Free Ann Lethbridge by Her Highland Protector

he made her feel inside. How foolishly, femininely weak. A fatal flaw.
    ‘I beg your pardon,’ he said stiffly, his expression distant, uncomfortable. ‘I should not have let that happen.’
    Nor should she. Not when her future was set. A tremor of cold shame shook her body.
    He frowned. ‘Come to the hearth, my lady, I will wake the fire for you before I leave.’
    A firm hand on the small of her spine, a hand that permitted no resistance, ushered her to the sofa. As she sat, he knelt on one knee at the hearth, grimly raking the ashes and stirring the coals. So intense. So distant.
    Shaking inside, she watched the way his strong competent hands with their long elegant fingers brought forth a blaze. The flames flickered over his strong features, casting dark shadows in the hollow of his eyes and warming the skin of his cheeks to bronze. A braw bonnie Scots warrior whom she must not think of as a man.
    She took a deep breath, finding her courage, straightening her spine, lifting her chin. So she had made a fool of herself this night. No doubt she wasn’t the first woman to let lust overcome reason, nor would she be the last. But she desperately did not want him to speak of this to anyone.
    Mr Gilvry sat back on his heels, staring at the fire, lips so soft and pliant on hers only moments before, set in a thin straight line.
    Disgust at her wantonness for encouraging his kiss, no doubt. For there wasn’t a shred of doubt in her mind that she had wanted to feel his lips on hers, to experience the tingles that had stolen her breath the first time they kissed. Only this time had been very different. She now had no doubt of his experience in the art of kissing. He had taken command. Controlled her utterly.
    He had made her feel weak. Vulnerable. When she was supposed to be strong. When the future of Braemuir rested on her shoulders. That was why she was trembling inside.
    He glanced down at his hands where they rested on his thighs. His fist clenched so hard the knuckles showed white. ‘I apologise for my lack of honour just now, my lady.’ He shook his head, closing his eyes briefly, apparently as stunned by what had happened as she.
    ‘Oh,’ she breathed, surprised that he would take all the blame to himself, as if denying she had been an enthusiastic participant. She stared at him, at the anger she saw directed not at her, but at himself, unsure whether to accept the apology as just, or admit to some of the fault.
    A muscle jumped in his jaw. ‘I will leave Carrick first thing in the morning.’
    It would be dishonourable to take advantage of his guilt. Yet it would be so much easier to remain in control if temptation did not stare her in the face every day. So very much easier. But she had been equally at fault. She gave him a haughty look. ‘So you intend to leave me at the mercy of the ruffians who roam the roads hereabouts?’
    He looked up at her then, his eyes shadowed. ‘Lieutenant Dunstan has the matter in hand. He will find them and bring them to justice in a day or so.’
    She arched a brow. ‘And in the meantime?’
    ‘You will stay within Carrick’s walls. It is but for a day or so. Dunstan will let you know when the thing is done.’
    The note in his voice was both commanding and pleading. Asking her to be sensible, so he could leave with honour. But if he left, her cousin would not be pleased. She knew Carrick. He expected his orders to be followed without question. He would find a way to make this young man suffer for what he would see as his lack of loyalty. ‘Then I am to hide out here in fear of my life? For days. Perhaps weeks.’ She smiled. ‘Ah, but there will be no one to tell me no, will there?’ She flicked a dismissive hand. ‘Fine. Go.’
    He glared at her and pushed to his feet, looming over her, and once more she was very aware of him as a man. ‘You are not so foolish as to ride out while those men are at large.’
    ‘Of course not,’ she said sweetly looking up at him. ‘Not