He’d waited, holding his breath. God, he’d yearned for her to enter his chamber and climb into his bed. Just thinking about her silky black hair and her sky-blue eyes had made his cock stir to life. But there’s a price that comes with that, he’d told himself sternly.
She’d stayed outside his door for a long time, the sound of her breathing just barely audible, while Kintore’s body had burned with an almost undeniable heat.
Just as he was on the verge of leaping from his bed and yanking her into his room, she’d sighed and continued down the hallway.
He’d been left aching for her, and after she’d opened the door to her own bedchamber, he’d listened to every sound she’d made as she prepared for bed. He’d heard her steps, the rustle of her clothes, the thump of her boots as she set them by the fireplace, the click of her comb as she placed it back on her dresser—every sound had sent his imagination into places that had made him burn more.
Long after she’d fallen asleep, he’d continued to imagine her getting undressed in his bedchamber, of her setting her boots beside his fireplace, of her smile and the curve of her full breasts as she’d climbed into his bed, of the way her warm skin would feel against his, and on and on.
He hadn’t gotten enough sleep to fill a thimble. And he’d awoken this morning still thinking of her, and of how close he’d come to pulling her into his room and having his way with her. It was time to stop tempting the fates and put some distance between himself and the delectable Princess Alexandra.
Tired but determined, he’d risen and dressed as warmly as he could, forgoing his usual routine of shaving, and decided to brave the weather and travel to Aberdeenshire, where he was certain to find another inn. He just needed to settle up with the landlord.
MacDuffie conveniently came hurrying out of the parlor, an empty tray in his hands, just as Kintore reached the bottom of the stairs. The innkeeper halted when he saw the earl with his portmanteau. “Me lor’! Ye’re leavin’? B-but ye canno’!”
“Yet I am. Sadly, I’ve recalled an important appointment that I must keep.” One far away from a tempting princess on the hunt for a husband. “Thank you for your hospitality.” He pulled out some coins and held them out to the innkeeper.
The man merely shook his head and said once again, “Me lor’, ’tis I’m sorry I am, but ye canno’ leave. Go look oot the window in the front parlor. I’d suggest the door here, but we canno’ get it open. ’Tis blocked by the snow.”
With a sinking feeling, Kintore went to the large bow window and looked out through the part not covered by huge drifts, which wasn’t large.
Never in all of his years had he seen so much snow. It was piled up in fluffy abandon against every wall it could find until the water barrels and shrubberies were lost from sight. Worse, it was still coming down in large, wet flakes that would build up even higher.
MacDuffie stared out the window as well. “I suppose ye could leave, me lor’, if ye were determined, bu’ I wouldna recommend it.”
Neither would Kintore. If anyone knew the cost of winter, it was he—and how very high that cost could be.
As if to confirm this, a huge slab of snow and ice fell from the roof and crashed onto the ground, showering the window with rock-hard icy pellets.
Both men stepped back.
“Och, tha’ scared me nigh to death, it did! ’Tis no’ fit fer mice nor men, is it?”
“No.” Kintore removed his coat. “It appears I must remain.”
MacDuffie beamed and took the earl’s coat, hanging it carefully over his arm. “I’ll carry yer portmanteau back to yer room. Shall I fetch ye breakfast?” His smile faded a bit. “We’ve no’ as much as usual, since Mrs. MacDuffie’s a wee bit under the weather, but the kitchen maid can cook porridge and we’ve eggs and pig, to boot.
“That will be fine, I’m sure. Thank you.”
“Ye’re welcome. I’ll bring ye some nice malty ale fer breakfast, too.” The innkeeper left.
Kintore scowled. Bloody hell, this was a pretty turn of events. And a dangerous one, too. If he wasn’t careful, he might end up leg-shackled to an Oxenburg princess.
Sighing, he turned from the window and crossed to a chair by the cheery fire. How long would this snow last? Damn it, how long will I last? He’d never been very good at denying himself, especially something that was readily available and oh-so-tempting. Frankly, in the years since Jane’s death, he had stopped trying to deny anything except his feelings. Those, thankfully, were almost entirely dead.
The only feelings he had left were of the sensual kind, and unfortunately the princess knew just how to stir them to life. He eyed the settee, remembering how he’d kissed Alexandra on those very cushions. His body hardened at the memory and he shifted uncomfortably. He’d have to set some definite lines to keep himself from succumbing. No more kisses, no more holding her in his lap, no more anything.
He could look, but he wouldn’t touch. And that was that.
“Good morning, Kintore.”
He stood and turned to face Alexandra.
She raised her brows on seeing him, her gaze flickering over his face.
He touched his cheek and then grimaced. “Ah, yes. I didn’t shave this morning. I shall—”
“No, no,” she said, sounding oddly breathless, her gaze locked on his face. “Leave it. It becomes you.” She flushed, then turned to look out the bow window. “It’s falling very hard now.”
He watched her stand on her tiptoes in an effort to see above the drifted snow, her figure rounded and graceful beneath her black gown. He thought of all the women he knew who dressed themselves in the brightest of fineries, wore the most expensive jewelry, and paid hundreds of pounds for hairdressers to twist and curl their hair into fashionable styles. Yet this slip of a woman could walk into a room wearing the drabbest of gowns, with no jewelry whatsoever, and put every one of those peacocks to shame. She was fresh and lovely and far too delectable.
He realized that the silence was growing. “The snow looks quite wet. I can’t imagine traveling in this.”
“It’s not so bad if you stay under the trees lining the road.”
He blinked. “How do you know that?”
“I went for a walk earlier this morning.”
“In this weather?”
“Pah. In my country, we have snow like this for months on end.”
“You did not go alone.”
She looked surprised. “No, for Doya insisted that I have a guard with me, which is silly. No one would try to abduct me in this weather.”
“There are other dangers. The snow can be treacherous—” The words tangled in his throat, his heart pounding as if he’d been running.
Fortunately, Alexandra didn’t seem to notice as she turned from the window. “It is lovely, nyet?”
“I suppose so.”
She gave him an unreadable look as she walked past him to sit upon the settee. Trailing behind her was the faint scent of lavender and—was that rose? He took a deeper breath and his heart slowed to a more regular beat.
She sat in the very spot they’d both occupied the night before, watching as he took the chair opposite instead of joining her on the settee. Her frown let him know her opinion of his choice of seat. “I saw MacDuffie on the stairs just now, taking your portmanteau back to your room. You were planning on leaving and never saying another word to me, weren’t you?”
“I thought it would be for the best.”
“For whom?”
“For us both.”
Her lips thinned. “You are a coward.”
No one had ever accused him of such a thing. Ever. “I am no coward.”
“What are you, then, that you would have snuck out thinking I was still abed?”
“I wasn’t sneaking out. I was using the front door—or I would have, had it not been blocked by snow.”
Her foot tapped impatiently. “You avoided me last night and then this morning, you tried to run away. You are obviously not happy with what I
said, and we must discuss it.”
“There’s nothing to discuss. I am simply not interested.”
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he saw hurt flash in her remarkable eyes. Damn it, this is exactly what I didn’t wish to happen.
She was silent a long moment before she collected herself enough to give him a pained smile. “Doya says I should remember that not everyone is as outspoken as I am. Still, I’m not sorry for being honest. I must marry. I have no choice in the matter and I thought you might be a possibility, but you are not.” She shrugged. “Do not worry. I am young and there are many good men in this world.”
“Why must you marry?”
“My husband was the king’s nephew. But I, too, have royal blood, although of another branch of the house. My son will be fifth in line for the throne after the king’s sons.”
“He has many?”
“Four. As soon as the princes start having their own children, my importance will be greatly reduced. But until then, my offspring will be the fifth in line, right after the princes. For that reason the king feels I should marry as soon as possible.”
“I see. How did you come to marry the king’s nephew to begin with?”
“It was an arranged marriage. I was young, so—” She shrugged. “Now, I wish to find my own husband.”
“I would say that would be preferable.”
“Yes, although I grew to love Dmitri, it is too much to expect that to happen a second time. So this time I will marry for myself.”
“And the man you marry? He will be a prince?”
“No, no. I am a princess only because of my marriage. Once I am no more a princess, I will take my old title, that of duchess. I will pass that on to my children.”
“So you don’t need to live in Oxenburg, then.”
She blinked, looking surprised. “Why wouldn’t I live there?”
“Because if you marry, you will have to consider someone else’s wishes as well as your own.”
“Ah. I suppose that is true. I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Why did you come to Scotland looking for a husband? Surely there are worthy men in Oxenburg.”
“It is not a very large country, so there are not as many eligible men as you might think. But it doesn’t matter. I wish our line to be strong, and for that reason I have decided to wed a Scot.”
“A true Scot will not willingly bow to any sovereign but our own. Nor do I know of any who would give up his country.”
“That’s very William Wallace of you,” she said in a dry tone. When he looked surprised, she added, “My tutor was from Edinburgh.” She rested her elbow on the settee arm, her fingers absently twiddling with the black bow adorning her neckline. “Kintore, though we’re not to be more, I hope we can at least be friends. I would like that very much.”
Friends. Did he even know what those were anymore? After Jane’s death, he’d isolated himself from most of his friends, pushing them away because their condolences and pity made his agony even more painful.
After that, bent on not thinking, not feeling, he’d cultivated only the shallowest of acquaintances, the sort given much to merriment and little to talking. He had nothing that he wished to talk about anymore, and damned little that he wished to hear.
He realized that Alexandra was still waiting, so he said, “We can try to be friends, but we are worlds apart. We are from different continents, different countries, different positions in our lives . . . we’ve only one thing in common.”
“What’s that?”
He met her gaze steadily.
She flushed. “Oh, that.”
“Yes. It is not enough on its own, especially as you wish for a husband and a family, and I wish for peace and amusement, but it is there nonetheless.”
She rested her chin in her hand. “Do you think we might just flirt for a day or two? Very innocently, of course. Would there be anything wrong with that? I miss flirting very much.”
His gaze moved over her blue-black hair to her fascinating mouth, and down to her generous breasts. What’s wrong is that I would like it far too much. “We would be wiser to avoid flirting. I think you know that.”
She sighed. “So you are telling me ‘nyet.’ ”
“Nyet it is.”
Her brows drew down and she leaned back against the cushion. “I am not used to being told that. It is very unpleasant.”
He chuckled, dissipating his irritation. “Yes, it is.”
“But”—she threw out her hands—“if that is what you feel, then I must accept. It’s a pity, though, for I like you very much, and your kisses . . .” She closed her eyes, her expression one of sensual pleasure.
He’d seen that look yesterday, and seeing it again made his cock rigid with the memory. God, she was lush.
She opened her eyes, the translucent blue shining through her sooty black lashes breathtakingly beautiful. “But since you wish it, I will say no more about it.”
“That would be best,” he managed.
She threw up her hands. “Fine! It is sad that it is not to be, but I will accept it. Once we leave this inn, I shall find someone else.”
“You must do what is best for you.” The words were strangely bitter on his tongue. Why should I care? he asked himself. I don’t. I can’t.
“In the meantime,” she continued, “I wish to know more about you. You intrigue me, and so few men do.”
He loved the way her flyaway eyebrows lifted when she spoke, like exclamation marks at the end of an exciting sentence. “You are—”
MacDuffie came through the doorway carrying a large tray filled with steaming bowls, silverware, and napkins. He set the overloaded tray on the table, then arranged the settings. “Och, I was afeared I’d spill it all, I was. We’ve porridge and some pig, a few eggs—the front ones are a bit o’ercooked, so ye may want to eat the back two—and some toasted bread, and two glasses of ale.”
Alexandra had been eyeing the lumpy porridge with a skeptical eye, but she offered the landlord a smile. “Thank you. If it’s not too much trouble, I would like some tea, too, please.”
“Aye, I’ll get some oot to ye soon, miss. First I need to get a tray up to the lady’s room, fer she’s ringin’ her bell like it were broke.” With a bow, he hurried out of the room.
Alexandra came to take her seat at the table, and Kintore sat across from her.
He stirred his bowl of porridge. “I must say, you do not have such strict chaperones in Oxenburg as we have here.”
“Oh, I’m much more closely chaperoned there than I have been here. Countess Baryatinski is a horrid traveler.”
“You don’t sound sad about that.”
She chuckled. “I’m delighted for myself, although it is quite uncomfortable for her. She informed me this morning that, though she is still feeling ill and is very tired, she might come down for a couple of hours this afternoon.”
“I’m sure she is tired,” he said. “I’m tired, after listening to her snores all night.”
“You should hear her in the coach. She snores even louder when propped upright. Once, she snored so loudly that she scared the horses. Doya swears she can throw her voice like a puppeteer.”
Kintore’s deep chuckle warmed her, and she grinned back. Time is all we need. He may have decided they weren’t suited but she wasn’t so easy to dissuade, and her reactions to his touch—that, she could not mistake. He wishes to pretend it doesn’t mean anything, but I know it does. I think he fears that it does, too, or he wouldn’t have decided to leave. So perhaps that was a good reaction and not a negative one, after all.
She was glad she’d seen the landlord carrying Kintore’s portmanteau back upstairs. Had she not, she might not have realized that he’d almost fled, nor realized the depth of her mistake in admitting to him that she was looking for a husband. And yet, despite his disappointing reaction, she felt as if she could trust him. Oddly enough, she’d felt that way since the moment she’d laid eyes upon him.
Her grandmother Tata Caterina called it soarta. It was like lightning and it rarely struck twice. I must find a way to reach Kintore’s heart, and I must do it before the snow melts.
It would be difficult, but she would do her best. Perhaps, if he became comfortable enough, he’d tell her about the portrait she’d found in his watch.
He took a taste of the porridge and instantly sputtered and coughed, grabbing his ale and gulping down half of it.
“What is it?” she asked, looking at her own bowl. The lumpy porridge seemed only half cooked and was gray rather than creamy in color. She bent down and sniffed. “Pepper.”
“Too much,” he croaked as he took another drink.
She lifted her spoon and sniffed. “Pah.” She wrinkled her nose.
Kintore replaced his empty glass. “It’s horrid.”
“It is unfit for people,” she agreed. “Dogs, maybe. Pigs, perhaps. But not people.”
He pushed his bowl to the far side of the table and then slid hers to join it. “Let’s have some of the pig and the eggs. They will be better.” He put some on her plate.
When she couldn’t even cut the meat, and the egg proved so rubbery that she had to chew it twice as long as normal, she finally dropped her fork onto the table. “That is enough. I will have the toasted bread.”
The earl nodded. “So will I.” He watched her spread marmalade on two pieces of toast, accepting the one she handed him. “I fear we will starve before this snow breaks.”
“At least the marmalade is good. Hopefully, Mrs. MacDuffie will feel better soon, but if she does not, then we will resort to other measures.”
He finished his toasted bread. “I don’t suppose Doya can cook?”
“He has a way with rabbit that is—” She rolled her eyes heavenward and sighed.
Kintore laughed softly and she was pleased that she’d made him do so.
He smiled her way. “You have marmalade on your cheek.”
She put her toast on her plate, picked up her napkin, and wiped her cheek.
“No. It’s farther back.”
She moved the napkin.
He shook his head and took her napkin from her hands. “Hold still.”