Chapter 9 #2
Miss Burnet had her fingers curled in his shirt and her cheek against his chest. He gripped her more tightly at her unfettered waist, breathing out hard at how soft she felt, then stiffening at the tiny sound she made when he pulled her closer.
He hadn’t meant to, but his hands worked of their own accord now, sliding back up until his thumbs brushed the sides of her breasts.
He gripped her harder, at war with his feelings.
He truly liked her easy smiles and kindness to his sister, but what kind of woman was she really?
Sneaking around to unsavory areas, having secretive meetings with men who attempted to kill her, and then brushing it all off with a few swigs of whisky as if that was just her lot in life.
She leaned back to try to look at him, pressing her lower half closer and causing his eyes to nearly cross. But God, she was so pretty and soft. He was daft. Not using his brain. It was Lachlan’s voice in his head again, telling him to back away from their sister’s chaperone.
He wished now that he’d never moved from his room at the inn and squeezed his eyes shut against the sight of her pretty face and slightly rumpled hair.
He wanted to pull it all free from its pins and run his fingers through it, wrap it around his hand and tip her head back further so he could kiss her.
Like an idiot, he reached out and pushed a few of the loose strands behind her ear, his knuckles brushing against her cheek.
He groaned. Of course her skin would be even softer than it looked.
“I feel quite the same,” she said, letting her head drop forward onto his chest.
Using all his willpower, he stepped back, placing his hands on her shoulders in case she toppled forward without him to lean on.
“I’d wager ye don’t,” he said with a mild laugh.
She might slap him if she knew where his thoughts really lay.
Then again, maybe she wouldn’t. He wanted to find out, and badly.
He could handle a slap. The odds were he’d be leaving in a day or two anyway, and if she didn’t slap him …
his fingers made their way down her arms and he pulled her slightly closer.
She swayed from side to side and held her stomach.
“I’d give anything for a big stack of pancakes,” she said, then frowned fiercely at him. “And don’t laugh at me anymore.”
“Too late,” he laughed. Bugger it, but she was staggering drunk, and she was a respectable lady and he was a guest in this house.
He kept making up excuses for why he couldn’t take her to bed.
“Come along.” He took her elbow and tried to lead her out of the room, but she merely swayed some more and looked up at him with her big, glazed eyes.
“Bloody hell,” he said, leaning over to scoop her up.
“That’s a bonnet for your sister,” she had the nerve to say. Her breath was warm against his neck and she wrapped her arms comfortably around him. “But I won’t tell her because I think you’d drop me.”
“Too right, I would,” he grumbled.
He carried her toward the stairs, taking a quick detour back to the kitchen to grab her a chunk of bread. When he got to the right floor, he thought she might be asleep and shook her slightly before asking which closed door was hers.
“Oh,” she said, jerking awake and clutching at his shirt. “Take it easy. You’re like a ship crashing around in a storm.”
“That’s verra poetic,” he said, settling her on the edge of her bed. He dropped the bread in her lap and went to pour her a cup of water from the basin. “Eat that and drink this, or ye’ll be sorry when ye wake.”
She nodded and took a bite of the bread, then guzzled the entire cup of water, holding it out to him to refill. “I appreciate your kindness,” she said. “This night — I haven’t had a proper drink in more than a year. I guess I’m a lightweight.”
“Ye weigh plenty, lass,” he said, handing her the refill and rubbing his shoulder as if he’d just carried a heavy load. He was teasing her, but her eyes grew round.
“You’re horrid.” She groped around for her pillow, too uncoordinated to free it from the blankets and instead chucked what was left of her bread at him.
He caught it in one hand and rolled his eyes.
“I’ve learned my lesson,” he said contritely.
“And ye shall learn yours tomorrow for not finishing it.” He waved the bread in front of her and she reached for it, missing it completely.
He bopped her on the nose with it and grabbed her hand, placing the roll in her open palm.
“I’ll not leave until ye eat it,” he said, giving her his best menacing glare.
“You have no credibility,” she said, slurring a little bit. “You’ve already saved my life and got me food, and carried me up the stairs.” She took a bite while Quinn stared at her. “I’m not the least bit scared of you.”
He took a step closer to her, so their legs almost touched. He knelt down to look her in the face, smiling to be so close to her.
“Is that so?” he asked.
Her dewy eyes were slightly unfocused as they darted around his face, settling on his lips. His smile broadened and she swallowed hard before answering.
“Quite so, Mr. Ferguson.”
He leaned in closer, his hands on the bed on either side of her. “Ye should call me Quinn,” he said.
She inhaled sharply but didn’t pull away. “Well, perhaps a bit scared,” she amended.
He thought she was being flirtatious until she clutched at his arm, looking afraid of something.
He hoped she wouldn’t have nightmares about what had happened in the alley.
He ran his forefinger down the side of her jaw, knowing he was taking terrible liberties, but wanted to comfort her somehow.
She sighed, turning her face into his touch.
“Why did ye go to such a dangerous place all alone?” he asked.
Her eyes widened at that question. “I sometimes forget things like that.” She blinked several times, a beseeching look on her face. “I’m not from here,” she said, confusing the hell out of him.
“Nor am I,” he said softly, locked in her gaze.
Her eyes fluttered closed and he paused, entranced by her long black lashes. Did she want him to kiss her? He wanted very badly to kiss her. He could almost feel their breath mingling as he looked down at her slightly parted lips. She leaned forward, her forehead cracking painfully into his.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, slumping to the side. Passed out cold, the bit of bread still held in her hand.
With a frustrated sigh, he hoisted her legs onto the mattress and covered her with the part of the blanket she wasn’t lying on.
If she remembered anything about this, he didn’t think she’d thank him for taking her shoes off or loosening her dress.
He took a last look at her, cheeks blooming bright pink against the bedclothes, her hair in complete disarray.
She was absolutely the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on.
He no longer believed Lizzie had gone out to meet a suitor. No one who cared for her would suggest such a meeting place at so late an hour. He wondered if she was in trouble, and felt an overwhelming urge to protect her. While she kept an eye on Catie, he’d have to keep an eye on her.
Carefully closing the door behind him, he made his way quietly back to his own room, determined to send an answer to his people with the first available messenger. He’d be damned if he was leaving London yet.