Circenn drew a deep breath, held it until his heart slowed, then released it. Now that he knew what was beneath her clothing—no matter what gown he made her wear—how would he be able to look at her again without seeing in his mind the endless expanse of silken skin? The gentle swells of her breasts, the tight nipples peaking the sheer gauze, the slight mound between her thighs.
Thwarted desire translated well into rage. He stomped down the stairs to the kitchen, determined to find Alesone or Floria and have one of them see to it that the lass was properly attired. Then he would send one of the Douglas brothers to teach her about their time, something he should have done himself, but he simply couldn’t trust himself near her at the moment. He would go train with his men and release some of his frustration in the pure, clean joy of swinging a heavy sword, grunting and cursing. And he would not entertain one more erotic thought for the remainder of the day.
Shaking his head, he burst into the kitchen. It took him only an instant to realize that none of his plans for the day was going to go right. In fact, the day seemed to have taken on a devilish persona, determined to mock him.
He drew to an abrupt halt, hastily averting his gaze from the sight of the rounded and flushed bare bottom gripped in Duncan Douglas’s hands.
Alesone had one long leg wrapped around Duncan’s waist, her arms twined around his neck and her skirts tossed up to her shoulders. The foot that remained on the floor was arched upon the tips of her toes, as Duncan’s hands guided her against him in a steady, intense rhythm. The low, sensual sounds of passion filled the room, soft intakes of air, husky murmurs of pleasure, and damned if Duncan wasn’t emitting a deeply satisfied sound with each thrust.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” Circenn roared, glancing at the ceiling, the walls, the floor—anywhere but at Alesone’s shapely derriere. “Duncan! Alesone! Get out of the kitchen! Take it to the rooms upstairs! You know I have rules—”
“Ah, yes, the legendary Brodie rules,” Duncan said dryly. He stopped rocking the maid against him with more leisure than Circenn appreciated. “Which include among them: When knights are in residence, no tupping in the kitchen.”
Alesone made a soft sound of protest at being interrupted.
“I eat in here!” Circenn thundered, feeling entirely too put upon.
“So does Duncan,” Alesone purred suggestively. She slid her leg down from Duncan’s waist slowly, giving Circenn a good, long look. With a coy smile, she dropped a lid onto the honey pot perched on the table near Duncan.
Circenn did not want to know what they’d been doing with the honey, and his expression must have clearly said as much, for Duncan burst into laughter.
“Excuse us, Cin.” He grinned as he dropped Alesone’s skirts with one hand, swung her up into his arms, and swept her from the kitchen.
Images of one-person-in-particular’s bare, rounded bottom assaulted him.
Circenn kicked out a chair, dropped his head on the table, and reconsidered killing the lass just to put himself out of his misery.
RUBY TOOK THE STAIRS TO THE STONES’ APARTMENT two at a time, but slowed her stride when she reached the third floor and proceeded down the dimly lit corridor. A colorful welcome mat—one of Lisa’s determinedly optimistic touches—brightened the appearance of the dismal door with its chips of peeling brown paint curling up from the underlying gray metal. APT. 3-G dangled at a lopsided slant from a single screw. Ruby raised her hand to knock but found herself straightening the sign instead, then dropped her fist to her side. She was dreading this visit. Twining a strand of hair around a nervous finger, she reminded herself that Lisa always faced things head-on; the least she could do was emulate her. When she raised her hand again, she knocked firmly. Elizabeth, the day nurse, opened it and ushered her in.
“Lisa? Is that you, darling?” Catherine called, a note of hope in her voice.
“No, Mrs. Stone. It’s just me, Ruby,” she replied as she crossed the small living room and turned down the narrow hallway to the bedroom. Entering the cozy room, she sank into a chair next to Catherine’s bed and wondered where to begin. She plucked idly at the half-finished patchwork quilt resting on the arm of the chair. How was she going to break the latest news to Lisa’s mom? Catherine was critically ill, her daughter had disappeared, and now Ruby had even worse news for her.
“What did the man at the museum say?” Catherine asked anxiously.
Ruby smoothed her hair and shifted in her seat. “Would you like some tea, honey?” she evaded.
Catherine’s green eyes, uptilted and once as bright as her daughter’s, met Ruby’s with a cool reminder that she wasn’t dead yet and wasn’t stupid either. “What did you find out, Ruby? Don’t try to distract me with tea. Has anyone seen my daughter?”