A Scot to the Heart (Desperately Seeking Duke #2) - Caroline Linden Page 0,30

a coquette; she knew it and somehow still couldn’t stop herself. Friends friends friends . . .

He laughed. “Then we want the same thing.”

“How fortunate,” she murmured, knowing what he meant.

Each other. They wanted each other. Saints above, how they wanted each other.

Good Lord. What had come over her? She closed her eyes for a moment, giving herself a brief mental scold. “Here is where we must part, Captain. Good day to you.”

He accepted the dismissal; with a lingering warm look, he bowed and turned away. Ilsa slowly let out her breath, covertly admiring his legs even more than Mr. Duncan’s.

After a few steps, the captain turned around. “I’ve been wondering about one thing for some time . . . What you said to me that night in the oyster cellar.”

Another flush of arousal went through her. That still felt like a moment in time too vivid to stare directly at, as if doing so would cause it to dim or fade, and she was just barely keeping to the safe side of the line she mustn’t cross with him as it was. Friends, she sternly told herself. “What any woman would say, in the midst of such a crush,” she replied lightly. “A polite thanks for your assistance.”

He came a little closer. “Then I seriously misheard. I thought you said . . .” His gaze dropped to her mouth.

For a moment she felt again his arms around her, his fingers in her hair, strong and commanding. She tasted his mouth on hers, hot and seductive. She felt again the wild spike of longing that it could mean something . . .

“What?” she said, hating that her voice had gone breathy. “What did you think I said?”

He was an arm’s length away; her feet were rooted to the ground. “Whaur hae ye been aw ma life?” he whispered in a deep Scots purr.

Her lips parted. Her knees almost buckled. Saints help her, she wanted to kiss him again. She wanted him to swing her into his arms and hold her close and laugh with her before he kissed her senseless.

“But if I heard wrong,” he went on, his voice even lower and rougher, “’tis right sorry I am.”

He gave a very proper bow and strode away, his drapes swinging with every long-legged stride. And Ilsa could only cling to Robert for balance, speechless and breathless with wanting.

Chapter Seven

He was on Duncan’s doorstep before his heart stopped pounding.

God above, he liked that woman. And she might just drive him mad, with her sly glances and subtle comments that sent his mind tumbling down wickedly erotic paths. That sparkle in her eyes when he said there was nothing wrong with naughty . . . the way her gaze turned hot and lustful when he said they wanted the same thing . . .

Each other. God above, she wanted him as much as he wanted her, and he hadn’t been wrong about her whispered words in the oyster cellar. His skin seemed to burn with wanting.

There was, however, a possible fly in the ointment, and he attacked it head-on, having no patience to wait.

Duncan was sprawled on the sofa reading. It must be a legal document, because he wore his spectacles, and Felix was too vain to wear them any other time.

“You didn’t tell me you knew her.”

Duncan flushed dull red. “Why should I? It’s not a crime to know someone.”

His defensive attitude took Drew aback. “You might have mentioned it.”

“There was nothing to tell,” muttered Duncan, his jaw set and his eyes fixed on the papers in his hand.

“Hmph. She specifically named you, idiot, and said I should invite you to visit Stormont Palace with us.”

“She did?” His friend’s face came alive with wild, sharp pleasure—before going carefully blank.

His hands clenched. “Good God, Duncan, if you had an amour with her, you ought to have told me when I asked about her the other day! Acting like you hardly knew her name and teasing me about catching her interest.”

Duncan’s expression froze. “Ilsa Ramsay!” he exclaimed. “Of course. Ha ha, St. James, have you been tormenting yourself imagining me making love to her?” He laughed, once more the careless scoundrel Drew knew.

“Who did you think I meant?”

Duncan pretended not to hear. “We’re going to Stormont Palace? Excellent. What, and where, is Stormont Palace?”

He raked one hand through his hair. “The ducal property near Perth I’m to inspect. Mrs. Ramsay suggested I make a party of it, invite my family and even you. Why