Free The Highlander by Kerrigan Byrne Page A

frustrated at not knowing her boundaries and constantly overstepping.
    â€œI suppose,” she replied carefully.
    They all observed Miss Lockhart as she held her soup spoon delicately, and dipped it into the potato and leek soup. “You scoop it away, rather than toward, and bring it slowly to your mouth, instead of bending over the bowl. The important part is that you sip instead of slurp.”
    Liam’s eyes remained affixed to her lips as she took a delicate sip from her spoon, and returned it to the bowl. She ate like she did everything else. With elegance and poise. Could it be that she was as unaware of her innate sensuality as she pretended?
    â€œNow you try,” she encouraged.
    Rhianna echoed her movements perfectly until the grating sound of a slurp filled the expectant silence.
    â€œTip the spoon to your lips rather than breathing in,” Miss Lockhart corrected. “Just thus.” She lifted another perfect spoonful, though before it reached her mouth, a tremor in her hand sent half of it spilling onto the bared skin of her chest.
    Everyone froze, and that pink color appeared from beneath her gown once more.
    An undignified snort of laughter escaped Rhianna and she clapped her hands over her mouth, unable to control the shaking of her shoulders. Even Andrew bit his lips to stop their quivering.
    But it was the governess, herself, who broke into a brilliant smile before a merry laugh bubbled up from her throat. Now that her amusement was allowed, Rhianna joined in, as did Andrew, and finally Russell. The tension of the evening dissipated like an unpleasant odor.
    It occurred to Liam that laughter was something long missing not just from his table, but from his life. From his keep. But he couldn’t possibly join in. Not because he didn’t want to, or because he wasn’t amused.
    It was the perfectly creamy texture of the soup that arrested him. White and slick. It dripped over the curve of her breast, threatening to slide into the valley between as she fished the linen from her lap.
    She caught it in time, still enjoying the joviality of the moment.
    Salacious, wicked images seized Liam and held him in thrall. He could barely believe he was having such thoughts in the company of his own children, but Liam could only think of that warm, smooth liquid running between her magnificent breasts, and fight the violent lust sizzling through his body.
    This had nothing to do with her, personally. It was the Mackenzie appetite to blame for his crass and demeaning fantasies. It was the demon who whispered dark and unbidden things in his ear.
    *   *   *
    Mena didn’t know if it was the warm meal, the French wine, or the soft glow of the candelabra, but the band of suffocating iron clamped about her chest suddenly released. She filled her lungs for what seemed like the first time in months, and savored the scent of crisp summer apples in the sweet Vouvray Jean-Pierre had sent up to accompany the dessert soufflé.
    Taking another sip of the wine, she regarded the marquess over the glass as he discussed the suspicious fire in the barley fields with Russell Mackenzie.
    He hadn’t so much as acknowledged her presence since the soup course.
    Mena still couldn’t believe it. The savage Highlander from the road had transformed into a militant marquess. He’d been telling her the truth, after all. Though he’d donned his white-tie finery, bathed, shaved, and slicked his hair back into a neat queue, Mena still expected the barbarian to somehow rip free of the refined nobleman any moment and threaten to hack her to pieces with a claymore.
    Troubled, she set down her wine. Lord, he must think her a fool for how she’d acted this afternoon. But he hadn’t mentioned it, and she hoped he wouldn’t. Or maybe she needed him to say something, to allow her to explain, to perhaps absolve her, somehow.
    Mena watched the muscles of his jaw work ponderously on a bite