorious. She was glorious.
He dipped his tongue into the honeyed cavern, and she tentatively met his stroke. The passion he’d scarcely held in check exploded through him, and all he could think of was pondering her sweet mouth.
Plundering the rest of her.
Making her his.
Taking her in every way possible until he’d stamped himself upon her body, her mind, and her soul for all time. Branding Kendra as his.
She threaded her fingers in his hair, drawing his head closer, arching her neck and leaning into him. Her wondrously bountiful breasts brushed his chest, and a gravelly groan echoed low in his throat.
Christ. Kendra was magnificent.
Temptation and wickedness and utter devastation heralded her delicious-as-sin kisses.
A door snapped closed somewhere nearby, and to protect her from ruination, he forced himself to angle away.
“Anyone might come upon us,” he whispered, passion slurring his words.
As if just noticing where they were, how they appeared, clinging together like this, she blinked slowly. As if dazed, she glanced up and down the corridor before stepping backward.
“Kendra?”
He wasn’t certain what he asked.
Was she all right?
Had he offended her?
Not if her kisses were any indication, she hadn’t.
Hands clasped before her, she stared at him, marked uncertainty on her pretty face.
They’d left the bickering and taunting behind.
He could see from the emotions flitting across her features and in her expressive eyes, that she knew it, as well. And she was just as puzzled as he about what this meant for them.
Where did they go from here?
For years, their interactions had been caustic, tension-filled sniping, and insult-hurling interactions. Each trying to best the other with the most sarcastic or cutting rejoinder. Upon reflection, Broden didn’t much like himself for his part in their feud.
No other woman had ever been on the receiving end of as much disrespect from him. And here they were at this crossroads. Extraordinarily unforeseen. Tantalizingly trepidatious.
Could she ever desire what he wanted?
A life with her?
He reverently touched her smooth cheek, humbled and thrilled at the impossible softness. Softer than a rose petal. Than down. Than a gossamer web.
Would she be so very wondrously soft everywhere?
Another tidal wave of lust sluiced through him, and he swallowed.
God help him, he yearned to be the man to find out. The only man to ever have the privilege.
He couldn’t keep thinking along these perilous lines. Allowing his imagination free rein. Not and go downstairs without someone noticing his obvious arousal.
“Thank ye, Kendra.”
Her expression grew more bewildered as if she hadn’t come to terms with their kiss and had no idea why he thanked her.
“Thank ye?” she asked. “For what?”
She’d voiced his very thoughts.
He didn’t have an answer.
Not one that made any sense.
“There ye are, Broden,” his mother called as she advanced toward them, her gait uneven and labored this morning.
Forcing his arousal to recede, he smiled a welcome. He really must acquire a cane for her. She’d refused one thus far, but he feared she might stumble and fall. Particularly at Eytone Hall with its many more stairs than at home.
“Good mornin’, my dear,” she said when she reached him. She nodded politely at Kendra. “Miss MacKay. I trust ye slept well? Yer gown is most becomin’.”
“Thank you. I did, indeed, rest well,” she said, putting a little more distance between herself and Broden.
He hadn’t rested well. Not a single night since she’d visited
in her night robe, and he’d had nothing better to do than conjure one naughty vision after another to occupy his time. It had proved quite diverting and entertaining.
“Please, do call me Kendra, Mrs. McGregor.”
Kendra had made that request multiple times, but Mother continued to address her formally.
Why? Because she wanted to keep a barrier of formality between them?
Technically, as an earl’s mother, she outranked a feudal baron’s sister, so she couldn’t use their social positions as an excuse. And he’d never breathed a word of the conflict between him and Kendra.
His mother rarely attended social functions, so she’d not have heard of their less than amicable encounters.
The question would plague him until he had his answer.
“Very well, my dear. Kendra, it is,” his mother said.
Broden was fairly certain he gawped like a spectator viewing a freaks of nature exhibition for the first time.
Now his mother agreed?
He knew she suspected his attraction to Kendra. Had she decided to help him court her? It was exactly the sort of thing she would do.
“Good morn, Mother.” He found his tongue and greeted her to draw her focus back to him before she noticed Kendra’s flushed face and wondered at the reason for her high color.
“I was worried sick when I knocked at yer chamber, and ye didna answer.” Mother folded her hands to her ample chest in an unconscious, protective gesture. “I was afraid…”
He bent and kissed her rounded cheek. She smelled of lavender water, and vaguely of rum, cinnamon, and nutmeg. Had she been indulging in more of Kendra’s hot milk punch?
“I’m sorry. I didna think to let ye ken that I had decided to go down to break my fast this mornin’.”
He leaned back, taking in her gown. No apron covered the front. When was the last time he’d seen her without an apron? The holly-berry red and forest-green plaid was one of her finer gowns. Yes, she most definitely was up to something.
Had she noticed Kendra’s kiss-reddened, slightly swollen lips?
Only by exercising extreme self-control did he keep from cutting Kendra a sidelong peek.
No. Mother’s skeptical eyebrow didn’t make a censuring appearance, but a worry-borne crease still balanced on the bridge of her nose. Nevertheless, she summoned a bright smile, which included Kendra. “Might I impose upon ye to give me yer arm, Broden?”
At once, he offered his elbow to her, letting her set the pace as they descended, Kendra following behind.
One hand gripping the banister, and the other tightly clinging to his arm, his mother angled her head sideways. “I take it yer leavin’ yer sick bed means we’ll be departin’ today?”
Chapter Six
Departin’?
Kendra stifled her gasp. Or mostly did. A distressed wisp of air escaped her.
Broden glanced over his shoulder, but she couldn’t decipher his guarded expression. “No’ today.”
He faced forward once more, his honey-streaked hair sweeping his broad shoulders. The strands had been soft and surprisingly silky between her fingers. Given his ruggedness, she expected a coarser texture.
“But likely I shall tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll be gone for at least a fortnight.”
“Ye’ll be gone?” His mother peered up at him, a shadow of disquiet lining her profile.
“Aye.” He gave her hand an affectionate pat. “I’d prefer ye to remain here until we find the shooter. I’d worry less about ye, and be less distracted, which will make it more difficult for the gunman to venture a second attempt on my life.”
Mrs. McGregor made a soft sound in her throat.
Agreement? Annoyance? Apprehension?
Broden was leaving.
Just like that.
As soon as he was able to rise from his sickbed.
Kendra should not be distressed, for pity’s sake. In fact, she ought to have expected he meant to leave as soon as he was able. Why she should care, she couldn’t say and assuredly wasn’t prepared to explore.
A fortnight ago, she’d have danced a jig and whooped for joy. Held the door and given his backside a firm, swift kick to speed him along his way.
The brightness of the winter day now diminished by a shroud of doubt, she followed Broden and his mother into the breakfast room. Only Liam was seated at the table, Mother and Emeline either deciding to take trays in their chambers or choosing to eat later.
Liam rose, a wide smile creasing his face at Broden’s presence.
The men clasped hands, letting the action say what they couldn’t in words. Why were men so afraid to show affection with each other?
“Ye’re lookin’ remarkably fit, I must say.” Liam resumed his seat and spread his serviette over his lap.
Ever the gentleman, Broden waited for his mother to choose her chair then pushed it in for her. Kendra took her usual place across the table, and for the first time since she’d been a star-struck adolescent, wondered if Broden would choose to sit beside her.
Not that she wished him to. She was simply curious. Something had shifted between them, but what, precisely? No longer did she consider him her nemesis—an irritating foe to be put in place—but neither was he a friend.
Friends didn’t exchange blistering kisses.
Simmons placed a cup of hot chocolate in front of her, and she sent him a grateful smile, inhaling deeply. Nothing like a cup of strong chocolate on a brisk January morning to start the day right. “Thank ye, Simmons. Just toast for me this mornin’, please.”
The majordomo dipped his regal head, swinging his focus to Mrs. McGregor. “And for ye, Madam?”
“Tea, if ye please, and I confess to bein’ quite famished.” She sent Broden a maternal look of approval and pride. “My appetite’s quite recovered now that I ken ye’re well.”
Well? Kendra gave a silent snort. He wasn’t well. Yes, he could stand upright and dress, but that did not make him well.
He was stubborn. Clot-headed. Obstinate. Determined to do what he wanted. Or what he believed needed doing. To forge his own course, just as she determined to define her route through life.
He could still reopen his wound, and infection yet presented a risk.
But Kendra also knew a man of Broden’s caliber could only bear so much idleness and recuperating. Wisdom decreed he’d wait longer before gallivanting to England.
He’d tell wisdom to bugger herself.
Since when had Broden McGregor heeded anything or anyone but himself? Just a few moments ago, she’d experienced rapture in his arms, carried away on a sea of bliss from his scorching kisses, and now she could easily poke him with her fork.
In a matter of a few short minutes. From bliss to vexation. Euphoria to exasperation.
Mrs. McGregor patted Broden’s forearm with her wrinkled hand as he slid deftly into the seat next to his mother.
Kendra staunchly denied the flip of her stomach was anything near disappointment. Naturally, he’d sit next to his mother out of respect for the gentle lady. Taking a seat beside Kendra would also raise Liam’s suspicions since he knew first-hand their aversion to one another.
Her aversion that most definitely appeared to be waning.
Waning?
Women didn’t tangle tongues with men they disliked.
“I’d like to speak to the innkeepers today,” Broden said as he acknowledged the steaming cup of coffee and plate piled high with food Simmons placed before him with a thankful dip of his strong chin. “Tomorrow, I’m off to Sommerley Parke House to meet the countess and my five wards—”
“Ye have wards?” Kendra exclaimed on an undignified and astonished squeak, jerking her head up to gape.
“Aye. Five lasses rangin’ from a month’s old infant to a nine-year-old. Their mother is the countess.” He wrinkled his forehead. “I dinna ken the wee lasses’ names. I imagine all of those details are in the stacks of documents atop my desk.”
During his recovery, they’d talked little
of his new title. While he’d been recuperating. Kendra didn’t feel it was her place to pry, and he’d been remarkably closed-mouth about the change in his circumstances.
However, she did have the distinct impression he wasn’t altogether keen on being the newest Earl of Montforth. Evidently, the title came with more than an honorific, lands, and wealth.
Five wards.
And a countess. Dinna forget the countess.
Just how old was this countess? Was she beautiful? Refined?
No doubt.
Finding that train of thought troubling, Kendra switched to another.
She’d never imagined Broden in the role of a father, let alone a guardian—to five small girls.
To her knowledge, he hadn’t been around children all that much. Heaven help his wards if one or two or all became enamored of him. God only knew what he might say or do to scar their little souls to discourage their infatuation.
Unfair, her conscience chided.
He’d been deep into his cups the night she’d eavesdropped on him. To hold something against him that had occurred years before, something he had no knowledge he’d done, wasn’t just. Nor was it mature or healthy.
Kendra had accepted those truths years ago. Had known she needed to let the childishness go. She was an adult. Far past time she put her injured pride to rest. But every time she intended to act upon that wisdom, he’d done something to incense her again.
Mrs. McGregor stirred her tea, the lace cap covering her gray-peppered hair, fluttering slightly at her movement.
Kendra couldn’t help but like the Scotswoman. Her devotion to her son was endearing, and she’d gone out of her way not to be an imposition during her stay. Nary a cross word had come from her mouth, which curved upward increasingly as her son’s health improved.
She and Mother had spent several hours together knitting in the rose salon while Broden napped in the afternoons, the times Mrs. McGregor had declined to take a rest herself. The orphans in the foundling home would all have new caps this winter thanks to the two ladies’ busy hands.
“I must say, I never expected the day would come that any son of mine would inherit the earldom.” Mrs. McGregor sliced a glance at Liam as she raised her teacup. Her attention slid to Kendra over the cup’s rim.
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