Secrets to Seducing a Scot by Michelle Marcos Page B

timidity beguiled her. “I assure you I’ve done so. But you may put your own mind at ease.”
    He went to the doorknob and tried it. Absently, he tucked the back of his shirt into his trousers.
    “Do ye have everything ye need for the night?” he asked.
    Not everything. “I believe so. And you? Are you comfortable behind the wall? It seems awfully cramped inside that little passageway.”
    “I’ve slept in worse places.”
    “Oh?”
    “Hmm,” he assented. “I once had to make bed inside four feet of snow just to stay out of the frigid Highland wind.”
    “What were you doing out in the wilds overnight?”
    He cocked his head. “I have not always enjoyed the pleasure of a warm home.”
    “You mean you were a vagrant?”
    He chuckled. “Ye make it sound as if it were a profession. I’m no Gypsy, if that’s what’s in yer head. My father owned a vast tract of land, with many tenant farmers.
But after he was … that is, I left home, I found myself a vagrant, as ye put it, for a short time.”
    Interesting, she thought. This Mr. Slayter hails from a family of landowners. “Why did you leave home?”
    He was silent a few moments. “Circumstances.”
    “I see,” she said, though she really did not. “Well, are you certain you wouldn’t feel more comfortable in the bedchamber next door?”
    “Sure I am that I would. But it would delay me coming to yer rescue. An intruder could always blockade yer door against me. Besides, as I said before, if an intruder did come in, the last thing he’d expect is someone coming through the wall. Surprise is key to victory.”
    Her eyes traveled down his long, lean legs. “And what’s to keep you from surprising me during the night?” She found the idea shot a secret thrill through her.
    He shook his head, spilling a lock of black hair down his forehead. A sidewise smile dimpled one cheek. “More sense than ye just showed in suggesting it.”
    An embarrassed flush heated her cheeks. She almost threw the hairbrush at him. “I-I only meant that I must rely on your honor to keep that door fully closed in the night. Because if I so much as catch you peeping into my rooms—”
    His palms faced her in a defensive posture. “Sacred, I assure ye.”
    She should have been relieved to hear it, but she wasn’t. In fact, it made her quite cross. She raked the hairbrush through her hair.
    “I shall want an outing,” she stated archly. “The Saint Swithin’s Day Festival in Invergarry is tomorrow. Zoe and I will be attending. Make your preparations early, or we shall leave without you.”

    “I shall be ready. But make bet, ye’ll no’ be leaving without me.” He turned on his heel and opened the secret door.
    His high-handedness galled her. She was not about to let him leave with the last word, let alone the last command.
    “You may take your leave now. But first, fetch me the milk.”
    It stopped him in his tracks. “Eh?”
    She didn’t even look at him, instead peering into the mirror. “The tray on the table beside the bed. Fetch it to me.”
    Out of the corner of her eye, she sensed him go to the night table and collect the pot of warm cocoa. Dutifully, he placed it on the dressing table.
    But he didn’t move.
    After a few tense seconds, she couldn’t stand it anymore. She looked up into his face. Amusement danced in his eyes.
    “Shall I pour it, too, milady?”
    This was worse. Now he was laughing at her expense. She should have slapped the mischievous grin off his face. But truth be told, she was mesmerized by the handsomeness of his features when something pleased him.
    “You may.”
    His eyes became mere slits as he studied her, and she grew uncomfortable under his penetrating gaze. His hips were mere inches from her head. But he did as she asked. He righted the overturned teacup, and placed it in the saucer. Her gaze feathered down his arm as he picked up the teapot. It looked like a toy in his large hand. Briefly she wondered what such a large hand