“Aye, names to set a mere lassie atremble,” he said, and even across the distance, she felt the warmth in his flashing smile. She clutched the doorknob to stop herself running after him and begging for a kiss.
For a long moment, he stared back. She had the uncanny feeling that he guessed how she wavered between prudence and recklessness. Then he turned away.
Once Lyle was out of sight, Bill trotted back to her. “You’re an easy mark, my fine fellow. At least one of us has some backbone.”
The terrier’s expression indicated skepticism. Maybe he wasn’t quite as brainless as she thought.
* * *
Charlotte awoke to darkness. She had no idea of the time, but the fire had burned down to a dull glow. Wind rattled the windows. Perhaps that had disturbed her, but she didn’t think so. When she rolled over, she made out Bill’s white shape in front of the closed door. Even through the gloom, she noted his watchfulness.
A faint light shone beneath the door.
Heart thumping with apprehension, and forbidden excitement, she pushed up against the pillows. It could only be Lyle, standing outside her room in the deepest
hours of the night.
Should she speak? Demand he go away?
Or would knowing she was awake encourage him to come in?
What might he do to her in the middle of a stormy night? What might she let him do?
Anticipation tightened every muscle.
How long did she sit there, holding her breath until she was lightheaded, tense as a deer sensing the hunter?
Eventually Bill gave a soft whine and settled again. The light under the door retreated. Charlotte was safe.
She lay down and drew the covers up about her chin. It seemed no fierce Scottish earl would ravish her tonight.
And her strongest reaction was aching disappointment.
Chapter Seven
* * *
Lyle lay awake, listening to the rain slap against the window. His hands curled into the sheet below him. The storm inside him vied with the one outside. The knowledge that the woman he wanted was within reach fueled a pounding demand in his blood.
What a blasted inconvenience a conscience was. All night, sin had whispered its alluring message into his ear. Had even convinced him that if he went to her room, the comely Miss Warren wouldn’t send him away. Because his deepest instincts insisted that he could make her want him, that she’d surrender her innocence in a conflagration of passion beyond anything he’d ever known.
For hours, desire had warred with honor, and almost won. He’d stood outside her room, breathing heavily, as if he’d run up a mountain.
Honor had hauled him back from the precipice.
Honor couldn’t vanquish hunger. Retreating from that closed door had been agony.
But if he used his experience—and her own barely awakened needs— against her, he didn’t play fair. The devil inside him sneered at the schoolboy statement, but he couldn’t do Charlotte Warren wrong.
What a day it had been. Just like this, destiny seized a man. He smiled out into the night. His particular destiny was breathtakingly pretty. And opinionated. And innocent. And demonstrated an intriguing talent for kissing.
Content despite his frustration, he rolled over. Tomorrow he’d pursue this unorthodox courtship, and kiss Miss Warren, and perhaps convince her to favor his suit. Challenges all.
As he closed his eyes, his hand slid under the pillow to touch the small leather case he’d kept with him since receiving it in London.
* * *
The next morning, Lyle wandered downstairs, lost in fantasies of what he’d do to Charlotte when she finally accepted him. As he was sure she must.