Ian saw only that the beautiful girl who had daringly come to his defense in a roomful of men, who had kissed him with tender passion, now seemed to be passionately attached not to any man, but to a pile of stones instead. Two years ago he'd been furious when he discovered she was a countess, a shallow little debutante already betrothed-to some bloodless fop, no doubt-and merely looking about for someone more exciting to warm her bed. Now, however, he felt oddly uneasy that she hadn't married her fop. It was on the tip of his tongue to bluntly ask her why she had never married when she spoke again. "Scotland is different than I imagined it would be."
"In what way?"
"More wild, more primitive. I know gentlemen keep hunting boxes here, but I rather thought they'd have the usual conveniences and servants. What was your hoe like?"
"Wild and primitive," Ian replied. While Elizabeth looked on in surprised confusion, he gathered up the remains of their snack and rolled to his feet with lithe agility. "You're in it," he added in a mocking voice.
"In what?" Elizabeth automatically stood up, too.
"My home."
Hot, embarrassed color stained Elizabeth's smooth cheeks as they faced each other. He stood there with his dark hair blowing in the breeze, his sternly handsome face stamped with nobility and pride, his muscular body emanating raw power, and she thought he seemed as rugged and invulnerable as the cliffs of his homeland. She opened her mouth, intending to apologize; instead, she inadvertently spoke her private thoughts: "It suits you," she said softly.
Beneath his impassive gaze Elizabeth stood perfectly still, refusing to blush or look away, her delicately beautiful face framed by a halo of golden hair tossing in the restless breeze-a dainty image of fragility standing before a man who dwarfed her. Light and darkness, fragility and strength, stubborn pride and iron resolve-two opposites in almost every way. Once their differences had drawn them together; now they separated them. They were both older, wiser-and convinced they were strong enough to withstand and ignore the slow heat building between them on that grassy ledge. "It doesn't suit you, however," he remarked mildly.
His words pulled Elizabeth from the strange spell that had seemed to enclose them. "No," she agreed without rancor, knowing what a hothouse flower she must seem with her impractical gown and fragile slippers.
"In what way?"
"More wild, more primitive. I know gentlemen keep hunting boxes here, but I rather thought they'd have the usual conveniences and servants. What was your hoe like?"
"Wild and primitive," Ian replied. While Elizabeth looked on in surprised confusion, he gathered up the remains of their snack and rolled to his feet with lithe agility. "You're in it," he added in a mocking voice.
"In what?" Elizabeth automatically stood up, too.
"My home."
Hot, embarrassed color stained Elizabeth's smooth cheeks as they faced each other. He stood there with his dark hair blowing in the breeze, his sternly handsome face stamped with nobility and pride, his muscular body emanating raw power, and she thought he seemed as rugged and invulnerable as the cliffs of his homeland. She opened her mouth, intending to apologize; instead, she inadvertently spoke her private thoughts: "It suits you," she said softly.
Beneath his impassive gaze Elizabeth stood perfectly still, refusing to blush or look away, her delicately beautiful face framed by a halo of golden hair tossing in the restless breeze-a dainty image of fragility standing before a man who dwarfed her. Light and darkness, fragility and strength, stubborn pride and iron resolve-two opposites in almost every way. Once their differences had drawn them together; now they separated them. They were both older, wiser-and convinced they were strong enough to withstand and ignore the slow heat building between them on that grassy ledge. "It doesn't suit you, however," he remarked mildly.
His words pulled Elizabeth from the strange spell that had seemed to enclose them. "No," she agreed without rancor, knowing what a hothouse flower she must seem with her impractical gown and fragile slippers.
( Judith McNaught )
[ Almost Heaven ]
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