Part 5 (2/2)
”And about your height? And hair color?”
”Yes! How did you know?”
”A fortunate guess,” Gregor said, smiling broadly.
”Indeed! I've been thinking of writing this novel for three years now. I am certain I could do it, if I but had the time.”
”Which the lovely Miss Venetia will give you, once she begins her life as a cleaning maid.”
Ravenscroft looked horrified. ”I would never think of Venetia as a cleaning maid!”
”I am glad to hear it,” Venetia said dryly. ”I and my dishpan hands will thank you.”
Ravenscroft captured one of those hands now. He lifted it to his cheek, his gaze fixed on Venetia's face. ”Venetia, you are the most beautiful woman in the world, inside and out. I hope you know I would never do anything to disrespect you.”
Until now, Gregor had been enjoying every utterance that slipped from the pup's lips. But the unconcealed admiration that shone in Ravenscroft's eyes as he held Venetia's hand to his cheek sent an unfamiliar-and devilishly sharp-pang through Gregor.
It was the oddest feeling, and it wiped away his amus.e.m.e.nt in a flash. Venetia should have been offended by such familiarity. She should have been outraged by the suggestions this fool had made.
Instead, she sighed, her lips curling into a reluctant smile as she turned her hand and patted the insolent pup's cheek. ”Oh, Ravenscroft, you are so young. I keep forgetting that, don't I?”
It was hardly a compliment, but it only encouraged the fool. Ravenscroft had the temerity-the audacity, by G.o.d-to cup her fingers to his lips and press a kiss to her bare palm.
Something inside Gregor snapped. ”Venetia.”
Venetia blinked at Gregor's black expression. Dark as a thundercloud, he now stared down at her, his gaze flickering between her and her hand.
She followed his gaze to her hand, where Ravenscroft clasped it almost reverently. It was improper, although there was so much about this entire situation that was improper that holding hands with Ravenscroft seemed a minor infraction indeed.
Ravenscroft smiled up at Gregor, unaware of the danger he was in. ”Isn't she an angel?”
Venetia's cheeks heated, and she freed her hand from Ravenscroft's rather tight grasp. ”Yes, well, now that everything has been said that needs to be said, we must find a way out of this mess.”
”At least,” Gregor said in a sharp tone, ”you finally admit this is a mess.”
She cut him a sharp glance. ”I admit nothing except that circ.u.mstances are not as I'd wish them to be.”
”I will marry you,” Ravenscroft said simply. ”That will solve one issue, at least.”
”No,” she said firmly. ”That is not an option.”
”But, Miss Oglivie, I love you. With all my heart!”
”Ravenscroft.” Gregor's voice chilled the air.
The young lord sent a harried glance at Gregor.
What happened next, Venetia would never be able to explain. One moment, Ravenscroft was standing there, imploring and earnest. The next, he was backing up toward the door, stumbling a bit in his haste.
”I-I-I just remembered-important meeting!” He tugged on his neckcloth.
”Here? At this inn?” Venetia didn't know when she'd heard a more ridiculous a.s.sertion. Well, other than the thought that she might support the poor youth in his quest for fame as a novelist. ”How on earth could you possibly have a meeting here?”
But she spoke to empty air. She heard the thuds of Ravenscroft's well-shod feet as he hurried out the front door, closing it behind him. Seconds later, he could be seen through the window, b.u.t.toning his coat as he made his way through the wind to the stables.
Venetia watched him. ”That is most odd!”
Gregor shrugged, coming to stand beside her. ”He is a fool.”
Venetia glanced up at Gregor. ”What did you do?”
”He was getting out of hand. I merely stopped it.”
She frowned at him, suspicion clear in her gaze.
The light from the snow softened the line of her brow and cheek. He regarded her critically, trying to see her as Ravenscroft evidently did. Venetia was not an ordinarily beautiful woman. Her figure was rounded and pleasing and a bit heavier than was fas.h.i.+onable.
Her arms were lovely and round, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s full and lush, as were her hips. She was not a small woman, which was a good thing. A frailer body could not have contained such a pa.s.sionate soul. Gregor had to admit, there was something taking about her. Her face held an amazing mixture of intelligence, humor, and liveliness.
”What's wrong?” she asked now, her brows lowering. ”Why are you looking at me like that?”
”I am just wondering what Ravenscroft is so enamored of.”
Her cheeks heated. ”Don't strain your eyes.”
”Oh, stop being missish. I see plenty to admire.”
She regarded him suspiciously, and he laughed. Her eyes were by far her best feature, a light, silvery gray framed by thick black lashes. Her skin was fresh and smooth, though not particularly fair. She tanned easily, and even now he could detect the hint of a few freckles on her rather ordinary nose. Her lips were plump and remarkably pert, her teeth white and even. Her dark brown hair was unremarkable except for its tendency to wave and curl at the faintest hint of moisture.
He smiled a bit, remembering how many times he'd heard her complain about that trait, one he found rather attractive, truth be told. Now that he thought about it, Venetia actually was an attractive female. He supposed his prolonged acquaintance with her had inured him to that fact, which was probably a good thing for them both. He treasured their friends.h.i.+p and had no wish to give it up, especially for a fleeting attraction, as all such affairs were. Still, there was something d.a.m.nably taking about her in this light, something that drew him to her. To her plump lips. Her soft shoulders. Her full b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Heat flooded him, and he found himself walking toward her.
Venetia's eyes widened, her skin flushed a rich pink. ”Gregor, what-”
What indeed? Gregor stopped, amazed at himself. b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, what am I doing? First he came charging to the rescue, which he rarely did, and now he was looking l.u.s.tfully at the one woman he knew not to touch.
Gregor turned on his heel and gathered his coat. ”I'm sorry. I was just thinking about this situation.” He pulled on his multicaped coat, careful not to meet Venetia's gaze. ”I'll join Ravenscroft in the barn and see how the horses are faring.”
She nodded, hesitation in her eyes. His gaze lingered on her face, on her darkened eyes and her flushed skin, on the way her full b.r.e.a.s.t.s pressed against the thin material of her gown, and- ”I'll return shortly,” he snapped, angry for some reason as much with her as with himself for the odd direction of his thoughts. ”Request dinner. Ravenscroft and I will be starving by the time it is served.”
He left, stepping into the frigid air with a sense of profound relief.
Chapter 4.
They say the MacLeans once't tried to use their curse fer good, bringin' rain t' the lowlands durin' a horrible drought. But it rained fer twenty-nine days and washed away ever'thin' the drought hadn't yet stolen. Such is the nature of a curse: it ne'er gives but that it also takes away.
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