Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

Kate hummed as she waltzed into the kitchen, drawing the wool shawl around her shoulders tighter.

Gabriel froze from slicing the shallot on the worktop. He could still taste her on his lips, but he didn’t understand the pressure in his chest as she smiled at him, so easy. Warmth danced in her eyes as if she were happy to see him.

“It smells delicious,” she said.

Only an hour earlier, he had tasted her quim and brought about her pleasure, and she had wept in his arms. Only an hour earlier, everything he thought he understood of the world had changed, and he felt as if it were continuing on without him.

Because he was well and truly struck.

This woman. This Englishwoman Kate and her damned big heart. She was all light and good, and she swept into his life bringing about more chaos than when he had arrived in Scotland, knowing his place in the world and what he wanted.

Now…

“Thank ye,” he said gruffly, grabbing his glass of claret. He pointed toward the glass he had poured for her .

Kate swallowed a sip, licking off one last bead of claret from her lips. “What are you making us?”

“I’m fryin’ beefsteaks.”

She savored her claret, studying him. He could smell her perfume, and he wasn’t sure if it was on him or if it was her, and it was all bloody confusing. Because what he wished to do to the governess was anything but proper. But she wouldn’t be a governess much longer, for she was to help him with the distillery as he focused on having the inn open in time for the festival.

Still, he employed her, and he didn’t wish to muddy that relationship. Yet he couldn’t rid her from his mind, and he was quite certain he would be begging to taste her once more by the end of dinner if she continued looking at him as she did now.

He tossed a cube of butter in the hot skillet, then dusted the beef with salt and pepper.

“Sounds lovely. Would you like dessert?”

If she was on the menu, then yes. But that was rather base of him. He hadn’t thought that way about a woman… ever. He was going mad.

Stark mad.

“That’d be fine.”

“Fine?”

“Good,” he corrected, tossing the steaks into the hot pan. The air was suddenly perfumed with rosemary, garlic, and shallots as the butter glistened over the steaks.

She narrowed her eyes on him before spinning to the larder and returning with some eggs. “Tonight calls for baked custard.”

He focused on the steaks and not at all on how she moved around the kitchen, all long, lean grace and ease as she fetched spices, eggs, and a mixing bowl.

“Mrs. Malcolm ken ye’re messin’ about in her kitchen?”

Kate cracked an egg into the bowl and shrugged. “Who do you think made the baked apples you definitely were not sneaking? It was truly astonishing to see how quickly they disappeared.”

He grinned into his glass of claret. “So, you do enjoy baking?”

“I was never allowed in a kitchen before now, but I do. I think I could happily spend the day making delicious treats.” She whipped the eggs up, then added a dash of nutmeg.

The kitchen suddenly felt alive.

Or perhaps that was Gabriel.

For years, he had done whatever needed to build his empire. Often, he was cold and calculated and moved through the world as if he had to prove he belonged. As if he had to prove to his brother and father that he was capable of building something when they had merely discounted his talents.

And now the balance was shifting, and suddenly, what seemed impossible was within reach.

“I need brandy,” she said, dropping to her knees to dig through the cabinet.

“I believe Mrs. Malcolm enjoys cookin’ with brandy,” he said, turning the beef over. “Might be out of luck. Too bad ye’ve no stomach for whisky.”

Kate laughed, rolling her eyes. “No fear, I found brandy. And the whisky was fine enough. I thought it tasted of apples and vanilla…” Her eyes widened, and suddenly she dashed off and dug through a drawer to find another pencil.

“I’ve been lookin’ for that,” he protested.

“Apologies,” she said, distracted. She scribbled something over a slip of paper, then glanced up, tapping the pencil against her lips.

Those lips.

Hell, those perfect lips of hers.

“Don’t burn the steaks now.” She quirked an eyebrow, her mouth twisted into a playful smirk. “Nothing to see here. Only a stroke of genius.”

There was everything to see.

But he turned to avoid her discovering the cockstand in his trousers. It had taken an unnatural amount of self-restraint not to take himself in hand once they had safely returned to the castle, but he couldn’t rid the memory from his mind of her body against his. How she had trembled in his arms after he pleasured her. He only wished they had remained and continued exploring one another .

But doing so put her reputation at risk. True, she was in Scotland to hide away from a scandal, but he wasn’t an idiot. He had no intention of marrying her, so the honorable thing to do would be to keep his distance.

Either he would be the villain for truly ruining her and leaving or marrying her and dying young. Leaving her with all this mess to sort out? To give her hope of a happy future, then strip it away?

Gabriel was nine when his father passed. He still remembered his mother standing by as they buried him, the way her body wracked with sobs. But it was after that, the slow goodbye of losing her to her own grief that remained with him. Of watching her smile fade and then never return. Of watching the apple orchard twist with age and disease as each year passed, and his mother first refused to leave the castle, and then near the end, her room.

He couldn’t be responsible for doing that to Kate. He wouldn’t.

“They smell delicious.” She poked around him, watching as he removed each beefsteak from the sizzling cast-iron skillet. Kate brushed against him, lowering her eyes to his mouth.

“Pour me a glass of whisky, please,” he said, clearing his throat. Anything to pull his attention away from her. His body thrummed being near her as if beckoned. He might be a patient man, but he was no damn saint.

He set the beefsteaks on two plates while she poured him a glass, then eyed the bottle before pouring a splash into her dessert.

“Perhaps I’ll like it better in custard.” Her cheeks were pink as if embarrassed.

“I was ten.”

She glanced up from pouring out the custards into two ramekins. “Hmm?”

“Ten when I did the same. Except it involved the piano and my tutor. Finn’s mother was furious with us and washed our mouths out with soap and boxed our ears.”

“Seems as if you had learned your lesson before then.”

“Aye, no’ my brother, mind. Nae, for him it was always a challenge. ”

“And your father?”

“He passed when I was seven.” He set the plates on the table and grabbed his glass of whisky. “A toast, Kate.”

“To not failing,” she said with a laugh, raising up her glass of claret.

“To no’ falling.”

He knew instantly he had made a mistake but sat down, focusing on the dinner he had made them, feeling all the while her gaze burning over his body, imploring him to look back.

Not now.

Not later.

The last thread of his better judgment was about to snap.

He kept his eyes trained on his plate as he sliced into the buttery beefsteak. Shallots and butter and gravy pooled around the piece of meat. It wasn’t fancy as when he had eaten at Le Grand Véfour in Paris, but he wished to cook for her. He wished to keep her warm and keep her in beautiful things, make her pant his name, and experience endless pleasure at his hands and mouth and body.

Because she deserved it.

And instead, a selfish cad in London had ruined that for her.

“This is very good,” she said at last, breaking the awkward silence that had fallen between them.

“Thank ye.”

Kate placed her silverware down and pursed her lips, resting her elbows on the table. “I fear I have upset you in some way, and I must?—”

“Nae.” Gabriel froze. “Ye…”

She traced her hands over the rough-hewn table that had been used for years in the castle before slowly reconnecting their gaze.

“Are the custards ready?” he asked instead.

Kate laughed, then glanced away, grabbing her glass of claret. “In a while. Let’s enjoy dinner for now.”

The uncomfortableness passed between them, and they enjoyed dinner. Gabriel found himself laughing, truly laughing for the first time in years as Kate danced around the kitchen and prepped dessert.

“What are ye doing now?” he asked, washing the last of the dishes .

She held a bowl to her waist and poured in fresh cream. “Whipping cream for the topping.”

Always humming, she sang to herself as she moved the whisk through the cream. The dark candlelight bounced off the low barrel ceilings. The small room was warm and smelled amazing, and if Gabriel hadn’t just eaten, he would be starving.

Kate finished off each ramekin with a dollop of fresh cream. He produced two spoons, and she grabbed one, spinning back to rest against the wooden worktop.

“Bon appétit.” The apples of her cheeks were pink, her eyes sparkled, and she was full of sun and light. Gabriel wished for nothing but to touch her, to claim her as his. Greedy, he knew. He didn’t wish to dim that light of hers.

With a small bite, she moaned and slammed her eyes shut. “Delicious, if I say so myself.”

He approached, his attention focused solely on her and that mouth of hers. He would do whatever she wished if only she made that sound once more.

“Ye’ve…” He motioned toward her mouth.

She squeaked, trying to wipe off the whipped cream. “Is it gone?”

Gabriel shook his head, putting his dessert down and closing the space between them. He placed his thumb on the corner of her mouth, then bent down, and kissed her.

No, kiss isn’t the right word. He claimed her with his lips.

Kate fell back, setting her dessert on the table, and met his lips in equal measure.

“Ye taste better,” he growled.

She whimpered, wrapping her legs around his waist.

“I’m a starved man, mo leannan , so tell me ye feel the same.”

She raked her hands through his hair in answer. It felt as if he would burst through his trousers. This hadn’t begun in the cabin, but earlier. The first day she walked into the inn, the prideful lift of her head as she confronted him, the heat in her eyes.

“I dinna mean to stop now. Ye understand?”

“I don’t wish you to.” Kate bracketed her hands on his face and met his eyes. “My reputation has already been ruined, Gabriel. Ruin me, well and truly. Carry me upstairs and show me what it’s like to be with a man who cares.”

He trailed his lips over the column of her neck, pushing aside the delicate Bedfordshire lace.

“Please, Gabe.”

His knees buckled at her request.

“Run upstairs, lass. Now.”