"Oh?"
She glanced up, hearing danger in his tone, but wasn't quick enough to stop him from stroking, not the nape of her neck, so temptingly exposed, but the coppery curls that caressed her sensitive skin. Unobserved by the company, Richard caressed them.
And she shivered, quivered.
Then hauled in a breath and thrust her empty cup at him. "I find the company entirely too fatiguing-and the journey here was boring in the extreme." Her words were couched in sheet ice, her tone a chill wind blowing straight from the Arctic. "If you'll excuse me, I believe I shall retire."
"Now, that," Richard said, taking the cup, "I didn't expect."
She paused in the act of stepping away and shot him a suspicious glance. "What didn't you expect?"
"I didn't expect you to run away." He looked down at her as she studied him, and wondered how she did it. No hint of volcanic heat remained, not even a tiny glow of feminine warmth; she was encased in polar ice, colder than any iceberg. And the air had literally turned chill-the lady of the vale could give the ice-maidens of London lessons. He let the ends of his lips curve. "I'm only teasing you."
It came to him then-no other man had-no other man had ever dared.
She frowned, measuring him and his words. Eventually, she exhaled. "I won't go if you keep your hands to yourself and don't mention our previous encounter. As I told you, that was a complete and utter mistake."
Catriona imbued the last words with conviction, but, as before, it had little effect. He seemed immune, as if he could deflect her suggestive powers easily-an observation that did little to settle her skittish nerves.
When she'd walked into the drawing room and seen him there, his blue gaze direct, as if he'd been waiting for her, she had, for the first time in her life, literally felt faint
. Dumbfounded. And… something else. Something more akin to searing excitement, something that had made her nervous, aware, set alive in a way she'd never been before.
For the first time in a long while, she wasn't sure she could control her world, her situation. She was not at all sure she could control him.
Which, first and last, was the crux of her problem.
She watched as he set their empty cups on a side table, and wished he'd been forced to keep them in his hands. Hands she'd already spent some time studying; long-fingered, elegantly made, they were the hands of an artist, not a warrior. At least, not a simple warrior. Standing beside him, she was all too aware that her bedevilled senses had reported accurately on the man who had stolen a kiss-several kisses-from her. He was large and strong-not the strength of sheer brawn, but a more supple, skillful strength, infinitely more dangerous. There was intelligence in his eyes, and something else besides-the embers of that hot, prowling hunger glowed behind the blue.
He straightened. And nodded to the rest of the company. "Is this all Seamus's family?"
"Yes." She scanned the room's occupants. "They all live here."
"All the time, I understand."
"They have little choice. Seamus was a miser in many ways." She glanced about the room. "You must have noticed the ambience-hopefully, once Jamie and Mary and the others finally realize it's theirs now, and they no longer need Seamus's approval for every penny spent, they'll make it more livable."
"More like a home? Amen to that."
Surprised by his acuity, Catriona glanced up; his polite mask told her nothing.
He trapped her gaze. "You clearly didn't like Seamus. If you won't consider moving here to live, why have you come?"
"I'm here to pay my final respects." She considered, then added, more truthfully: "He was a hard man, but he did as he deemed right. He might have been an adversary, but I did respect him."
"Magnanimous in victory?"
"There was no battle."
"That's not how the locals tell it."
She humphed. "He was misguided-I set him right."
"Misguided because he wanted you to wed?"
"Precisely."
"What have you got against the male of the species?"