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She brushed her fingertips over her still-stinging lips. Caelan’s kiss felt seared onto her. The touch his lips was a branding scorch over hers, rather like the brand of owner’s mark on a prized bull. It was hours after but still, his touch, his kiss, his eyes, his warmth, they all lingered on her.
Mayhap he does have a claim on me.
“Devious man,” she muttered. Just thinking of him made an anxiety tighten her stomach. It was nearly one o’clock in the morning at Earl of Westhall’s sprawling home and she had just danced with Islington.
“Whatever my last trespass was, I do beg your highness your pardon.” Islington said into her ear. “I am just a humble peon basking in the light of your magnificence.”
“Magnificence?” she asked.
Islington took her shoulder and softly turned her to a wall of pure glass. A creation like that had to have cost a pirate’s bounty or someone’s soul. Full sheets of glass were rare enough but to have five made into a soft crescent circle was unimaginable.
While she marveled at her reflection, Adelaine did not fully recognize the bright-eyed woman in the mirror. Her dress, a masterpiece of silk, embellished with gold trim, made her into someone royal. Her hair, held back by a silk headdress, was cascading down her back. Martha had even added pigments to her cheeks and eyes, making her eyes seem that much wider and innocent-looking.
Innocent, I am not.
“If what I see is not magnificence, I don’t know what is,” Islington said.
Turning, Adelaine saw the lord’s lovely-yet-deceptive blue eyes and wished they were green. What was she doing here with him again? Why was she not at home?
I left to give Caelan time to run. My absence would clear me of suspicion. There are only three who can be suspected; Leicester, Tybalt and me. As I’m not there the fault will easily fall on the other two.
He took her hand and placed them in a dancing position and again, she wanted to replace his smooth touch with a rougher one. His hand discreetly slipped to the small of her back and he rested his lips on her ear. “You are so lovely.”
Yer beautiful…
The gasp that left her lips was not for him but she knew he would take it as such. “Would you do me the honor of dancing with me again? We had agreed to two dances.”
“We have,” she nodded as he led her out from the refreshment alcove and onto the dance floor. The room was decorated with springs of holly, ivy and mistletoe, and the smell of yule logs was in the air, which gave the manor a post-Christmas feel. She blushed slightly and placed her hand on his arm.
The position of the other dancers and the strains of the music signified the pavane. Adelaine turned to her side and extended her arm for him to grasp. When the music began, her breathing quickened.
This is not right… I should not be doing this.
Her emotions felt scattered. She knew she should be enjoying herself but happiness was far from her now. All she could feel was a worry for Caelan. How could she enjoy herself when the man she loved was in the middle of a dark, snowy night, all alone and unarmed?
She felt Islington pull her closer to her but she stood her ground. “Why are you so tense? It’s only a dance, My Lady.”
Shaking herself back into the present, Adelaine tried to banish her worry and let out a deep breath.
“Of course,” she apologized, “sorry.”
She finally relaxed so the dance was not as wooden as before. Her feet moved in time with his. They moved forward and stepped to the side, then turned and went backward. Thrice they performed the dance and at the end, she looked
up at him, and in his gaze, she saw a multitude of emotion.
Islington smiled and wrapped her arm around his. He took her onto a balcony and took both of her hands. Now, her heart was pounding. What was happening here?
He kissed the back of her hand. “Lady Adelaine, it has been a small amount of time, but you have enchanted me. Never in my life have I encountered a woman as gracious, lovely, smart and unpretentious as you are…”
Her heart was pounding. “I don’t know if I have found as much passion in your eyes toward me, but I would give my all if you would be my wife.”
She tried to step back, but the railing was already against her back. She tugged her trembling hands out of his. “This…”
He came near her, high expectations in his eyes. “Yes?”
“This is…” she faltered, “this is wrong. I cannot marry you.” With her skirts in hand, she ran past him, tears in her eyes. She did not stop to see Islington’s flummoxed gaze as she took the stairs up to the main hall and darted outside.
There was no air in her lungs and she felt like screaming. Any woman would have killed to have a man like Islington—or even Islington himself—ask them to marry him. But she did not want that life. She did not need his English suaveness; she wanted Scottish ruggedness. She did not need smooth words but real emotions, nor did she want the colorless life Islington could offer, but the vivid one she could see herself having in Scotland.
