wouldn’t be enough.
He wanted Olivia in every conceivable way. To show her pleasure beyond her wildest dreams. He wanted to strip her bare. To take her up against this stone wall. On his bed. On the hearthrug before the fire. In his library downstairs. In the great hall. On the ramparts. On the desolate moorland, among the spent heather. On the sand in the cove below Muircliff . . .
Olivia whimpered, and Hamish pulled away as a sliver of sanity at last penetrated the fog of his rising lust.
“I’m sorry,” he rasped in between panted breaths.
“Don’t be.” Olivia was smiling.
Was she mad too?
He attempted to gather the will to move away but failed. “I was too rough.” Remorse laced his voice.
“No you weren’t. I liked it. No . . . I loved it.” She stroked his cheek with gentle fingers. “I won’t break, Hamish.”
Hamish leaned his forehead against Olivia’s. “Aye.” She was strong and fearless, and he didn’t know whether to rejoice or despair at her confession. The promise of a heaven he could never have taunted him when he looked into the dark velvet softness of Olivia’s doe eyes. Caught her delicious scent. Felt the rise and fall of her breasts against his chest.
God, he sounded like a lovestruck boy, not a hardened, scarred-to-the-soul scoundrel of the first order.
Forcing himself to unwind Olivia’s hands from his neck, he stepped away at last. “I still have to wash and change. And I’m sure you’d like to do the same. You’d best make use of that warm water in the dressing room before it gets cold.”
“Yes . . . Hamish . . .” Olivia pushed a disheveled lock of her hair behind her ear, an endearingly nervous gesture, then offered a shy smile. “I’m afraid I’m not . . . I’m not accustomed to your kisses yet. I might need a few more.”
“Hmm. We’ll see,” he said, trying to ignore the discomfort of his erection as it strained in vain against the fall front of his buckskin breeches. “You might break me, Olivia.”
And with that, he quit the room, heading for Angus’s chamber.
Olivia might welcome his kisses, but her judgment was clouded. She didn’t know the shameful truth about him. If she ever found out how beastly, damaged, and dangerous he really was, she’d surely shun him. Reject his every touch.
And rightly so.
The problem was, he was too ashamed—nay, too cowardly—to reveal the worst of himself to her.
The best he could do was promise himself that he wouldn’t succumb to temptation and lose control again. They could never, ever share a bed.
One thing was certain: unlocking the jib door between their bedchambers now seemed like the worst idea Hamish had ever had. Because if Olivia entered his room during the night, anything could happen. And he’d only have himself to blame.
CHAPTER 14
My temper was sometimes violent, and my passions vehement.
Mary Shelley, Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus
Muircliff Castle, Isle of Skye
So how is Isobel?” Hamish called from his brother’s dressing room. “Now’s the time for plain speaking, Angus.” He selected a fresh cambric shirt from the few Hudson had set out for him and threw it over his head.
“She’s . . . when she’s not with Mother, she keeps to herself quite a lot,” said Angus, his voice floating in from the bedchamber. He was currently ensconced on a sofa before the fireside, his deerhound, Shadow, at his feet. “But you know what she’s like. So that’s nothing out of the ordinary.”
“But how are her spirits?” Hamish fastened his cuffs and then his collar. He’d dismissed Hudson, opting to dress himself. After such a long journey, his valet needed time to refresh too. “You mentioned she wasn’t eating.”
“Well, she’s less upset than she was initially . . .” said Angus. “When I first discovered what was going on between her and Brodie MacDonald—”
“And how did that happen, exactly?” Hamish fished out a linen cravat. “You didn’t really say in your letter.”
“I caught them kissing . . . in the library after my Latin and mathematics lessons with MacDonald had ended. And after I’d sent him packing, Isobel confessed all to me. About how they’d fallen in love and wanted to marry in Dunmuir Kirk. But because you would probably be against the match, they were also thinking about eloping and marrying over the anvil.”
They’re damn right about that. Anger flashed through Hamish, and he nearly choked himself as he tied the knot on his cravat with rough movements.
Good God. Brodie MacDonald