Read Online To Catch a Highlander by Karen Hawkins - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Karen Hawkins
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if the gleam of her bronze dress and the diamonds flashing at her throat and ears lit up the entire chamber with a new, warmer light.
"Oh, dear. The fire isn't very well laid." She peeped up at him through her lashes in an endearing manner. "Would you mind?"
He reluctantly released her arm and bowed. "Of course." He crossed to the fireplace, his arm still tingling from her touch. He could almost taste the tension whenever she was near, and it was growing stronger.
Dougal's entire body was aflame. God, he loved the chase, the feint and parry as potential lovers fought for control of each other and themselves. And that was what he wanted from Sophia MacFarlane. Before he left, he was determined to have Sophia in his bed.
He looked at the fireplace and noted that even with a small flame, smoke was already seeping into the room. He grasped the rusty poker and stirred the small flame, scattering and weakening the blaze rather than making it grow higher. Though his efforts dimmed the fire, a thick curl of smoke immediately lifted up from the front of the fireplace.
From behind him, Sophia said. "Oh, dear. I forgot about that chimney. Actually, all the chimneys in the house are in disarray."
"Yes," he agreed. "Almost as if someone had bricked them partway up."
Her gaze darted to him, a crease on her brow.
He smoothly added, "I daresay it's nothing but age. My oldest brother lives in a castle built in the twelfth century, and every chimney smokes." He took a deep breath. "Ah, the scent of wood smoke! It reminds me of home."
She didn't look pleased.
Smiling to himself, Dougal moved to the small table holding the decanter and glasses. "Shall I pour the sherry? If you think you can stomach it."
She raised her chin. "I would love some."
"Excellent." He poured them each a glass and returned to her side. Their fingers brushed as he handed her the glass. He watched as she placed her lips delicately on the edge of the glass and slowly tipped it, letting the ruby liquid barely touch her lips before tilting it back down.
She wasn't drinking the sherry, just as she hadn't eaten dinner.
Dougal took a sip. It was acidic, but he'd had worse. "I hope your father is not too uncomfortable."
"He'll still be sleeping. I wish he'd watched himself coming down those stairs. He knew about that board, because he's the one who—" She stopped, then finished smoothly, "who knows all of the loose boards in the house, and running down the stairs was foolish."
"I almost tripped over that step myself."
Her gaze flew to his. "You did?"
It amazed him how pale her eyes were. Set in such dark, thick lashes, they seemed almost to glow. "Yes," he said slowly. "I did."
Her cheeks flushed, and she looked genuinely unhappy. "I'm sorry about that. I'll have Angus fix it."
"I already asked him do it when the doctor was with your father."
"Oh." She frowned a moment. She sighed impatiently, as if shaking off an unwelcome thought, then set down her glass and crossed to a small table by the window. "Goodness, I am restless tonight."
"Perhaps we should do something to distract your mind from your father's condition." He took a reflective sip of sherry. "Do you have a chess set? We could play that, I suppose."
"There's no chess set here. However," her voice quickened slightly, "I do believe there are some cards."
"I had no doubt there would be," he returned.
She shot him a sharp look. "What do you mean?"
"Since your father is a notorious gambler, naturally there would be a pack of cards somewhere in the house."
"Very true." She turned to a small table and opened a drawer, removing a deck of cards, the evening light caressing her cheek. "This will be just the thing to keep my mind from my troubles."
He crossed to join her at the table. "Excellent! I never turn from a game, myself." He set down his sherry and pulled back a chair for her, waiting until she seated herself and then taking the chair opposite hers.
She watched him from beneath her lashes,
"Oh, dear. The fire isn't very well laid." She peeped up at him through her lashes in an endearing manner. "Would you mind?"
He reluctantly released her arm and bowed. "Of course." He crossed to the fireplace, his arm still tingling from her touch. He could almost taste the tension whenever she was near, and it was growing stronger.
Dougal's entire body was aflame. God, he loved the chase, the feint and parry as potential lovers fought for control of each other and themselves. And that was what he wanted from Sophia MacFarlane. Before he left, he was determined to have Sophia in his bed.
He looked at the fireplace and noted that even with a small flame, smoke was already seeping into the room. He grasped the rusty poker and stirred the small flame, scattering and weakening the blaze rather than making it grow higher. Though his efforts dimmed the fire, a thick curl of smoke immediately lifted up from the front of the fireplace.
From behind him, Sophia said. "Oh, dear. I forgot about that chimney. Actually, all the chimneys in the house are in disarray."
"Yes," he agreed. "Almost as if someone had bricked them partway up."
Her gaze darted to him, a crease on her brow.
He smoothly added, "I daresay it's nothing but age. My oldest brother lives in a castle built in the twelfth century, and every chimney smokes." He took a deep breath. "Ah, the scent of wood smoke! It reminds me of home."
She didn't look pleased.
Smiling to himself, Dougal moved to the small table holding the decanter and glasses. "Shall I pour the sherry? If you think you can stomach it."
She raised her chin. "I would love some."
"Excellent." He poured them each a glass and returned to her side. Their fingers brushed as he handed her the glass. He watched as she placed her lips delicately on the edge of the glass and slowly tipped it, letting the ruby liquid barely touch her lips before tilting it back down.
She wasn't drinking the sherry, just as she hadn't eaten dinner.
Dougal took a sip. It was acidic, but he'd had worse. "I hope your father is not too uncomfortable."
"He'll still be sleeping. I wish he'd watched himself coming down those stairs. He knew about that board, because he's the one who—" She stopped, then finished smoothly, "who knows all of the loose boards in the house, and running down the stairs was foolish."
"I almost tripped over that step myself."
Her gaze flew to his. "You did?"
It amazed him how pale her eyes were. Set in such dark, thick lashes, they seemed almost to glow. "Yes," he said slowly. "I did."
Her cheeks flushed, and she looked genuinely unhappy. "I'm sorry about that. I'll have Angus fix it."
"I already asked him do it when the doctor was with your father."
"Oh." She frowned a moment. She sighed impatiently, as if shaking off an unwelcome thought, then set down her glass and crossed to a small table by the window. "Goodness, I am restless tonight."
"Perhaps we should do something to distract your mind from your father's condition." He took a reflective sip of sherry. "Do you have a chess set? We could play that, I suppose."
"There's no chess set here. However," her voice quickened slightly, "I do believe there are some cards."
"I had no doubt there would be," he returned.
She shot him a sharp look. "What do you mean?"
"Since your father is a notorious gambler, naturally there would be a pack of cards somewhere in the house."
"Very true." She turned to a small table and opened a drawer, removing a deck of cards, the evening light caressing her cheek. "This will be just the thing to keep my mind from my troubles."
He crossed to join her at the table. "Excellent! I never turn from a game, myself." He set down his sherry and pulled back a chair for her, waiting until she seated herself and then taking the chair opposite hers.
She watched him from beneath her lashes,
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