A Scandalous Scot by Karen Ranney

then started thumping loudly. Was she breathing? She took a halting breath just to prove she could.
    He just stood there, unmoving, as she stared.
    She steadied herself by reaching out one hand and gripping the back of the chair.
    He didn’t turn, walk away, or cover himself with his hands.
    She didn’t scream, run from the room, or close her eyes.
    He didn’t say a word.
    She couldn’t speak.
    A maidenly woman would have looked away, but she couldn’t do that, either. Instead, she stood there, eyes fixed on him.
    Tall, broad-shouldered, he looked fashioned after the statue in the corridor. Except he was larger, a Highlander of old, the width of his shoulders and the layered muscles of his chest tapering to a flat stomach and lean hips. His well-developed legs attested to his strength and made her wonder if he was, somehow, transplanted from the past, when the Murderous MacCraigs often went into battle. His black hair was damp, the ends curling.
    The sight of him was more than a woman, even a virgin, could take.
    Move, Jean.
    Close your eyes, Jean.
    Should she say something? No, she should turn around and simply walk out. That’s what she should do. But her feet wouldn’t move. There, she was breathing a little more. But her eyes refused to look away. Never in all her life had she ever seen a sight as arresting as the Earl of Denbleigh naked.
    Her father’s medical texts had been forbidden her, but that hadn’t stopped her from taking a peek at the books when he wasn’t around. She’d occasionally been startled. A few times she’d been horrified. But if she’d seen anything like the earl illustrated, she might have been tempted to tear out the page and hide it beneath her pillow.
    Was this lust? Or was she just feeling appreciative for the wonder of God’s creation?
    That’s it. She was simply being devout.
    Turn around, Jean. Turn around. Or at least curtsy. Do something! Stop staring at the man.
    Once, she’d happened onto a stable boy who was sluicing himself with water from the trough. Then, she’d been aghast at the sight of his scrawny naked chest, burnt by the sun.
    This man wasn’t scrawny. Nor was he an object of pity.
    Later she’d think about how frightened and distant she felt at the same time. And how the roof of her mouth had been so dry her tongue stuck to it. That’s the only reason she didn’t say anything to him, of course.
    “Have you seen enough?” he finally said, making no effort to cover any of his parts.
    Instead, he placed his fists on his hips and turned slowly, giving her a long and unrestrained look at his magnificent backside.
    Her heart pounded even harder.
    He was as beautiful from the back as he was from the front.
    When he turned to face her again, that masculine organ of his, once flaccid, was firmer, somehow. As she watched, it grew, rising out of its nest of hair, abandoning its stance of pointing at the floor, quivering as if sensing her.
    Was it sentient?
    She took a step back, startled by its curiosity.
    “Well? Have I satisfied your curiosity? Or is there anything else you’d like to see? Not that there is anything else for you to see.”
    “I—” What on earth should she say? Had she suddenly lost the ability to speak?
    She took another step backward, wondering if she should curtsy at this particular moment. Could she manage a curtsy? Her hands were trembling. Her entire body was trembling.
    Perhaps she’d become ill suddenly.
    Could that explain the weak feeling in her knees?
    In all the education from her parents, in all her in-depth study of the duties of a maid, no one had ever explained the proper etiquette when faced with a naked earl.
    Catriona would know. Catriona would flirt and act coy and maidenly.
    Thank God she was here instead of Catriona.
    Jean’s lips were numb.
    She could not force them into a smile. They wouldn’t go that way. She felt her mouth move into this odd little grimace to one side.
    He would think she was repulsed.
    Wouldn’t a