Free Landing a Laird by Jane Charles Page B

through her veins and into areas much too private to consider.
    The hand behind her head skimmed down her back to her waist, leaving a trail of heat in its path, and up to her breast.
    “ Bloody hell.”  Ainsely pulled back and looked at her.  “You have bound your breasts.”
    Her face heated from embarrassment, and not the more pleasant warmth pooling inside.  “Mother said they were a hindrance and a distraction.”
    “ The same woman who has tried to change your hair and remove your freckles?”
    Moira bit her lip and nodded.
    “ That woman knows nothing about men.”
    Moira pulled back, shocked at his harsh tone.
    Ainsely smiled at her and kissed her gently one more time. “Trust me in this, Moira.  Your breasts are your fourth best physical feature.”
    “ Fourth?” What was he talking about?
    A slow smile came to his lips, causing his warm brown eyes to crinkle at the corners.
    “ The first is your face, when you haven’t applied concoctions causing what must have been an uncomfortable rash.”
    Her face heated further.
    “ The second is your hair. Do not ever change the color you were blessed with. It reminds me of the morning sunrise.”
    Oh goodness, she was becoming overheated and they weren’t even in the sun.  
    “ Third, your freckles.  I’ve always had a weakness for lasses with freckles.”
    She was in love. If she hadn’t been before, but she may have been and just not realized it, she certainly was now.  
    “ And the fourth are your glorious breasts. While they may be a distraction, I find them a very pleasant one.”
    Goodness, was living in Scotland really all that important?
    “ Despite what your beliefs of marriage may be, do not marry any Scot unless he feels exactly the way I do.”
     
    Lord Alston bets Mr. Fiske three hundred pounds that Lady Moira Kirkwood
    will be compromised by Lord Ainsely within the week
    and find herself living in Scotland by the end of the Season ~ April 25, 1813
     
    “ Damn and blast.”  Gideon threw the empty glass against the fireplace.  He gave her the perfect opportunity to give up her dream of marrying a Scot today. After the words he spoke, the closest he had ever come to a declaration of love in his life, she said nothing. Nothing!   She should have confessed that she no longer wanted a Scot, but would follow him.  
    Well, maybe not that dramatic, but something along those lines. But she said nothing!  
    He wanted Moira. Hell, he was in love with her, and it had happened in just a matter of days.  Had anyone told him it was possible, he would have scoffed and laughed at them.  He now well understood how some of his acquaintances had walked into a castle as bachelors one day and out as married men a few days later. It only took a moment to fall completely.
    Good lord, he sounded like a sappy poet now.  
    Gideon strode the sideboard and poured another glass of whiskey, with the intent of becoming good and drunk. And he wasn’t setting foot in White’s again for a good long time. He didn’t want to know what was now in that damn book.  Half the ton had heard Moira reject Struthers, and he didn’t want to know what poor soul Alston and Fiske named next.
    He fell into the deep leather chair beside the fireplace, swirling the liquid around in his glass.  “I could have her.”
    He could approach Hearne, explains his feelings, and if necessary, confess the liberties he had taken in the park…or he could tell Moira where his estate was located.  
    Neither was a choice. He tossed a gulp of the whiskey back. He didn’t want her on those terms. He wanted her to marry him because she wanted to.
    He could court her, woo her, and kiss her senseless until she forgot Scotland even existed.
    A smile pulled to his lips.  It wasn’t a bad plan, and one that might definitely work, and be quite enjoyable in the process.
    However tonight, he was staying in and getting good and bloody drunk.  It was the only way he was going to get any sleep