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Every drop of moisture dried from her mouth, and she had to look away or betray herself. To hide her trembling hands, she made a great show of picking up her sketchbook and choosing a pencil.

But art couldn’t distract her from this dilemma.

She’d sworn she’d be no man’s mistress. Yet with every breath she took, she wanted Fergus Mackinnon more.

The mullioned windows behind her opened on hills shrouded in purple twilight. A gentle breeze brushed over the bare skin of her arms and shoulders like a lover’s touch.

Would she soon know a real lover?

* * *

Fergus watched Marina struggle against the impulse to stare at him. He fought the same battle. He knew if he gave in, he’d look too much like a starving dog slavering over a steak.

An hour ago, Kirsty had come in to light the candles. He’d loved watching the soft light of the gloaming on Marina’s face. Candlelight was just as fascinating. He was bristlingly aware of her every movement, although for discretion’s sake, he’d chosen a chair on the opposite side of the bed from where she sat under the window.

> Ugolino seemed oblivious to the charged atmosphere, but the canny daughter had a canny father. Fergus wouldn’t be at all surprised if Marina’s father was awake to the unspoken tension in the room.

He was damned glad he’d braved the icy water to get her luggage. The sight of her in the pink silk gown cut low across that enticing bosom made every second in the raging burn worthwhile. A cream lace shawl draped around her bare arms, and she’d twisted that heavy weight of hair into an elaborate arrangement. The style emphasized the noble lines of her jaw and her long neck. She might belong to the middle ranks of society, but right now, concentrating on her drawing, she looked like a queen.

As deft fingers guided the pencil, light flickered gold on her shining black hair and found fascinating hollows under a cheekbone and in the dip of her collarbone. He itched to free her hair, so it fell like a cape around her naked shoulders. His hands would smooth that silky mass, slide through to explore the thrust of a pale breast…

Her eyelashes fluttered up, as if she guessed his thoughts. Hell, she probably did. Large black eyes met his for a breathtaking second, and he could swear he saw a longing to match his own.

Before he could be sure, she snapped her sketchbook shut. “Papa, I’m going to bed. If the weather holds, I’ve got another day of work in the hills tomorrow.”

Fergus stood and crossed to the window to look out on the stars, bright as fire. The starlit skies above Achnasheen put him in mind of Marina’s eyes. That same air of eternal mystery.

“Aye, I think we’re in for a spell of sunshine,” he said, although he’d known that before he shifted. He didn’t have to check the sky to predict the weather in this glen.

But keeping his distance over these last hours had been torture. Now he dared a surreptitious caress down Marina’s neck as he turned back into the room. Craving blasted him, and he was close enough to hear a shaken gasp as she exhaled. She didn’t look at him, but her hand clenched on the sketchbook.

“Were you happy with your work today?” her father asked.

“I think it has…potential,” she said, and Fergus bit back a groan as the corner of her lush mouth curled. “I can’t be sure yet.”

Teasing wench. Fergus liked her father, but right now he wished that good gentleman to Hades. Then he could seize the lassie in his arms and kiss all the nonsense out of her. At the thought, his hands closed into fists.

“That’s good,” Ugolino said.

“Isn’t it?” she said, and Fergus caught the hint of irony in her answer.

“We’ll leave you to rest, then, signore,” Fergus said.

“Buona notte, Fergus. It’s been a delightful evening.”

It had. And it had also been the vilest torment.

Marina gathered her shawl about her and rose to kiss her father’s cheek. “Buona notte, Papa. We’re making another early start, but I’ll see you tomorrow night. Kirsty said the Reverend Angus is coming to play chess with you, so you’ll have some company.”

“Si, and I’m sure Maggie will be on hand to nag at me.”

“There’s nothing she likes better than a new patient,” Fergus said.

Surely it wouldn’t be too outrageous to take Marina’s arm, as she turned to leave the room. Yet the result was anything but innocent when he curved his fingers around her warm flesh.

How he loved to touch her. With even this constrained contact, he felt the energy pulsing inside her. How she’d blaze when she gave herself to him.

He closed her father’s door behind them and walked the few steps down the corridor toward her room. He lasted about three seconds, before he let go of her arm and pushed her back against the heavy oak door.


Tags: Anna Campbell The Lairds Most Likely Historical