His hands settled on her thighs, and her fingers found his hair without direction. Her other hand pressed flat against the desk, and the corner of a paper cut into her palm. She kept it there anyway because sheneededsomething to anchor her.
Lord.
She felt it the way she felt a tide, reaching further each time, and by the time she understood how close she was, there was nothing to do but let it happen.
Pleasure crashed over her in a long, shuddering wave as Connor’s hands stroked her thighs. She gripped his hair and pressed her fist against her mouth, letting the wave fully take her until there was nothing left of it.
The fiddle outside reached its peak and came back down. After that, there was silence. One so thick that it made the entire study feel like hell itself.
Then Connor reached down and found the fallen pin. His hands were slower than usual as he helped restore what he had disturbed. He fastened her gown, smoothed the front of her bodice, and returned the blue cloth to her with a care that made her throat tighten. A loose strand of hair had fallen against her cheek, and he tucked it back without smiling.
“Hold still,” he murmured.
Violet gave a shaky laugh. “Now ye sound like Hannah.”
“Yer sister is a wise woman.”
Violet exhaled. “I am definitelynaetelling her that ye said that.”
“I wouldnae either. I am quite fond of living.”
The slight humor almost steadied her.Almost.
Connor’s hand lingered for a moment on her sleeve before he lowered it. His voice was rougher when he spoke again.
“We could have more than this if ye bent some of those rules.”
Violet’s body still felt sensitive. She still remembered everything a bit too clearly, and even worse, her heart wouldn’t stop pounding.
She stepped back from the desk, gripping the blue cloth in her hand. “I cannae.”
Connor studied her. “Cannae or willnae?”
Her throat tightened. Behind her ribs, the old fear rose, cold and familiar. She could not tell him about her life in sickrooms or about her sister’s worried face or even about how she had been so sick that her body made every future feel borrowed. She could not say that wanting him made children, loss, and love feel closer than she could bear.
“Daenae ask me that tonight,” she rasped.
“Why?”
“Because I have no answer that will satisfy either of us.”
His jaw tightened, and his hand lowered before it could reach for her.
“I am retiring for the night,” she added, turning to make for the door.
Connor stepped aside. He did not follow.
Violet opened the door, and the noise of the cèilidh spilled in, bright and loud and impossible.
Outside this room, she was a bride being celebrated. Inside it, she had already broken the rules she had set to protect herself.
She started down the passageway with her gown straight, her hair nearly restored, and her body still trembling from what her husband had given her.
Connor remained in the study.
16
Connor returned to the Great Hall alone.
