Highland Heiress - By Margaret Moore Page 0,65
just as he had been firm in his decision to go when they spoke at dinner, and afterward, when they’d sat on opposite sides of the hearth, careful not to get too close, lest the butler or maid come to the door.
She, too, was still resolved to go to Glasgow to raise money for her school, so much so, anybody overhearing would have thought they were having a calm, rational discussion of their future plans, and that they would likely never see each other again.
In reality, it hadn’t been like that at all. Underneath their serene, deliberate words had been that smoldering desire waiting for release, that same deep affection and respect.
That feeling that had to be love.
There was light coming from beneath the door of the blue bedroom, telling her Gordon was still awake. Because a young unmarried woman shouldn’t be alone with an unmarried man at this time of night, she didn’t knock before she opened his door and slipped inside.
Gordon stood by the hearth, one hand on the mantel as he stared into the flames. He hadn’t disrobed; he wore the same clothes he’d had on before—dark trousers, white shirt and riding boots. He had taken off his cravat and loosened his collar, but that was all.
The only light came from that low fire. Everything else, including the bed, was in shadow, so that it looked as if he were marooned there, and waiting to be rescued.
“Gordon,” she whispered, venturing farther inside.
“Moira!” he cried softly, straightening, his brow furrowing as he ran his gaze over her, making her warm despite the thinness of the fabric, and her nipples harden as if he had touched them. “What are you doing here? You should go. If anybody finds you here—”
“I realize this isn’t proper,” she said, “but I couldn’t let you go without seeing you once more, in private.”
Where they wouldn’t be interrupted. Where they could be alone, together.
As she came closer, his body grew more tense, his gaze more searching, as if he couldn’t quite understand.
“Tomorrow, you go to Edinburgh and I’ll be going to Glasgow in a few days,” she began, “and I didn’t want to leave without saying…without telling you…”
Now that the time had come to say the words, her confidence seemed to have disappeared along with his cravat.
His expression softened. “What is it, Moira?” he asked, still keeping his distance, as if he were afraid of what might happen if they got too close, as she ought to be, but wasn’t. “What did you want to tell me?”
“I love you,” she whispered, the words so simple, yet so potent. Words she had never said to Robbie.
His eyes shone in the firelight and his lips curved into a smile. Finally, he moved away from the mantel toward her.
“Moira, my darling, I love you, too,” he said as he met her in the middle of the room and took her hands in his. “I care about you more than any other woman I’ve ever met. I love you more than I ever guessed it was possible to love anyone. I hardly dared to hope you could ever love me, yet my feelings were so strong…right from the moment I met you.”
“Mine, too. From the moment I saw you running down the hill to help me, like Galahad.”
“Hardly a Galahad. I stumbled.”
“Yet you recovered so gracefully,” she murmured as she lifted her face for his kiss.
No wonder they’d kept their distance here, and in the dining room, because the instant their lips met, their passionate desire exploded. His mouth took hers, hard and strong. She returned his passion, measure for measure.
This heated kiss, this intense embrace, was as different from the others as a grown man was from a boy.
As she was no girl, but a woman, and a woman willing and wanting, eager and excited, thrilled by the power of his need that equalled her own.
“Marry me, Moira,” he said as his lips left hers to trail across her cheek and down the line of her jaw, while his hands continued to caress and stroke her. “Please, marry me. Nothing would make me happier than to spend the rest of my life with you. Moira, please say yes.”
She wanted to—oh, how she wanted to! Yet once before she had agreed to marry, and that had been disastrous.
Gordon drew back, his gaze searching her face as she tried to think, to separate the yearning from practicalities, the reality from the beautiful dream. “My school,” she said quietly, still