But he'd given his word. Like a fool. And now. . . What the hell was he going to do when she finally stood up, naked and sweet, her skin all pink and gold and gleaming wet in the firelight? Testing his control to the limit.
He should have shut himself on the outside of the door when she'd asked.
He could only think of one possible ending to this scene: in bed. And not sleeping.
"The water's getting cold," she said quietly. "I'm getting out now."
Cameron swallowed. He straightened, wiped his hands on his breeks, and only then noticed a towel draped over the chair. He handed it to her.
She didn't move. "Cameron, please."
Aye, he was embarrassing her. He strode to the window and gazed out, giving her space to stand and dry herself and hide all those sweet curves from him. His innocent, flustered little bride.
He stared out into the darkening sky, seeing nothing, imagining a slender creamy nymph rising naked from her bath.
"No weather for walking in tonight." He jumped as she spoke, almost in his ear.
She was dressed in her nightgown, with a robe wrapped around her, covered from top to small bare toes, except for a small vee of creamy skin at the neck. All he could think of was how he wanted to peel that clothing off her and take her to bed.
He swallowed hard, battling with his insistent desire. She was looking past him out of the window, and he belatedly noticed the rain pelting against the window. "No."
She rose on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. "Thank you for respecting me, Cameron."
He blinked and mumbled something.
She smiled. "And for the massage." She rose on her toes again and this time kissed him on the mouth. Warm. Lush. Open-mouthed and welcoming. Twining her arms around his neck.
He pulled her against him, hard, and sank into the kiss, deepening it, tasting her, claiming her, relishing the sweet, heady intoxication of her, his blood roaring.
She pulled away. "Cameron," she whispered, smiling and flustered. "The door."
"Eh?"
She slipped from his embrace. "There's someone at the door. To take away the bath and bathwater." He blinked, and she added, "I rang for them when I got out of the bath. I didn't know we'd . . ." She gestured with vague and endearing self-consciousness. "You know."
He knew all right. He strode to the door, and jerked it open. Two menservants and his wife's maid, Mairie entered. He waited as they carried the bath—still full—carefully away. Mairie fluttered around tidying things until he said, "That's enough. Tell Cook we'll tak' our supper up here this evening."
Mairie's eyes widened. She glanced at her mistress and blushed. "Oh, aye, Laird. " She backed out of the room, hiding a smile.
"Eat it here? But what about the others?" Jeannie said when the maid had gone. "Your cousins and your uncle, for instance?"
He shrugged. He fancied a little private conversation with his bride, and could do without the distraction of his relatives. "They can eat wherever they like."
She gave him a doubtful glance, then her gaze fell on the flowers. "Oh, are they for me?" She hurried over and picked them up. "You brought me heather. I didn't think there'd be any still in flower. Thank you, Cameron." Quite as if it was some grand expensive gift he'd brought her, and not some common flower off the hillside.
She inhaled the perfume with a blissful expression. "Such a beautiful, delicate fragrance. Smell it." She held it out to him, as if he'd never in his life smelled the flowers that bloomed in the hills all around his home. He sniffed dutifully. It smelled the same as always.
"And oh, look! There's a wee sprig of white heather." She showed it to him, her eyes shining.
"Aye, well, it's said to be good luck for a bride," he muttered, a little embarrassed by her open delight. It had been spotting the white heather that had inspired him to gather the rest.
She found a glass to hold the flowers and arranged them to her satisfaction, then took the little sprig of white heather and tucked it into her hair. Against her shining chestnut locks it looked prettier than any hair ornament.
"I used to wear a sprig of dried white heather when I was a lad," he began, then broke off, hearing a knock at the door.
A couple of servants brought supper in on a large tray, along with a bottle of wine and two glasses. They placed them on a side table, then, at a jerk of the head from Cameron, left quickly, closing the door behind them.
Chapter Eighteen
