Page 28 of Somewhere Along The Way (Mackinnon #3)

He expected her to be coy, to call him a bounder for pressing his attentions on one as innocent as she, or at the least he expected her to box his ears in a violent display of her anger.

But she did none of these things. She simply stared at him.

It was a look that surprised him, primarily because it wasn’t one he had ever encountered before, at least not after kissing a woman.

The only way he could describe her face was free .

There was no anger, no embarrassment, no condemnation, no coyness.

She stood there looking at him, as tiny and perfect as a sweetheart rose.

He lowered his head to kiss her again, but she pushed him away, this time stepping back to put some distance between them.

“You’re awfully prim and unyielding. You were much warmer and more gracious inside when I danced with you.”

“I never danced with you.”

“Ahhh, but you did, sweetheart. Every time you danced with Huntly, my eyes never left you. It wasn’t him spinning you around that room, it was me. Don’t deny it. You felt it as much as I did. And I repeat, you were much warmer .”

“There were other people inside. Here we’re…”

“Alone,” he supplied. “Does it make you nervous to be alone with a man, or just one you aren’t acquainted with?”

He watched the play of emotion across her face and wondered which one was the real Annabella—the enchanting, angry, yet beguiling one who whacked him over the head, the poised, articulate one he was presented to inside, or the nervous, uncertain one he was now conversing with.

Not that it mattered. He was bewitched by them all.

“I’m not sure,” she said.

“What would it take to make you sure?” he asked, lifting one hand and sliding his fingers through her hair, cupping the back of her head and drawing her closer.

He lowered his face to meet hers. “If there’s anything I hate to see, it’s a woman who has difficulty making up her mind, or a man who won’t help her try. ” He brushed his lips across hers.

“I don’t need any help,” she said, trying unsuccessfully to pull away. “I can make up my own mind.”

“I’ve seen little proof of that,” he said with a soft chuckle.

“Y-you,” she stammered. “ You make me nervous.”

Smiling, he touched his lips to hers a second time. “I think that’s just about the most encouraging thing you could have said to me, Lady Annabella.”

“I’m not trying to encourage you,” she said. “What I’m trying to do is discourage you.”

“You’re not doing a very good job,” he said, tightening his fingers against her head and forcing it up to hold her where he wanted her.

His other hand slipped around her waist as she tried to twist herself and pull away.

She made a strangled sound that he didn’t consider to be much of a protest when he kissed her again, his mouth moving urgently against hers.

When he finally dragged his mouth from hers, Ross continued to hold her in place.

Warnings were going off in her head, but all she managed to do was give a ragged sigh and say, “You take unfair advantage.”

“Annabella,” he said in a husky whisper, “I will take whatever steps necessary, for I intend to have you. You know that, don’t you?”

“Have…” she said weakly, then a little stronger, “ have me?”

Strangely, it was that one surprised remark, coupled with the confused look on her face, that made him realize he was moving a bit too fast for her.

She was gently reared. He would have to learn to be gentle as well.

He looked at her face. For her, he could do that. For her, he would learn to be gentle.

Moonlight worshiped her face. He decided then and there that he had never seen skin like hers, a perfect harmony of the palest ivory and merriest rose, luminous with life.

Her eyes were as soft and green as a meadow’s bounty, her mouth—he’d never seen lips on a woman that were almost childlike, yet so damnably kissable he was hard-pressed not to do just that.

She was looking at him now with eyes that were sensual and innocent and wary all at the same time. Take me, don’t take me; come here, go away, they seemed to say. Then he looked at her mouth. Kiss me and never stop was what it said, and he wanted to. But something stopped him.

Immediately he had a flash of the free way he and his brothers had always interacted with the girls back home. It was hard to believe this girl, no matter how young she was, had never been alone with a man.

Annabella had never thought herself backward or shy, but she felt both as she stood there looking back at him. She glanced toward Dunford. “I really must get back. I’ve stayed far too long.”

“Oh, no, you don’t,” he said, taking her arm.

“We aren’t through talking.” Sensing her discomfort, though he did not understand it, he wanted to put her at ease.

“Why don’t you take off your slippers and stockings and we’ll walk along the water’s edge?

I would think the water would feel good on your feet after all that dancing. ”

That brought her up short. “T-take off my shoes? You mean go barefoot?” He nodded.

“Barefoot,” squeaked Annabella. “Out here?” Her voice held such a tone of awe that he laughed and looked at her.

“That’s exactly what I mean. Haven’t you ever gone barefoot?”

“Only in my bath…or when I’m sleeping.”

Ross laughed, enjoying her sense of humor.

Only when he looked at her, he saw immediately she hadn’t been joking.

His mind went back once more to the Mackinnon place on the edge of Tehuacana Creek, remembering how he and his brothers spent almost the entire summer in their bare feet.

And across the creek the neighbor girls had shed their shoes a great deal of the time—perhaps not as much as Ross and his brothers, but often enough that he assumed it was commonplace.

He could almost see Katherine Simon running across the softly plowed earth, her shoes tied together and thrown over her shoulder, her skirts hiked up and her bloomers showing as she raced his brothers, Alex and Adrian.

Curious now, Ross went on. “Well, wouldn’t you like to try?”

She hesitated a moment, but decided she couldn’t trust a man like this. She had to get back before her father and the earl came looking for her. Not even her mother or Gavin could hold them off if they caught her out here like this.

“Come on,” he said with slow, drawling patience.

“What’s a little mud on your feet? You can tuck your skirts up so they won’t get dirty.

” He smiled and held out his hand. “Although I think you would look rather cute with a smudge or two.” He considered her for a moment.

“Have you ever gotten dirty , Lady Annabella? Real dirty?” He reached for her hand and she drew back.

“Dirty? No…well, perhaps a little when I’m gardening.”

“Then you should try it, Lady Annabella. There’s nothing like it. I’ll take my shoes off and walk with you.”

She had a fine picture of that. She had an even finer picture of her father coming out here catching the two of them stomping around in their bare feet.

Propriety swelled like indignation within her.

“I don’t know about a backward place like Texas, but in England a gentlewoman does not go walking in the water or anywhere else with a man alone, nor does she remove her shoes in a public place. ”

“Says who? And anyway we aren’t in Texas or England. We’re in Scotland, and as far as I can tell, there aren’t any rules against a lassie taking off her shoes. You can’t imagine what it feels like to feel the earth beneath your feet and cool mud squishing between your toes.”

For a moment she looked as though she might toss back her lovely head and laugh heartily, but she seemed to think better of it.

Holding her arm, Ross led her back to the rowboat.

He took a seat and pulled her down to sit beside him.

“I wonder,” he said, looking at the face that was all passive innocence, “what else have you missed out on?”

“I haven’t missed anything. I have been very well educated…for a lady, you might say.”

“You have?”

“Yes, I have. I draw and I paint, and I’ll have you know I’ve been thoroughly drilled in the deportment that becomes a gentlewoman.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ve been thoroughly drilled. It’s obvious with every rigid little step you take. Don’t you ever loosen up?” As an effort to make her laugh, he said, “Why, I bet you walked around in your schoolroom with books on your head.”

But the laugh faded when she said in such a serious way, “Indeed I did, and spent many an hour with a board strapped to my back as well, and even more hours sitting in a backless chair to work on my posture—which Miss Aimsley said was dreadful, simply dreadful.”

He turned to look at her. “You aren’t joking, are you?”

She frowned. “Joking? Indeed I’m not. Why would I be joking? The Young Ladies Book says, ‘Dignity of manner is next to modesty.’ That should be the greatest endeavor of the female. It does not mention joking anywhere. Therefore, one must assume it is undesirable in a woman.”

“What was your life like as a child? What were you allowed to do for entertainment?” Remembering the way the Mackinnons had all played out of doors in the warm months, coming inside for taffy pulls, parlor games, and sing-alongs when the weather was bad, Ross assumed the life of a young English girl would have some similarities. Once again he was surprised.

“We were permitted to play spillikins…”

“Now, that sounds like a lot of fun,” he said, wondering if spillikins was as much fun as it sounded. “What else?”

“We embroidered stove aprons, and one of us was always making flowers of silk or wax. My sisters and I played the piano, and there was always gardening and stitchery.”

“Stitchery?” he asked, remembering the lovely needlework his mother had done: embroidered pillowcases, kitchen towels, cloths for the table.