The Master Of Strathburn by Amy Rose Bennett Page B

access to the lacing at the back of her dress, Robert brushed the heavy curtain of her damp hair over one of her shoulders, releasing a tantalising scent of fresh rainwater and something else that was floral and wholly feminine. Bloody hell . His cock grew even harder. At this rate, he’d spend in his breeches before he’d even removed her gown.
    Gritting his teeth, he tried to ignore the pale-as-cream skin at the nape of her neck and the elegant line of her spine that was gradually being exposed as he loosened the laces. As gently and carefully as he could, he eased the ripped bodice over her injured arm. Even so, she flinched and sucked in a sharp breath as the sodden wool slid over the bloody bandage. The other sleeve slipped off easily and then her dress fell to the floor. Her petticoats quickly followed.
    Jessie now stood before him in only her torn, wet shift and stays. And God help him—he had never been so physically affected by a woman in all his life. Too scared to make another move in case it was the wrong one, he ran a hand through his damp hair, waiting for some further direction from the lass. Her back was still toward him and she seemed to be fumbling with something.
    Then she spoke and her words would surely bring about his undoing. ‘I’m afraid the laces o’ my stays are at the front and they’re knotted too tightly. My fingers do no’ seem to be working verra well.’ Her whole body was trembling and her voice was little more than a husky whisper.
    His breath caught in his chest as she turned around to face him. Christ, she was beautiful . The firelight illuminated her front and for a moment he was stunned. Enthralled. Her eyes were cast downward, her cheeks flushed and her full lips slightly parted. Above the damp, almost transparent linen of her shift he could clearly see the plump mounds of her surprisingly full breasts rising and falling with her rapid breathing. He couldn’t help but wonder what colour her nipples were.
    Thanking the Lord that she couldn’t hear his rampantly lustful thoughts, he took a step closer and proceeded to untie the stubborn laces. When his knuckles accidently brushed the soft, full underside of her breasts, he almost groaned. As soon as the task was accomplished, he turned abruptly away from her and strode to the other side of the room. He was going to need a dram of whisky, or to go out in the freezing rain again, or both before he would be able to attend to her arm.
    Behind him, he heard the plop of more wet garments on the floor and then the rustle of dry fabric as Jessie pulled on the clothes he’d provided—a linen shirt like his own, and a Clan Grant hunting plaid. He was relieved that his family’s plaids had not been confiscated by the dragoons hereabouts. Since the Rebellion, the wearing of tartan cloth had been banned except for members of the Watch. Still safely folded in the chest at the end of the bed between disintegrating bunches of dried lavender, it looked like the clothing hadn’t been disturbed for years. Perhaps ten years.
    When Robert turned around, he was surprised at how much it pleased him to see Jessie in his clan’s colours. They suited her well. But then, she’d look beautiful in a sackcloth and ashes. He forced himself to meet her wary gaze. She was obviously waiting for his next move.
    He smiled, affecting a calmness he in no way felt. ‘Right, Jessie. Let’s get this arm seen to.’
    * * *
    Jessie nodded, too overwhelmed to speak. She did not think she had ever endured anything so unsettling before. Indeed, she couldn’t meet Rob’s eyes when he swung her up into his arms again and carried her through into the next room. Could one die from embarrassment?
    The hunting lodge seemed to consist of three main areas—the bedchamber that she’d woken up in, a central kitchen-cum-dining-room furnished with a large oak table and chairs and sitting area before another fireplace, and a smaller room beyond that seemed to contain little