Page 26 of To Defy a Highland Duke

An almost boyish smile quirking his strong mouth, he canted his head. “Aye. I’ve been accused of bein’ fickle and havin’ nae real appreciation for the great artists.” Lifting a shoulder, he rubbed his jaw, a slight hint of black whiskers there.

What would it be like to feel that stubble against her skin?

Good God. Where had that come from?

She studied him from the corner of her eye.

Who was the real Duke of Roxdale?

This thoughtful, musing man didn’t at all fit with her first impression. Nor the second.

“I dinna care what anyone else thinks.” He trailed his gaze slowly over the pieces, pride and appreciation lighting his countenance. “I think they are superb.” His hazel eyes ringed with forest green met hers, a hint of something tender and alluring within their penetrating depths.

“Beauty is bought by the judgment of the eye,” she said softly. “That’s—”

“Shakespeare. I ken.”

Arms folded and an eyebrow arched, Marjorie looked him up and down.

“You are an enigma, Your Grace. You claim not to dance, but you do so. And with commendable form, I might add. You rescued those huge cats when they would’ve died and, from what I’ve observed, you’ve been an exemplary guardian to your wards. You collect exquisite artwork because you like the paintings.” She arced a hand in the air to indicate the different sized frames. “And you know Shakespeare as well.”

He’d also sent Lorne Buchannan packing for making indecent overtures toward her.

A shadow darkened Kean’s features, sharpening the hewn planes. “All are mere trappin’s and of nae import. None reveal a man’s character, and that’s what counts. Is it no’? Make nae mistake, Marjorie, the Buchannans are a sorry, despicable lot. Lest ye forget, I’m the product of rape.”

Sobering, and not a little chagrined by her playful banter which he’d not responded to, she slowly shook her head as she considered what he’d said.

“No,” she denied carefully. “I’m afraid I disagree. They’re a part of what makes you—well, you. A person’s likes, dislikes, talents, abilities, as well as their faults and flaws. Their life experiences—good or bad. Everything. ’Tis the whole person that captivates rather than one or two attributes, isn’t it?”

Keane had drawn closer as she spoke and now put one finger beneath her chin, tilting it upward. “Aye, but some attributes fascinate more than others.”

His unfathomable gaze locked on her mouth, and God help her, how she wanted to feel his molded lips upon hers.

And then, in a heartbeat, they were.

Hard and warm, tasting of mint and whisky and raspberries. As Keane had last night, he smelled of spice and soap, but now a faint aroma of leather and horse clung to him as well.

His stubble lightly rasped her face, and she relished the sensation. Everything about this rugged man oozed primal virility. For the first time since Sion, she longed to join with a man.

Nae, not any man. With Keane. Only Keane.

Marjorie clutched his lapels and his solid arms came around her, holding her in a tender yet unbreakable bond as his mouth ravaged hers. And she welcomed each lashing slant of his tongue, each flaming parry and thrust.

She didn’t care that anyone could come upon them. Didn’t care that this was utter madness. Her head swam with sensation and his essence and her need. Such an overwhelming need. For him. Only him.

How had that come to be?

“Och, leannan,” he murmured against her mouth as the fingertips of one hand glided across her collarbone and the other grazed her spine. Her buttocks and then—oh, God yes—her aching, budded breast.

She arched into his hand, hungry and eager for his touch. A half-gasp, half-moan escaped her as dizzying waves of desire washed over her again and again and again.

“I want ye, Marjorie.” He nipped her neck, and she struggled to make sense of his passion-thickened burr teasing her ears. “I’ve wanted ye since I saw ye at the cèilidh.”

He had?

“Ye smell heavenly,” he rasped, his voice thick with restrained passion. “Roses and lemon.” Nuzzling her throat, he breathed deeply. “And woman.”

He gently squeezed one turgid nipple through her gown, and her knees almost gave way.