Page 56 of The Laird’s Sinful Claim

She turned, and found David standing in the kitchen doorway.

He looked... different. There was an intensity in his dark eyes that made her breath catch. He wasn't looking at the food or the preparations or even Susan.

He was looking at her.

And the way he was looking at her made heat flood her cheeks.

"What are you doing here?" The words came out more sharply than she'd intended, defensive in the face of that unsettling gaze.

David blinked, as though coming out of a trance. "I was... I came tae check on the preparations. Fer the Cèilidh."

"Oh." Elinor set down the honey cake, suddenly very aware of the smudge of flour on her sleeve and the way her hair had come loose from its pins. "Everything is going well. The menu is finalized, and Susan has everything under control."

"I can see that." His eyes tracked to the table laden with desserts, then back to her face. "Ye look... happy."

Did she? Elinor touched her cheek self-consciously, feeling the warmth there. "I suppose I am. I've never planned anything like this before."

"Ye're daein' a fine job of it." He took a step into the kitchen, and Elinor noticed Susan suddenly finding urgent business on the far side of the room. "The clan's already talkin' about the feast. They're excited."

"Are they?" The thought pleased her more than it should have. "I hope I haven't overpromised."

"From the looks of all this, I think ye've under promised if anythin'." He moved closer, stopping beside the worktable. Close enough that she could smell leather and pine and something distinctly him. "May I?"

He gestured to the honey cake she'd been about to taste.

"Of course." She pushed it toward him. "Though you might want to prepare yourself.”

David took a bite, and Elinor watched his expression shift—surprise, then pleasure, then something that might have been reverence.

"Christ," he muttered. "Susan, ye've outdone yerself."

"Just old recipes, me laird," Susan called from her corner, but Elinor could hear the pleasure in her voice.

"These are nae just old recipes. These are..." He took another bite. "Elinor, did ye choose all of these?"

"Most of them. Susan suggested several, but I tasted everything and made the final selections." She felt oddly nervous admitting it. "I hope that's all right. I know I'm new here, and perhaps I should have consulted with you or Malcolm first."

"It's more than all right." He set down the cake, and the look he gave her was so warm it made her forget how to breathe. "Ye're Lady of Keppoch. This is exactly what ye should be daein'."

"I just want the celebration to be perfect."

"It will be." His hand moved, as though he might reach for her, then stopped, remembering the rules. "Ye've got a good instinct fer this, lass. Better than I expected."

"What did you expect?"

"I didnae expect anythin'. I didnae ken ye well enough to have expectations." His mouth quirked slightly. "But ye've surprised me. In a good way."

The compliment warmed her more than it should have. "Thank you."

They stood there for a moment, the kitchen's heat suddenly feeling like it had nothing to do with the ovens. David's gaze dropped to her mouth, where she'd gotten cream from one of the pastries, and his jaw tightened.

"Ye have..." He gestured vaguely at his own face. "Cream. Just there."

Elinor's hand flew to her mouth, wiping at it frantically. "Gone?"

"Almost. Just a bit more tae the left."

She wiped again, but David shook his head.