he sat in the comfortably worn wing chair by the fire, stretched out his legs, and tried to settle his mind.
He’d always lived a complicated life that ran along the ragged edge of the beau monde. The friends he’d made here at Westerfield were true, and they would have welcomed him into their social world. Others would not have been so charitable. Since he’d started life without wealth, a title, or even legitimate birth, he preferred to live in a less rarified social stratum where he could be accepted as he was.
He didn’t miss attending boring routs and other ton events, but he’d be lying if he didn’t envy his legitimate friends the security of knowing they belonged. Life was interesting on the edge, but sometimes . . . tiring.
Thinking he needed some brandy, he collected his flask, managing to knock over a wooden chair on his way back to the fire. He hadn’t drunk enough to be that clumsy, so it must be fatigue. Yet still he watched the flickering flames, reluctant to go to bed.
He knew who and what he was. But he was human enough to regret what could never be his.
Chapter 7
Kiri was pulled from deep sleep by a muffled bang in the next room. It took her a moment to remember where she was. Ah, yes, insult, horse theft, smugglers, kidnapping, escape—and Damian Mackenzie. The man she’d been ready to knife, who had transformed into a protector and ally.
The sky was still dark and she sensed that she hadn’t slept long. Someone, probably Mackenzie, had dropped something or banged into the furniture to wake her.
Mackenzie. Damian. Knowing he was in the next room, probably stripping off his clothing, sent a wave of heat through her body.
She was a normal female who had always admired attractive males. But though she enjoyed hugging and kissing, she hadn’t realized the power of passion. She wanted to walk into his room and rip off any clothes that covered that powerful body and wrap herself around him. The thought was equally exciting and alarming.
She bit her lip. Decent females did not do such things, and despite Kiri’s rebellious streak, she was decent. Or at least, she had been raised well. But she couldn’t let the most appealing man she’d ever met ride away, never to be seen again.
Mackenzie had made it clear that a great and impassable social chasm divided them. She agreed it was great, but impassable? That she was less sure of.
If the gap between them was to be bridged, she would have to make the first move. And tonight might be the only chance she would have, despite her fatigue and the staggering impropriety of what she must do.
Her heart accelerated with anxiety. It would be . . . hard to bear if he laughed at her overtures. No, he wouldn’t be cruel, but he might very well reject her politely. He must meet endless numbers of attractive, experienced women. Why would he want to involve himself with an inexperienced mixed-blood female?
And yet—there had been that blazing reaction when they came together. She was sure such passion was rare.
Whether passion was enough remained to be seen. Reminding herself that she was a daughter of warrior queens, she rose and lit a candle from the fireplace. She donned a robe as a gesture to propriety. Candle in one hand, she left her room and tapped on the door of the next room. She held her breath, hoping he was awake still.
Almost as much, she hoped that he wasn’t.
Her tentative knock was met with a low-voiced invitation to enter. She drew a deep breath and opened the door.
Mackenzie sat by the fire, his face weary and his long legs stretched out in front of him. He also wore a robe that was too short as he sipped from his silver brandy flask. As firelight sculpted his strong features, he was far more handsome than was safe.
He looked up—and choked on his brandy. After a brief coughing fit, he gave her a ferocious glare. “You’re supposed to be sleeping the sleep of the innocent, Lady Kiri.”
She closed the door behind her. “Not as
He’d always lived a complicated life that ran along the ragged edge of the beau monde. The friends he’d made here at Westerfield were true, and they would have welcomed him into their social world. Others would not have been so charitable. Since he’d started life without wealth, a title, or even legitimate birth, he preferred to live in a less rarified social stratum where he could be accepted as he was.
He didn’t miss attending boring routs and other ton events, but he’d be lying if he didn’t envy his legitimate friends the security of knowing they belonged. Life was interesting on the edge, but sometimes . . . tiring.
Thinking he needed some brandy, he collected his flask, managing to knock over a wooden chair on his way back to the fire. He hadn’t drunk enough to be that clumsy, so it must be fatigue. Yet still he watched the flickering flames, reluctant to go to bed.
He knew who and what he was. But he was human enough to regret what could never be his.
Chapter 7
Kiri was pulled from deep sleep by a muffled bang in the next room. It took her a moment to remember where she was. Ah, yes, insult, horse theft, smugglers, kidnapping, escape—and Damian Mackenzie. The man she’d been ready to knife, who had transformed into a protector and ally.
The sky was still dark and she sensed that she hadn’t slept long. Someone, probably Mackenzie, had dropped something or banged into the furniture to wake her.
Mackenzie. Damian. Knowing he was in the next room, probably stripping off his clothing, sent a wave of heat through her body.
She was a normal female who had always admired attractive males. But though she enjoyed hugging and kissing, she hadn’t realized the power of passion. She wanted to walk into his room and rip off any clothes that covered that powerful body and wrap herself around him. The thought was equally exciting and alarming.
She bit her lip. Decent females did not do such things, and despite Kiri’s rebellious streak, she was decent. Or at least, she had been raised well. But she couldn’t let the most appealing man she’d ever met ride away, never to be seen again.
Mackenzie had made it clear that a great and impassable social chasm divided them. She agreed it was great, but impassable? That she was less sure of.
If the gap between them was to be bridged, she would have to make the first move. And tonight might be the only chance she would have, despite her fatigue and the staggering impropriety of what she must do.
Her heart accelerated with anxiety. It would be . . . hard to bear if he laughed at her overtures. No, he wouldn’t be cruel, but he might very well reject her politely. He must meet endless numbers of attractive, experienced women. Why would he want to involve himself with an inexperienced mixed-blood female?
And yet—there had been that blazing reaction when they came together. She was sure such passion was rare.
Whether passion was enough remained to be seen. Reminding herself that she was a daughter of warrior queens, she rose and lit a candle from the fireplace. She donned a robe as a gesture to propriety. Candle in one hand, she left her room and tapped on the door of the next room. She held her breath, hoping he was awake still.
Almost as much, she hoped that he wasn’t.
Her tentative knock was met with a low-voiced invitation to enter. She drew a deep breath and opened the door.
Mackenzie sat by the fire, his face weary and his long legs stretched out in front of him. He also wore a robe that was too short as he sipped from his silver brandy flask. As firelight sculpted his strong features, he was far more handsome than was safe.
He looked up—and choked on his brandy. After a brief coughing fit, he gave her a ferocious glare. “You’re supposed to be sleeping the sleep of the innocent, Lady Kiri.”
She closed the door behind her. “Not as
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