Page 77 of The Scot Beds His Wife

Samantha decided right then and there to learn Gaelic. It was apparently a lovely language for cussing, as he was able to fill the tower hall with blistering curses, all the way to his chamber door.

“Are you having an affair with the second Lady Ravencroft, as well?” As with many words, she regretted them the moment they’d escaped, and not only because he nearly dropped her a second time.

“WithMena?” The dubious curl of his lip went a long way toward soothing her pride that shouldn’t have been ruffled in the first place. “Not that it’s yer business, but why the hell would ye think that? Because she’s my brother’s wife?”

“Because the way you held and attempted to kiss her was the farthest thing from a show of brotherly affection.”

“Not necessarily.” He smirked. “As my doing so was entirely for my brother’s benefit.”

“Oh, you mean… you were merely antagonizing him?”

“And I didna mean for ye to see it.” It wasn’t an apology, but close enough. Samantha couldn’t think of a time anyone had told her they were sorry, and it didn’t seem that the thread was about to break.

Not that he owed her one, she reminded herself sternly.

“He sounded antagonized to me, if that means anything,” she encouraged, summoning a half-smile for him. “He actually growled at you.”

Thorne stopped in the middle of his vast chamber and tilted his chin to look down at her, the wisp of a genuine smile melting some of the sardonic ire in his smirk. She was beginning to tell when he was genuinely pleased with her, because a dimple appeared in his left cheek. “Aye, that he did.”

Samantha’s neck shook with strain from holding it aloft in this position, and she gave in to the instinct to rest it on his shoulder before she realized the affection the gesture might convey. “My neck,” she explained quickly. Wondering why he hadn’t put her down.

Wondering why she didn’t want him to.

They stood like that for a silent moment. Well,hestood, and she nestled into the cradle of his arms feeling very small, and oddly safe.

It was queer to explore another’s body with parts other than your fingertips.

His shoulder against her cheek was round and firm beneath the fine fabric of his jacket. His biceps swelled beneath her back and the crooks of her legs, taut with the strain of her weight. His lean torso pressed firmly against her sides, rippling with strength.

When she next glanced up at him, his eyes flashed with a ferocious and savage green storm that seemed to brand her with equal parts trepidation and titillation. “Ye gods, but do I wish this day were done with,” he muttered fiercely.

This day. Their wedding day.

Something he apparently dreaded.

When she was alone, she’d have to have a good long talk with herself about allowing his flippant words to make her chest ache. This was GavinfuckingSt. James, the most famous libertine since Caligula. He’d tuckered out more French whores than Benjamin Franklin.

Of coursehe didn’twantto get married. Not really. He just wanted to sign a land deal that came with a passably beddable heiress whom he could stash wherever and go right back to being whatever the Gaelic word for Lothario was.

Which was fine with her. Really.

So why the hell wasn’t he putting herdown?

A soft knock sounded at the door, and Samantha grasped on to Gavin as he whirled around.

Lady Ravencroft tentatively pushed the door open, and Samantha was surprised to see a footman with a trunk lingering behind her.

“I hope I’m not intruding, but when I heard about what happened to Erradale yesterday, I very much worried that you might have lost your belongings in the fire.” She ventured into the chamber, her jade gaze touching on everything and registering the same surprise at the simple, masculine contents as Samantha herself had shown.

Samantha couldn’t say why, but it pleased her to note this was obviously the first time Mena Mackenzie had been in this room.

The marchioness motioned for the footman to set the trunk down.

“Of course, everything in my wardrobe would look as large as a circus tent on you, but my husband has a grown daughter, Rhianna, who inherited the Mackenzie height. I brought some of her skirts and blouses and such from before she… matured. She’s not quite so lean as you are, but I have a few sashes and belts that would help ensure everything fits.”

In a few long strides, Gavin took Samantha to the bedand gingerly set her down before turning back to the expectant marchioness.

“Ye are an angel, English,” he declared. “Much too good for the likes of the Demon Highlander.”