Waking the Princess (28 page)

She nodded vehemently and leaned closer into the circle of his arm. The warmth between them deepened, penetrated through him, turned to ease and comfort. She felt so good in his protection, as if she belonged there, as if he had long searched for her, wanting to keep her close like this.

He remembered how she had felt under his hands when they had posed, the luxury of warm silk sliding over her body, thin fabrics separating his hands from her waist, her hips.

Nearly groaning at his thoughts, feeling his body surge of its own accord, he tipped back his head and tried to simply relax in the darkness beside her. Mellowed by a few sips of whisky, the drowsy patter of rain, the pervasive sense of comfort and peace between them, he deepened his breath.

Christina leaned against him and rested her cheek on his shoulder. Her palm lay on his chest, and an alluring pool of heat grew and spread.

Keenly aware of how alone they were, he was even more aware of her body beside him, swathed in layers of clothing. He sensed her heat, felt the burn of her beneath his hand, which was cupped over her shoulder. As he thought about tracing his palms over her skin and remembered the taste of her lips, his fingers began a gentle sweeping pattern over her shoulder. That simple touch felt like fire and sent a crackling sensation through him from head to foot.

They had agreed to be acquaintances only, but the lusty track of his thoughts took dominion over him now. He could not endure sitting here with her much longer, exercising restraint. If the rain did not soon stop, he would be testing his willpower again to see just how impervious he was to the spell of love.

But he already knew how vulnerable he was—at least where Christina Blackburn was concerned.

"I suppose," Christina said, looking around the little chamber, "the museum will send someone else to supervise this site just as soon as I tell Sir Edgar about the pots we found."

Aedan shifted a little, almost relieved by the remedy of a potential dispute. "Edgar? He'd better keep away from Dundrennan himself. I do not want to see the man. And I suppose both of you will be eager to close down my road forthwith."

"Edgar will decide if your road will close, not I."

He cocked a brow at her, and she returned the glance. Behind those delicate blue steel spectacles, her hazel eyes were soot lashed and dusky green. He noticed how stubborn her chin was, how lush and soft her lips were, and he knew that her cheek was the softest he had ever touched, creamy pink.

Think of the road,
he reminded himself,
and the house and blasted Edgar.
Thinking about her softness, her lusciousness, would be disastrous. He lifted his arm from around her shoulders, and she sat up. "Mrs. Blackburn, I think you do not realize how serious it will be if the highway cannot go through this ridge."

"I do not mean to challenge you."

"You challenge me, Christina Blackburn," he replied quietly, "far more than you know."

She watched him silently, and he felt his heart pound hard enough to be heard. "Aedan, this site is a magnificent find," she said then. "Cairn Drishan will be regarded as a national treasure. I thought you would be pleased—and proud."

"Proud to lose my home and my career?" he demanded.

She frowned. "I do not understand."

"You know there is a codicil to my father's will."

"Yes, concerning the house and the restorations. It appears that you will meet those conditions easily. What does that have to do with the hill?"

"The restoration to the house is not a problem, now that your brother has agreed to do the murals. But there is another addendum. If something of significant historical value is discovered on the estate, nearly everything—the house and some of the land—could revert to the care of the museum unless certain other conditions are met."

She tilted her head in concern. "What conditions?"

"In effect, Dundrennan would become a museum. I would have to arrange for exhibits and tours, and every room would be opened for viewing, with only a few kept for private use. Tourist pathways and seating would have to be provided for the sites on the estate. There would be a constant stream of people here, between the attraction of these ancient discoveries, my father's own extensive historical collection, and his legacy as a poet."

She nodded slowly. "In that case, Dundrennan would scarcely feel like your home any longer. You deeply value your privacy."

"And the privacy of my kinfolk and our home. I do not want to comply with this request, but if I do not, the house and a portion of the estate will be under the control of the museum."

"So either way, Dundrennan becomes a tourist attraction."

"Exactly. And if I do not agree, the treasures my father collected and whatever treasures might be found here"—he gestured toward the clay pots—"will be taken to the National Museum for permanent display. To Edgar's unending delight, of course. Surely he told you about this."

She shook her head. "He never said a word about it. I did not know."

"Neaves has been drooling after this property ever since my father's will was read. He was present that day."

"He never told me," she said. "But he never had reason to. I did not know you then."

"True," Aedan replied. He thought of the painting he had looked at daily for six years, her image that had become part of him. In a way, he felt as if he had known her for years—forever somehow.

"Why did Sir Hugh want such a strict addendum?"

Aedan sat back. "He always believed Cairn Drishan would yield something significant one day. He wanted to ensure that it would be protected if it was discovered."

"Apparently he was right about the hill." She frowned. "But I do not understand the reason for the codicil. It's as if he did not trust his heirs to handle the situation as he wanted."

"Perhaps he thought I would put my road first."

She watched him. "Was he right about that?"

He inhaled, blew out the breath. "My father and I never agreed on the matter of the highways and byways in Scotland—or this road in particular. But I have always done my best to cope with the needs of both the roads I must build and the estate I've inherited. I have always done my utmost for both. I care about my small role in improving Scotland, and I care about Dundrennan, too—very deeply."

"But he never realized that, did he?"

Aedan shook his head. He looked away from her to glance at the old dusty pots. "He intended Dundrennan for Neil," he said quietly. "Not for me. My father had no doubts where Neil was concerned. My brother and my father agreed on every matter to do with the estate. In fact, Neil was a writer himself, and some of the pieces in the collection were his acquisitions—military pieces were a particular love of his."

"What was he like?"

"Neil? A fine man," he murmured. "More handsome than I and less of a grumphie, as Amy likes to say. He had a ready laugh and a generous heart. He was quite knowledgeable about history—I believe he actually read many of the books in our library," he added wryly. "You would have liked him."

"I'm sure I would have. Though I like the current laird rather well," she said, smiling a little, her voice soft. In the amber lamplight, he saw her cheeks pinken, and he felt warmed by her words. "He sounds like a wonderful man, and a great loss."

He nodded. "Neil went off to the Crimean shortly after Father bought him a commission. He wanted to purchase one for me as well, but I did not want to join a regiment. I had finished four summers of apprenticeship and years of study, and I had just been awarded a grant for a road in Ayrshire. Sometimes I think... had I gone to war as my father wanted, I might have been with Neil the day he died—I might have been able to help him. I would have taken the bullet for him if it had come to that," he said low and fierce. "He might even now be laird of Dundrennan, as he should have been."

"Aedan." Christina leaned toward him. "You are a fine laird, perhaps best suited to Dundrennan now, since you understand so well the necessity of improvement in order for Scotland to survive. If I had been your father," she murmured, "I would have trusted you to do the right thing, no matter what the situation."

He looked at her in surprise, not expecting that depth of loyalty. "Would you?" He tipped his head, watched her curiously. "You, who like to argue with me on certain issues? I would have thought you might agree with my father. You are of like mind with Sir Hugh in many ways—like Neil was."

"That may be," she answered, "but I know how deeply you care about Dundrennan. You would never compromise its integrity as both a home and a historical site."

"Thank you," he murmured. "That means more to me than you could know. And you are right, Christina. I will not lose Dundrennan. I will do whatever I must to keep it whole and intact—even turn it into a museum." He frowned, thumped his fist on his upraised knee.

"The codicil exists, and now this place has been found. What if we find something more, Aedan? A tomb or another ancient structure, for example?"

"Or Arthur's gold?" he drawled. He shook his head. "Whatever we find, no road can go through here now. I am aware of that."

"What can we do to ensure that Dundrennan is protected, as you want, and that the terms of the will are also met?"

"In order to make sure that the museum—and Sir Edgar—get their just due out of this?" he asked quietly.

"I am not thinking of Sir Edgar," she said crisply, "and you should know that."

"Why," he said, leaning forward, "should I know that?"

Her expression was wholly intent as she angled toward him. "Because you should just know it."

He huffed. "That is charming, madam, but obscure."

"I... do not care for Sir Edgar... as I once thought I did," she said carefully.

"Aye?" Aedan leaned still closer, his arm brushing her shoulder, his face inches from her own. Her gaze locked with his.

"I was... swayed by his kindnesses to me, just as I have been... swayed by yours," she finished on a breath.

"I have not meant to sway you, madam," he whispered, "or to persuade you to anything you do not want for yourself."

She inclined toward him as he spoke, tipping her face upward, her lips a breath away, her eyes closed. Then she leaned another inch and kissed him.

He gave in to that sweetness readily, hungrily, taking her by the waist to draw her to him while she looped her arms around his neck and pressed against his chest. Her mouth moved under his, warm and heavenly. When their lips parted for an instant, she kissed him again—he was sure that she initiated it, as she had the first one—and he leaned back against the wall, taking her onto his lap and wrapping her in his arms, her skirts billowing over their legs.

He had maintained control and behaved himself, yet she had surprised him utterly, and he surrendered completely, gratefully. He kissed her with fervor, traced a hand over her fine-boned, stubborn jaw, finding the shell of her ear. She sighed, and her lips opened under his. He slipped his tongue outward to meet hers, and that sweet and delicate contact made him burn so hot for her that he thought he might be unable to bear it.

Pausing to tip her face upward, he gently slid her eyeglasses from her nose and set them aside. She blinked widely at him, the lovely purity of her face both innocent and seductive. He leaned close and took her into his arms again.

Her hands slipped up his back to clench at his shoulders. Sliding his hand up her slender back and down again to span her waist, he shifted his fingers and found the tiny buttons at the front of her blouse. She arched her body against him, and the full globe of one breast filled his palm, her nipple stiffening through the soft fabric.

He kissed her again, and she brought her fingers up to frame his jaw. The soft kid of her gloves slid over the rasp of his beard, and he turned his head, used his lips to gently bite at the gloves, pulling at the leather fingers playfully. She laughed, soft as air, and slid them off, tossing them aside. Then she took his face in her bare hands again and came close to kiss him, opening her mouth under his.

Her openness and boldness, her ease in touching him and being touched by him, let him know that she felt comfortable with him in this secret and ancient place, as he felt with her. As their kiss lingered, he slipped his hand over her clothed breast again, and she sighed, moving slightly, allowing his fingers to cup and gently caress.

Some of the upper buttons of her blouse were undone—he had noticed earlier the creamy skin that peeked through—and he slipped another button free, then more. As her upper blouse fell open, she caught her breath on a sharp intake and arched against him again. He slid his fingers inside, encountering fragile lace and cotton, and her breast, warm and exquisitely soft, spilled into his hand. She gasped when Aedan found the nipple and took it in his fingertips. Feeling her heart slamming under her rib cage, he kissed her deeply, lingering his lips on hers, while his fingers brought first one breast, then the other, to life. He could feel tiny shivers on the surface of her skin.

She moaned and leaned back in his arms, allowing him greater access, and he dipped his head, mouth slipping along the arch of her throat and down, until he tasted the warm pearl of her breast with his lips, teased it with his tongue until Christina shuddered and sighed and undulated against him. He lifted his head to kiss her mouth again, tasting her sweet and eager tongue, then kissed her cheek where the heat of her blush had grown so strong.