Maclean Curse - To Scotland With Love Part 22

It was all Gregor could do not to groan. She had no idea how tantalizing she was. Gregor forced himself to look away from her plump lips as she added a large dash of cinnamon from a small tin.

Gregor lifted the knife and slammed it down. The tops of the carrots rolled across the table, some hitting the floor.

Venetia jumped, her gray eyes wide. "What on earth are you doing?"

He slammed the knife again, more carrots scattering. "I'm chopping carrots." He lifted the knife again.

She reached across the table and grabbed his wrist, her fingers warm on his skin. "Gregor, they are carrots! Not tree branches."

"I fail to see the difference." He shook his wrist free and slammed down the knife once more, the tip biting into the wooden table this time.

He went to lift it, but it would not budge.

"Here." She walked to his side and twisted the knife free. Then she placed a carrot before her and, rocking the knife back and forth, deftly cut the carrot into tiny pieces.

"Oh." He watched as she picked up another carrot and did the same. "You really do know how to cook."

She made a face. "So would you if your parents had a tendency to argue with the cook before every dinner party."

His lips twitched. "I can imagine."

"Mama would get in a tizzy thinking something hadn't been done, and before we could stop her, she'd be in the kitchen, berating the poor cook." Venetia sighed, her full b.r.e.a.s.t.s pressing against the thin material of her dress. "Mama can be quite demanding, especially about justice."

Gregor forced himself to look away from her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, wondering about the color of her nipples. "I 'm sorry?"

"She felt the cooks were cheating her of their salary when things did not turn out as she wished."

He shook his head. "I've known for the longest time that you were the only sane member of your family, yet I still keep trying to make sense of them."

"I just accept and love them as they are." She laughed, her white teeth flas.h.i.+ng between her rosy lips. "Otherwise, I'd go mad with them."

He laughed, too. Even when he was at his sourest, Venetia had a way of making things seem brighter, her humor contagious, her unusual beauty appealing. That d.a.m.ned young upstart, Ravenscroft, had recognized her value all too well.

d.a.m.n Ravenscroft. Gregor's hand tightened on the knife.

"If you do not stop ma.s.sacring those carrots, I'm going to have to ask you to leave the kitchen."

Gregor looked down. He'd chopped the carrots, tops and all, into minutiae.

Venetia frowned at the mess. "Those are the last carrots, too."

"I can pick out the greenery." He used the tip of the knife to flick little bits out.

"Gregor! That went into my scones!" Venetia walked around the table, sending him an irritated glare. "Stand back; I'll do it."

As she bent over the table and began to remove the leaves from the carrot pile, Gregor eyed the exposed nape of her neck. Of all the sensitive places on a woman, it was his favorite. What would she do if he nuzzled her there, tasting the sweetness of her skin?

He knew what she'd do. She was a tinder box of pa.s.sion, ready to burst into flame at the smallest strike. He shoved his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching for her.

Now was the time to tell her of his plan to save her reputation, and explain how marriage was their only recourse. Yet as he opened his mouth to do so, she moved to one side, still bent over the table. He found himself looking down at her skirts as they curved over her lush bottom, so perfectly rounded to fit his hands.

His mouth went dry and he was suddenly unable to speak a word. b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, what was wrong with him? This was Venetia, not some ladybird who knew l.u.s.t and how to use it to her advantage. Venetia's allure was completely unconscious and he'd d.a.m.n well better remember that. His lack of control had caused them enough trouble as it was.

He closed his eyes. He supposed he should just be thankful that he'd only recently discovered Venetia's dangerous combination of vitality and sensuality. If he'd discovered it sooner, their friends.h.i.+p wouldn't have lasted.

He wondered how many men other than Ravenscroft had noticed Venetia's attractions? His jaw tightened at the thought. Thank G.o.d she'd never shown any interest in any of the men her parents had paraded before her. They were determined to see her wed, though as the years pa.s.sed and she remained steadfastly unattached, they'd been less aggressive in their efforts.

"I am surprised your father countenanced Ravenscroft," he said.

Venetia looked over her shoulder, surprise in her expression. "Why wouldn't Papa countenance him? He is a gentleman in every sense of the word."

"Except in abducting you."

She straightened, her hips brus.h.i.+ng him in a very uncomfortable place. Unaware that she'd just sent a jolt of awareness through him more potent than any brandy, she said, "Gregor, I was picking stems from your carrots. What made you say such a thing about poor Ravenscroft?"

"He abducted you. I find his presence more and more onerous." He paused, then said in a deliberate voice, "Once we are married, I will not countenance that puppy in our house."

Venetia turned to face him, her eyes wide with disbelief. "What did you say?"

He reached over and removed the knife from her hand. "You don't have any choice," he said grimly. "You are ruined."

"But that's-I don't know why you-" She put her hands on her hips and leaned forward, unwittingly giving him a direct view down the front of her gown. "Gregor MacLean, how much port have you had?"

Her bosom rose and fell in outrage, the very bosom he was staring at as if he'd never seen one.

Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were remarkably full and ripe, the tops curved enchantingly against the material of her gown. Her chemise was plainly visible where it held the tantalizing curves together, pressing them upward as if offering them to him. The delicate sc.r.a.p of lace at the top of her chemise seemed to be straining with the weight.

Gregor's mouth watered as if he'd just been offered a piece of his favorite cake. No wonder Ravenscroft had been so demented as to face possible ruin. Well, Gregor would make certain that neither Ravenscroft nor any other man besides him received such a view again. Once he married Venetia, he'd purchase a whole new wardrobe of high-cut gowns. Red ones and green ones and pink ones and- "Gregor?" Venetia followed his gaze. She gasped and crossed her hands over the top of her gown. "Gregor!"

He grinned wickedly. "Sorry, my love. You were saying?"

"You shouldn't look at me that way!"

"You are my intended. I can look at you any way I wish."

"Even if we were engaged, which we are not, I wouldn't countenance that!"

His brows rose. "No? I think you'd enjoy it."

She opened her mouth to retort but could find no words. Venetia pa.s.sed her hand over her eyes.

She couldn't believe Gregor was asking her to marry him.

Actually, he was telling her. "You said you would never marry."

He shrugged. "I see no other solution."

His words flicked across her like hot ash on bare skin. "No."

Gregor frowned, disbelief in his gaze. "I beg your pardon?"

"I said no." She went back to her side of the table and began to stir the scone batter. "I would rather be ruined than married to a man who didn't care for me."

"I care for you."

She looked him straight in the eye. "Oh?"

"I do," he said stiffly. "I have always been fond of you."

"Fond is not enough."

He knew, then, what she wanted. Love. After a moment of silence, he said, "It's all I have."

They looked at each other a long moment. Disappointment filled her eyes with tears.

Gregor's chest ached. "Venetia, be reasonable. I am fond of you, and I'm also attracted to you.

Most marriages are based on less."

"Not my marriage. And if I have to explain that to you, then you definitely are not the man for me."

Gregor raked a hand through his hair. "Do you realize what is going to happen once the squire sees you in London? You will be shunned, abandoned."

"That is my problem. I will deal with it on my own." She wiped her eyes and then pointed to the onions. "Please cut those; I need them for the stew." She went to the fire and removed the lid of a large pot, sprinkling an a.s.sortment of herbs into whatever bubbled there.

Gregor couldn't absorb her refusal. He'd never thought she would say no. He'd a.s.sumed her arguments would be about when and how rather than why. He'd been prepared to be magnanimous about those things, to let her plan whatever sort of service she desired and spend a ridiculous amount of his money if she so desired.

But to say no in such a way? He didn't know what to say. Gregor grabbed an onion and raised the knife.

"Peel those first," Venetia said, her voice tight as she returned the lid to the pot over the fire.

Gregor peeled and sliced the onions, the strong odor stinging his eyes. He cut as much as he could, then turned away, his eyes burning almost as much as his pride. "b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, these are strong!"

"They get stronger as they age." She tossed a rag across the table. "Dry your eyes before someone thinks I've stepped on your toe."

She had stepped on his pride. That was what ached so badly now. He wiped his eyes, the burning subsiding a bit, and replaced the rag on the table. "Thank you."

She gathered the onions and carrots and carried them to the pot.

Gregor watched silently. He'd botched everything. His attempted rescue had achieved nothing, and now his attempt to settle her future had put yet another barrier between them.

He should have found a better way to present his proposal-though, eventually, she'd have to agree to it. There was no other solution.

Venetia removed the lid from the pot and added a pinch of something.

"That smells wonderful. What's in it?"

"Some ham from yesterday, some broth, rosemary, and garlic." She gave him a brief impersonal smile before she turned away. "Thank you for helping, Gregor."

She was dismissing him. Gregor stiffened, his pride bruised. But then, so was hers. He watched her for a moment, noting the high color in her cheeks and the way she avoided his gaze.

Perhaps it was better if he left, for now. Once she'd had time to think things through, she'd come to the same conclusion he had. All she needed was a little time for reflection.

Gregor washed and dried his hands, then shrugged into his coat. d.a.m.n it, this was not the way he' d thought this would go. He paused by the door, trying to find words to explain what he thought and why, but none would come.

Instead, he said, "We should be able to leave tomorrow. You will need to pack your portmanteau. I suppose you will wish to return to London right away."

She replaced the lid on the stew and returned to the table. "No. I have decided to go to my grandmama's as I originally intended."

"Fine. I will escort you."

"No, thank you. I can travel on my own."

"Don't be ridiculous."

She smiled thinly. "Why shouldn't I travel alone now? I'm a ruined woman, remember? In a way, I am certain I will find it very freeing."

"Venetia, I-"

She lifted her eyes to his, a hopeful expression burning there. "Yes?"

Gregor heard the hope, the hint of wanting, and for an instant, something deep inside him responded to that hint of more. Then his good sense returned. "I will escort you, and I won't take no for an answer."

She shrugged, wiping the table as if her life depended on it. "Do whatever you will. By this time tomorrow, things will return to normal."

But things wouldn't, and they both knew it.

Gregor left, torn by the desire to explain-what? That he didn't love her and therefore couldn't say so? That he respected her more than any other woman, and that should be enough?

Scowling, he grabbed his overcoat from a peg by the door and headed out to the sanity of the stables.

Chapter 16.

There's no bond like that betwixt a mum and her wee ones. No one can make yer heart sing louder, or yer knees quake more.

OLD WOMAN NORA FROM LOCH LOMOND TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ONE COLD EVENING.

T he squire set his napkin on the table. "Miss West, that's the best stew I've ever had! And to think we were afraid we'd starve to death."

Venetia offered the squire a faint smile. "Thank you. I enjoy cooking." She turned her gaze back to her own bowl, studiously avoiding Gregor's gaze. He'd come in late and had taken a chair, growling at everyone who attempted to draw him into conversation.

Ravenscroft looked up from where he'd been ravenously gulping the stew. "I say, Venetia, can you cook anything else?"