“There,” he said approvingly with a grin. “Ye laughed. Now ye’re starting to feel like a person instead of a mannequin. Ye must get out of yer head.”
“I prefer my head,” she grumbled. “It’s safer there.”
“Ye’ve got a body too, ye know. It’s time ye let it join the conversation.”
Her brows pinched, uncertain. “You speak as if I’ve ignored it.”
He looked at her with quiet intensity. “Ye have. But yer body is wiser than ye think. It knows hunger. Pleasure. Joy. Pain. Ye can ignore it for a time, but eventually it knocks on yer ribs and demands attention.”
His voice had changed. Lower now. Rougher.
“And aye,” he added, watching her closely. “Iamtalking about pleasure.”
Her breath caught. She’dfeltthings—moments in the dark, touches that lingered longer than they should. The heat she sometimes felt at night in her belly… the ache between her legs she didn’t fully understand.
“Aye, lass,” he said gently, answering the question she hadn’t fully voiced. “There is heat in us all. A fire that flares without reason. Even when ye lie in bed alone and quiet… yer body still knows it’s alive. That’s no shameful thing.”
“Your Grace?—”
“Alasdair. Here, we’re alone, and me name’s Alasdair,” he corrected, his eyes piercing into hers.
“It’s very improper,” she protested.
“In contrast to every other part of this moment?” he countered.
Her jaw tensed. He was right. This moment was downright scandalous, ruinous. Uttering his name wouldn’t make it any better.
“A-Alasdair,” she repeated softly, testing the sound on her tongue.
His eyes fluttered, as though he’d heard the sweetest melody.
This was making it all much, much worse.
“Good. And as for me previous statement, I’ll not apologize,” he said, voice still calm. “I’m not here to scandalize ye. I’m here to tell ye the truth. There is a pulse inside ye that belongs to ye, and no one else. It is yers to claim. Yers to explore. Ye need not wait for a husband to know it.”
She stared at him, wide-eyed and stunned, her mouth slightly ajar. He made her feel exposed, as though he’d peeled back every layer of polite society and seen something raw and real underneath.
“You’re a scoundrel,” she whispered.
“And yet,” he said, stepping closer, “ye haven’t run.”
No. She hadn’t. Her feet refused to move.
Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her lips parted as though waiting for breath or words or something more.
He looked at her then with something close to reverence.
“Ye’re beautiful when ye blush, Elizabeth,” he said softly. “And right now, ye’re blushing all the way down yer neck.”
A heavy silence fell between them.
The air in the room seemed to change. Thicken. Elizabeth could feel it pressing down on her like a storm. The teasing in his gaze had vanished. In its place was something darker, deeper, an ache barely contained.
Then he kissed her.
It was not rushed. Not demanding. His mouth brushed hers once, then paused, as if asking permission. Her body, trembling and uncertain, gave him an answer.
She leaned in just slightly, but it was enough.