Page 52 of Somewhere Along The Way (Mackinnon #3)
Percy, as it turned out, wasn’t quite ready to retire, so Ross went to his room alone.
A moment later he was through the window and crossing the yard, headed for the stables.
Seeing the door at the opposite end was open, he wasted no time searching the stable but made straight for the door, reaching it just in time to see a cloaked figure running along a grassy path that went between the hedges.
Keeping to the shadow of trees, for the moon was high, he made his way along the narrow path, soon losing sight of his quarry.
A moment later he came upon a small cottage sitting at the end of the path.
The lights were on, and a lazy curl of smoke came from the chimney.
His first impulse was to return to the house.
In fact, he started to do just that, taking a few steps and then stopping.
Turning back to look at the cottage, he considered it for a moment, then shook his head and started away once more.
He stopped a second time, a bit baffled as to why he felt as though something beckoned him to the cottage.
At last, giving in to the urge, Ross turned toward the cottage, going not to the door but to a lighted window beside it.
He was still baffled by the strange pull this cottage had for him.
Perhaps it was the humble abode of a whore who made her living from the men who worked the Mackenzie’s vast estate.
Ross had always had a knack for ferreting out women.
Perhaps a whore was what he needed now—one to help him get that black-haired beauty out of his mind. Yes, what he needed was a whore.
What he saw was no whore. But it was what he needed.
Annabella.
He blinked, but when he opened his eyes, she was still there. Annabella, a lamblike creature who stood chastely in her laced and beribboned underthings talking to another girl who was pulling a nightgown over her head.
The other girl said something to Annabella, then left the room. Ross kept his eyes on Annabella. Annabella with the haunting eyes as green as Scotland’s fells; Annabella with the rosebud perfection and all the self-assurance of a beetle swimming circles in an inkwell. He smiled in remembrance.
The last time he had seen her was in the flower garden back at Dunford. He had left her standing, as fragile as a butterfly, in the sun’s warmth, a blushing rose that would tell her grandchildren years from now that someone had loved her at seventeen.
He had expected to see her again, of course, looking much as she had that day at Dunford. He never expected to find her standing beside a bed removing her clothes. And then it occurred to him—why the hell was she removing her clothes here, instead of in the big house?
Suddenly a slow smile of understanding stretched itself across the handsome planes of his face.
Whatever Barra Mackenzie’s relationship with Annabella was, he was obviously aware of what had been happening between them.
Was that the reason she was whisked away from Dunford?
He didn’t know, but he would find out the answers before long.
One thing he did know: likable though he might be, Barra Mackenzie was a crafty bastard.
The moment the other girl left the room, Annabella began unfastening her chemise.
A moment later she was naked to the waist. Ross felt like the worst pervert in the world.
Even with his decadent past, he had never had to resort to peeking in windows at half-naked women.
But there was no way in hell he could have pulled himself away from that window.
As the chemise came off, black coils of hair curled like a scythe over her shoulders and breasts.
Entwined with jet curls, her full, lovely breasts were blushed with colors that would rival the palest pink rose.
He watched her pick up her gown and frown down at the row of buttons before sitting down on the bed to undo each one of them with the devotion of a child dressing her doll.
But this was no child. And the thoughts he was having weren’t those a man would have for a child either.
Buttons undone, Annabella pulled the gown over her head, then wiggled out of her drawers.
A moment later the other girl returned with two glasses of milk.
The two of them sat on the bed, their heads close together as they talked.
He studied the other girl for a moment. She was about the same age as Annabella—taller, with lighter hair—but the way the two of them were together, he doubted the other girl was a servant.
Tomorrow, he thought. Tomorrow he would find out about the other girl.
More important, he would find a way to be alone with Annabella.
She would be surprised to see him, no doubt.
As would Barra Mackenzie if he found out.
But it would be worth it, no matter how angry Barra became.
The lass was destined to be his. And he had a feeling she knew it as well as he. Nothing else mattered.
Tomorrow.
The delicious thought of it warmed him. Tomorrow he would see her. Tomorrow she would be equally happy to see him.
His mind filled with all the possibilities—ways she would show him how much she had missed him. He closed his eyes, hearing the slow, sultry tones of her voice as it called him closer…closer. He knew his lass. She would throw herself into his arms the minute she saw him.