Page 61 of When the Laird Conquers

His words stung, deeper than she cared to admit. A wound that would not be quickly forgotten.

She shoved him in the chest. “If it is all so fake and such a problem for you, then kindly get off me,” she seethed. “Lizzy probably needs me, and I have my day to get on with.”

To her shame, it was the first time she had thought about her niece.

Gordon pulled back and sat there on his haunches, staring at her with the most curious, confusing look on his face.

She wriggled out from beneath him, grateful that he had helped her back into her nightdress the previous night. She couldn’t imagine how much more awkward and uncomfortable this would be if she were naked, how much more humiliated she would feel.

Getting off the bed and padding to the nursery, Agnes assumed that was the end of their conversation.

But just as she was about to cross the threshold, he called out in a gravelly voice, “We shouldnae get confused like that again.”

“Oh no,” she agreed, not bothering to glance back, “that will certainly not happen again.”

With that, she stepped into the nursery and closed the door behind her. By the time she returned to her room to get changed for the day, she hoped that Gordon would not be there anymore. Indeed, she hoped that she would not have to cross paths with him again for a very long time… which was a shame when she had just started to feel like she might belong.

What else could I have said, eh? I needed to stop it before it became…

He glared at the ledger before him, uncertain of how to finish the thought. Before it became what? Something more? A real problem? A greater mistake than he had already made by losing control? A miserable future for Agnes and her niece?

Any hope he’d had of his work distracting him evaporated as he sat back in his chair and turned his glowering gaze toward the far wall.

He could still feel the pressure where she had shoved him in the chest, could still hear the venom with which she had told him to get off her, the threat in her voice when she had said that what happened last night would not happen again. All of it interspersed with the majesty, the bliss, the temptation of what had happened last night.

All he had to do was close his eyes, and he was kissing her again, feeling the outline of her shapely curves, running his hands over soft, smooth skin, exploring her, tasting her, listening to the catch of her breath before she cried out his name in delirious abandon.

His traitorous loins didn’t know the difference between memory and reality, stirring as he thought of her… and thought of what he would never have again.

Ye’re a soldier, ye bampot. Ye should have done more to discipline yerself.

It was all his fault, after all. He was the one who had demanded that she remove her nightdress. He was the one who had been so certain that he would just look and not touch, and now he was in this situation, cursing himself and his idiocy.

Of course, he would not have been able to resist her. He had practically set his own trap and walked right into it.

A knock at the door jolted him out of his clashing thoughts.

“Me Laird?” Iona said when she was already halfway inside the study.

He narrowed his eyes at her. Everyone seemed to have forgotten their manners.

“What?” he asked sternly.

She slightly raised the tray in her hands. “I thought ye might want some breakfast, me Laird. There’s some excellent jam today. Blackberry. Sweetest I’ve had in years.”

“Nay, thank ye,” he muttered, and pretended to look over something in the ledger.

But the housekeeper didn’t leave. Instead, she set the breakfast tray on the desk and lingered there like a maiden with a secret. He didn’t look at her, but he could feel her eyes on him, assessing him, waiting for a moment to say whatever was clearly on her mind.

With a sigh, Gordon lifted his head. “Was there somethin’ else? A fine batch of gooseberry preserves, maybe?”

Iona chuckled, but it echoed hollow. “Nay, nay, there was nothin’ else.”

“Then why are ye still standin’ there?”

She hesitated. “Well, now that ye mention it, I suppose I was… um… curious to ken what actually happened in Braemar yesterday. I thought the two of ye—three of ye—would return in high spirits. I thought it would be good for the lass to get away from the castle and meet some more of our people.” Her throat bobbed. “So, ye can imagine me distress when ye returned as ye did. And Miss Agnes wasnae keen to speak to me about it either when I popped in just now to bring her somethin’ to eat.”

“What do ye mean?” Gordon asked before he could stop himself.