Must Love Highlanders (23 page)

And she wanted to be composed…which she wasn’t sure she could pull off just yet.

She peeled off her clothes and put on dry ones, a delayed chill setting in. Or was it nerves? As she opened Hugh’s top dresser drawer to unload it, there was a knock at the door.

He can’t be home already!

“Let me in, dear.” Only Aunt Davinia.

Before Sophie answered the door, she closed Hugh’s drawer, not wanting Davinia to glimpse her underthings.

Aunt Davinia pulled her out into the hallway. “Come downstairs and have a cuppa with me.”

“No, thank you.” Sophie’s things were strewn about Hugh’s bedroom. “I best clean this up.”

Aunt Davinia shuffled her farther into the hall, reaching in to close the door. “You can take care of that later.”

“But—”

The older woman looped her arm through hers. “Don’t argue with Aunt Davinia. You need to warm yere bones.”

Sophie allowed herself to be led down the stairs and back to the kitchen. Just as they got settled at the table, the door opened and the dogs rushed in, shaking snow from their massive bodies. Hugh appeared next, windblown, his cheeks alive from the brutal weather, and looking absolutely gorgeous.

Aunt Davinia grabbed another mug, filled it with tea, and thrust it into his hands. “Take Sophie into the parlor, Hugh-boy, and warm her up in front of the fire.”

Hugh gave his aunt a pointed look.

“Run along now,” the old woman said, while blowing on her tea. “When Auntie is around, ye have to do as she bids.”

He sighed as if Sophie was a burden. Was it so terrible that he should sit in the parlor with her? He hadn’t thought she was such an inconvenience when they’d been kissing awhile ago.

Sophie picked up her mug, hugging it to her body, and huffed from the room.

Hugh was right behind her.

She should go back to his room, pack up her things, and find a corner of the house to call her own tonight. Then tomorrow, she would check around to see if she could stay anyplace other than Kilheath Castle. She certainly didn’t want to put the Laird out!

Sophie marched straight to the parlor’s fire, keeping her back to Hugh. She spun around when she heard the pocket doors being pulled closed.

“What are ye doing?”

He stalked toward her, stopping directly in front of her. “Remember? Our private chat?”

Did he mean to pick up where he’d left off with her lips? Her middle warmed, and it had nothing to do with the fire.

She turned around. “I won’t be a burden. I’ll only stay the night, then tomorrow I’ll find somewhere else to stay while I apprentice with Mr. Willoughby.”

“Masterson.”

“What?”

“Willoughby Masterson.” Hugh ran a lock of Sophie’s hair between his fingers.

“Oh,” she said breathlessly.

“Ye’re not a burden.”

Heat rolled off of him. Her insides were melting, and for a moment, she forgot to be mad at him for treating her like a liability. Instead, she wanted to stand closer to soak him in.

“What did ye want to talk about?” She was out of oxygen.

He looked ready to lean in and take possession of her lips, body, and soul. Sophie came to her senses just in time and moved away.

Hugh stepped closer. “Ye’ll sleep in my room tonight.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he put his hand up.

“Don’t argue. I’m the Laird.”

“Aye. Ye’re the Laird,” she agreed. “But this isn’t some scene from Outlander. Ye can’t order me around.”

“Sophie, it’s the only thing to do. Ye were brought here under false pretenses. Let me fix it.”

She studied him for a long moment. He was a decent man who wanted to make things right. Perhaps he didn’t see her as a burden after all. She longed to cuddle up to him, to be a comfort. She had her bright-light therapy to help her. What did he have to help him? “What about you?”

“I’ll sleep elsewhere.” Though his eyes showed more than a hint of disappointment.

If they were still back at the cabin and Aunt Davinia hadn’t come to rescue them, Sophie would probably be in Hugh’s arms right now, naked, finding out what it was like to be with a man. She fanned herself.

Then she remembered the predicament of where he would bed down for the night. “Where exactly will you sleep?” The loveseat in front of the fire hadn’t been all that comfortable last night and she was much shorter than Hugh. “You yereself said that the other rooms weren’t made up.” That meant that, for tonight, Aunt Davinia wouldn’t be in the house either.

“I’ll take my sister’s room.”

“No, you can’t.”

“I can.” Hugh grabbed her hands. “After Chrissa died, I slept on her floor every night until Aunt Davinia came and took me away.”

Sophie got the feeling that occupying his sister’s room was something Hugh needed to do, and maybe he knew it subconsciously, too. Perhaps sleeping beside his dead sister’s bed would help heal him. She wondered what Emma would think about his plan. Would this be therapy for him, like her lamp was for her?

Either way, Sophie could do something for him now. She wrapped comforting arms around him and came to a decision…he wouldn’t have to do this alone. She would be there for him, no matter what. She would sleep on the floor beside him tonight.

Hugh liked Sophie’s arms around him—verra much. He liked that she rubbed circles into his back. He liked the warmth of her buried into his chest. He tipped her head back and kissed her, showing her how much he liked…her. She snaked her arms around his neck. She must like him a little, too.

As he laid her back on the sofa, she made a soft hmmm sound. When he tried to pull away to make sure everything was okay, she tightened her arms around his neck. He ran his hand down the length of her and found the hem of her sweater. Just as he was exploring under her top, searching for skin, the pocket doors opened.

Sophie tried to scramble away from underneath him. He stilled her with his gaze while removing his hands where they shouldn’t have been.

“Hugh? Darling?” Aunt Davinia walked farther into the room.

They both sat up—Hugh still held on to Sophie.

“Oh, yes.” His aunt pretended to be embarrassed by the debauchery in the parlor. “I see you were telling yere guest good night.”

Hugh sighed heavily. “Yes, Auntie? What do ye need?”

“Donal is going to run me back to the dower house for tonight. But, darling, please don’t forget to feed yere guest. I believe she’s going to need her strength.”

Sophie, red-faced, slipped off the couch and went to the writing desk in the corner. A rectangular lamp sat on top. She grabbed a book, sat down, and turned on the lamp.

“Good night, dear.” Aunt Davinia, who didn’t seem at all surprised to see Sophie in front of the bright light, waved to her.

Sophie glanced up for only a second. “Night, Aunt Davinia.”

Hugh should’ve felt bad for accosting Sophie a moment ago, but he couldn’t work up any regret. He wanted to go back to her, rub her back, fondle her hair, or something. He needed to keep touching her, but instead he followed Davinia into the hallway.

“Auntie?” he called.

“Yes, Hugh-boy. What is it?”

“I need to know something. Is there anything else that ye’ve done? Tell me now if ye and Amy are done conniving.”

Aunt Davinia laughed heartily and walked away.

Sophie had her eyes glued to some book, but her focus was all on the Laird when he came back into the parlor. He went to a stack of magazines, grabbed one, and stretched out on the loveseat, his legs hanging off. The air was rife with sexual tension, or with Sophie’s wishful thinking; it was hard to tell which.

The Wallace and the Bruce wandered into the room and took up residence at her feet. Those two dogs knew a lot about how to keep a lass company. Sophie planned to talk to Emma about dogs, wondering if they had the therapeutic qualities that she suspected they had. And maybe ask Emma about kissing. Between the hounds at her feet and Hugh’s expert lips, Sophie had been doing remarkably well without her therapy lamp all day.

After a while, Hugh left the room and came back with a tray. He didn’t say a word, but set a bowl of leftover soup in front of her, soda bread, and a cup of choco, acting like he didn’t want to disturb her reading. He ate in front of the fire with the Bruce and the Wallace staring at him—the beggars.

The soup, the warm parlor, and the comfortable companionship made Sophie feel at home. She yawned as Hugh cleared her bowl and spoon from the writing desk.

“What say ye, lass? Are ye ready for bed? It’s been a long day.”

“Aye.” She switched off her lamp. “I believe my lovely trek through the woods has worn me out.”

“Come then.” He offered his hand. “Let’s get you off to bed.”

As she placed her hand in Hugh’s, she wondered if he would kiss her good night.

Side by side, they walked up the wide staircase together with the Bruce and the Wallace right on their trail. He didn’t stop at his sister’s door, but followed her into his room. The dogs jumped on the bed and curled up on either end.

Sophie had forgotten about her clothes strewn all over his floor. While she scooped them up, Hugh closed the door. Had he changed his mind about where he was going to sleep? Her stomach came alive with butterflies doing cartwheels. She waited to see if he would pull her into his arms. But he went to his closet, dug around in the bottom, and retrieved blue plaid pajama bottoms.

Oh. But she still had hope. There was still time for him to make some kind of overture.

Instead, he walked to the door. He hesitated as he exited, but didn’t look up. “Good night, Sophie.” He closed the door behind him.

She felt stupid for thinking he might try to seduce her. She felt even stupider for still hugging her dirty clothes. Damn him! She threw her bundle at the hard oak door. The Wallace and the Bruce frowned at her…or at least that’s what it looked like.

Well, Hugh may not want to crawl into bed with her…and he may have decided on no more kisses, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to keep Sophie Munro from sleeping with the Laird tonight.

Hugh changed in the loo down the hall and went back to Chrissa’s room. He stood in the doorway for a long moment. He didn’t know what had possessed him to give up his own bed and say he would sleep in here. Like a warrior going to battle, he heaved himself over the threshold, shut himself in, and went to Chrissa’s closet. He pulled down the stack of quilts that he’d slept on as a grieving lad and made himself a pallet. He didn’t want to stop to examine his feelings. He was a grown man now, and he could do this. He shut out the light and lay on the floor next to his dead sister’s bed.

He stretched out, looking up at the dark ceiling for a long time, pretty sure that falling asleep would be a futile exercise. He should go downstairs and have a whisky. He could sleep on the damned loveseat like Sophie had done last night. He rolled onto his side.

As if he’d conjured Sophie up, the bedroom door opened and then quietly shut. She tiptoed toward him and softly felt the outline of his back. He didn’t speak, anticipating what she would do next, but he got it wrong. She lay down behind him, wrapped one arm around his middle, and curled into his back.

The spoon.

Hugh let out the breath he’d been holding. The spoon grabbed the top quilt and hogged the blankets. He laid his hand over hers, squeezed it, and fell fast asleep in her comforting embrace.