Page 80 of The Laird's Masked Passion

A breath touched her ear. “Dinnae make a sound.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Elspeth went rigid against him. Colin felt the scream die beneath his palm.

For several seconds, he had not moved. He ought to have done. A better man would have spared her at once. A more indifferent man would have turned away and left her ignorance to burn itself out. Colin, unfortunately, was neither better nor indifferent where she was concerned.

He watched her face, not the couple in the room. Them he scarcely noted beyond the fact of their impropriety. But Elspeth… Elspeth stood in the thin spill of lamplight, with her lips parted, her throat working, and her whole proud, troublesome body held in a stillness that was not fear alone. Her eyes were wide, scandalized, and bright with something she did not yet know how to name.

With his hand over her mouth, he bent nearer until his breath touched the shell of her ear. “It is me.”

Her struggle faltered.

He loosened his grip only by a fraction. “Nod if ye understand.”

After one furious heartbeat, she nodded.

“Good lass.”

That had been a mistake. He knew it the moment the words left him, for she made a small sound beneath his palm and the tremor of it passed through his hand into his blood.

Colin turned her swiftly, keeping her close against him, and guided her down the corridor. She went because she had no wish to alert the two lovebirds in the linen room, but every stiff line of her promised retribution. He opened the door to his study, drew her inside, and shut it behind them with care.

The room was dark except for the faint glow of banked embers in the hearth and the moonlight lying pale upon the desk. Here, at least, no servant would wander in without knocking, and no gossiping maid would see the laird’s wife standing barefoot, flushed, and trembling outside a door that ought never to have caught her interest.

Colin released her. Elspeth spun on him at once, all wild hair, wounded dignity, and dangerous color.

“How dare ye seize me in a corridor like some common brigand?”

His gaze dropped, not deliberately enough to be rude, but not politely enough to be innocent. Her wrap had loosened. One shoulder of her shift had slipped, baring the pale line of her collarbone. Her breath came too quickly.

“I could ask,” he said, “what ye were daeing in that corridor.”

“I was walking.”

“And looking through keyholes.”

Her chin rose. “It wasnae a keyhole.”

“Nay. Ye are right.” He took one slow step toward her. “It was the crack of a door. Much more respectable.”

Even in the low light, he saw the rush of color up her throat.

“I heard voices,” she retorted.

“Aye?”

“And laughter.”

“Terribly suspicious things, voices and laughter.”

“I thought someone might require assistance.”

“In a linen room?”

Her eyes flashed. “Perhaps they were trapped.”

“I imagine they were.”