Kathleen E. Woodiwiss(114)
Inquiring at the village store on Ruark’s whereabouts, Shanna drew a shrug from Mister MacLaird.
“Doan know, lass. He was here early this morn to order some supplies, but I have na laid me eyes upon him since. Have ye checked the sawmill?”
At the building site, Shanna received the same unknowing answer.
“Seems ‘ere was something doing at the brewing house, and he was needed.”
Yet even there, none could say where Mister Ruark had gone after leaving. Finally, late that afternoon, Shanna gave up the fruitless chase and returned to the manor. Her father had returned, and Sir Billingsham had engaged him in a discussion of shipyards. Hearing the man’s voice, Shanna cautiously made her way across the entrance hall, but the squeaking of the front door had alerted Gaylord and he hailed for her to wait. He was insistent that she join them in the drawing room and would not accept her excuse of wanting to change for dinner, firmly declaring she was ravishing enough. Silently Shanna cursed her luck but nodded and smiled lamely, letting the man lead her across the hall. It was the most boring evening she ever spent in her life, for the man seemed incapable of discussing anything but his family’s aristocracy and even had the nerve to point out to her father the advantages his good name would lend to the Trahern fortune. It was some time after the meal was concluded before Shanna managed to escape to her chambers where she immediately ordered a bath and slipped out of her riding habit, dismissing Hergus for the night after the bedcovers were turned down and her sleeping gown laid out.
Sinking into the steaming water, Shanna leaned back in the ornate porcelain tub and languidly sponged her creamy shoulder. Curling tendrils of hair dangled coyly from the luxuriant mass secured with combs on top of her head. The heat of the bath caused her cheeks to bloom with a rosy color, brightening the sea-green eyes beneath their ebony lashes. But in the midst of this comfort, the softly curving mouth showed a petulant pout, and as she caught her reflection in the tall mirror which stood behind a chair, Shanna made a face at herself, wrinkling the slim, lovely nose in aggravation. First her failure to find Ruark, then his absence from dinner had left her in a fitful mood. His mere presence at the table put monotony to flight, and she had felt somehow deserted. Of late there was little enough left of her privacy outside her chambers to have even a word with him, for Gaylord seemed to scent her out like a hound after a bitch in heat. The knight was forever taking her arm, and she was becoming increasingly aware of Ruark’s displeasure over this event. Seeing his growing scowl, she would disdainfully set Gaylord’s hands from her, but the knight was persistent and would not be put off easily.
Shanna closed her eyes and rested her head back against the tub’s tall rim, letting the warm bath ease her tensions. It was rare now to go a full day without even glimpsing Ruark, though he was usually in demand wherever a problem was to be solved or an easier way to be found. Somehow her day did not seem complete.
The silken draperies behind her rustled with the stir of evening breezes. It was a warm, gentle night with the heady fragrance of frangipani scenting the air. The threat of the storm had subsided after only a light sprinkling, just enough to season the night air with a heightened aroma of freshness mingled with the smell of flowers. From afar, the shrill, repetitious song of a tree frog mixed with the sounds of night. The clock in her room daintily chimed in the tenth hour, and at its last note, a new melody began, one Shanna had never heard before in her chambers. Her eyes flew open with a start and immediately saw the source, a rather large music boa which had been placed on a table near her. And in the chaise beside it, Ruark reclined comfortably, a gracious smile on his handsome lips, his long legs stretched out before him and casually crossed at the ankles.
Shanna sat upright in the tub, staring at him in amazement. A quick glance about the room indicated that he had made himself at home. His hat was tossed upon the bed with his shirt beside it, leaving only the brief breeches to clothe his brown torso. A nod accompanied his greeting.
“Good evening, love, and thank you.” His eyes dipped briefly to her wet, glistening breasts.
“You have no propriety,” Shanna railed above the tinkling melody. But beneath his calm regard she settled herself to continue less harshly, as if only mildly injured, “You invade a lady’s private bath and advantage yourself with unsuspected peepery.”
Ruark grinned in exceptional humor. “I do but exercise my spousely rights, Shanna. ‘Tis an occurrence that happens so rarely that I am indeed much disadvantaged. While other husbands nightly view their treasures, I, for the greater part, must rely on recall, even then harshly reining my desire to my will, for I cannot oft seek relief from that which pains me.”