The Care and Feeding of Your Captive Earl (What Happens In Scotland Book 3) by Kate McKinley Page A

feelings.
    “That is only because you haven’t had the opportunity to learn. Come, I will be your tutor. Fortunately for us, omelets are rather simple.”
    When she hesitated, he reached out and grabbed her wrist, tugging her toward him. He placed her between him and the table, then placed an egg in her hand. Together, they cracked the egg over the bowl.
    “Oh!” She laughed.
    The curve of her backside fit perfectly against him, and it drove him to distraction. He was surrounded by her scent—an intoxicating mixture of lavender and something that was entirely Gwendolyn. The heat of her body, her very presence, was like a balm to his soul.
    He imagined laying her down on the cold stone floor, spreading her thighs, and pushing his cock into her sweet, virtuous heat.
    The sounds of her moans were forever branded in his mind. Should he be admitted to Bedlam, he would still never be rid of them. They were now a part of him—entwined with the very air he breathed.
    Matthias shook his head and stepped back, placing himself on the opposite side of the table—putting at least that small barrier between them.
    “May I try it on my own?” she asked excitedly.
    He couldn’t help but smile at her eagerness. “Take an egg and crack it over the bowl just as I showed you.”
    She took the egg in hand, but cracked it on the rim of the bowl a fraction too hard and it crumbled—shell and all—into the bowl. With a sharp intake of breath, she jerked her hand back, as though she’d just done something unforgivable.
    With her gaze fixed on the floor, she clasped her hands in front of her as though she was afraid they would break free and cause more damage.
    “I’m sorry,” she said. “I am such an idiot. I did tell you I was hopeless in the kitchen. Truth be told, I am hopeless at most things. Or so my father has told me.”
    Ah, he was beginning to see why she thought so little of herself.
    Stepping around the table, he took the fork in hand and tugged her back toward the table. He placed the fork in her hand and guided her, sifting the shells out bit by bit, until none remained.
    “There, you see,” he whispered in her ear. “No harm done. The omelet is not spoilt, after all.”
    He stirred the eggs, then poured them onto a skillet, which he’d found hanging above the hearth, and placed it over the fire. He turned back to her, regarding her carefully.
    “Why do you judge yourself so harshly?”
    She blinked up at him, clearly surprised by his question. “I don’t judge myself harshly.”
    “Calling yourself an idiot is not harsh?”
    She pushed out a breath, glancing back down at the floor—which, at the moment, seemed to hold great fascination. “It was an idiotic thing to do. You instructed me, and I should have done it properly,” she replied quietly.
    “Is that what your mother told you?”
    “No,” she said. “My father. He could be quite difficult to please—for me, at least. Nothing I did ever seemed sufficient. My very presence in the world seemed to vex him greatly.”
    It was one thing they had in common, then. His mother had never been outwardly cruel, but her indifference felt just as violent as if she’d inflicted a physical blow. Indeed, he remembered praying she would find some fault in him—for any acknowledgment would have been preferable to the cold, quiet nothingness she’d bestowed upon him as a child.
    They ran in the same circles and Matthias knew Gwen’s father. He was a thin, austere man and took little pleasure in anything. It didn’t surprise Matthias that the man would find fault with a handsome, intelligent woman such as Gwen.
    “Is this why you attempt to hide in the shadows when you are out in society, due to your father’s criticisms?”
    She wasn’t a natural wallflower. She was bright, like a jewel that drew one’s attention. She had an innate vivacity that drew men to her. There’d always been the occasional gentleman who had not taken Matthias warnings about her, and