He slid down again, his knees coming up, and dunked his head beneath the water for a rinse. Coward that she was, she shifted her gaze to the fire before she could see whether his position exposed his most masculine parts. When he surfaced, water poured from his hair.

He flung it back from his face, spattering the floor with droplets, took up the rag again and flicked an amused glance her way. “Would you be willing to help me wash something else?”

Good lord. Ignoring his chuckle, she turned her back on him and paced to the opposite side of the room. No wonder he treated her as he did—she’d practically dragged him to his bed yesterday. Clearly she had no shame when Alasdair touched her.

She turned the wooden chair by the bed, sat with her back to him and took up her mending. Anything to keep her mind and eyes off his captivating naked form.

Minutes later, water splashed, and she imagined him standing. Oh, what a sight that would be. Bending, she focused harder on her task. Almost no sound came from behind her for a long, tedious moment. She squeezed her eyes shut and listened. Imagined. Soft, dry linen cloth whispered over wet, bronzed skin.

I hope he will go now. Yes, her conscious mind did, but her body tingled with anticipation.

He padded closer on the Turkish carpet.

“You should dry your hair beside the fire, m’lady.” He burrowed his hand into her long hair. She’d forgotten it was wet. He stroked her neck with his warm, moist fingers.

“’Tis drying.” She prayed he’d go and spare her further temptation.

On one knee, he knelt beside her chair. “Gwyneth,” he murmured in a rough, intimate voice she would dream about.

He’d wrapped the linen cloth low about his hips, so that he was barely decent. His muscled shoulders, chest and arms were just as appealing and arousing as the rest of his body. He should cover himself entirely. Beads of water dripped from his hair onto his chest. She tried not to drink him up with her eyes. But when their gazes met, his dark intensity penetrated her defenses. She knew he saw the truth in her eyes, the truth of how he disturbed her, of how she was vulnerable beneath his touch.

He rose, took the mending from her hands and placed it on the bed. “Come.” When he held out his hand in invitation, no part of her could’ve refused him, even though she was unsure what he intended. His hand warm around hers, he pulled her up. “We shall dry your hair.”

Impulses warred inside her—to flee…or press her face to his chest. Resisting both, she let him lead her to a chair by the fire.

“Do you have a comb?” he asked.

She shook her head, feeling every bit the penniless pauper she was. “I’ll borrow Tessie’s tomorrow.”

He sat in the chair first and startled her by pulling her down onto his lap.

Heavens, he was practically naked. She stiffened and tried to rise again. “No, I should not. It is not…”

“Proper? I ken ’tis the truth. Nothing about us is proper, m’lady.”

And he didn’t care one whit. But she did. No matter her past, she could not be a man’s paramour.

He seated her firmly on his thighs and pulled her hair over the wooden chair arm. “Your hair is very long and beautiful.” He combed his fingers through it, loosening the snarls. Her scalp tingled.

Oh, do stop. Her hair was mousy brown and straight as a spear. No one with an eye for fashion or beauty would find it appealing.

She tried to ignore the clean, masculine scent of him, which the light floral and herbal soap could not disguise. His face was another enticement, as were the sensual, hard curves of muscle that formed his chest.

When she shifted, his aroused shaft straining against the linen nudged her hip. He was so hard, he would feel glorious sliding into her. Moist heat prickled between her thighs and she squeezed them together.

“Relax,” he murmured, working gentle fingers through the wet strands of her hair. “London society, your da, nor anyone else is here to judge you.”

Her chest tightened and guilt surged through her. “You’re a man. You cannot possibly understand what it is to disgrace yourself before God, your family and your community.”

“’Haps not, but ’tis done. You cannot go back and redo your past.”

“No, but I can behave better in the future.”

“And you will, I’ve no doubt.”

“Now. I must do better now. I must resist the temptation of…” She let out a breath, hardly able to believe the sharp, conflicting feelings within her.

“Of what, m’lady?” His whisper in her ear sent a tingle over her shoulders.

“Of you.” Never had anything or anyone enticed her as much.

A smile played upon his lips. “I’m not a temptation to you.” He stroked a finger down her neck. “I’m but a Highland barbarian, and you a lady of fine breeding.”

She shivered at the sensation his calloused finger wrought. “You are no barbarian. You’re an earl and a chief.”

“Aye, but compared to you, I’m not very impressive.”

How could he be so daft? He was the most impressive man she’d ever met—honorable, trustworthy…tantalizing. “Oh, you don’t know.” Yearning to nuzzle her face against his chest, breathe him in, and taste him, she resolutely covered her face with her hands. She could not believe the liquid desire aching low in her belly. How could she turn into such a brazen wanton in his presence?

“Don’t know what?” His breath, warm, sweet and ginger scented, fanned against her ear.

“How I feel.”

He stroked his mouth and nose against her hair, inhaling her scent. “You smell prettier than a flower, and more delicious than a strawberry.”

“You see? You shouldn’t say things like that.” She lowered her hands and risked a glance at his playful, inviting expression.

“Why not? ’Tis the truth. Would you have me lie?”

“No.”

“Would you have me lie and say I hope to never to kiss you again? Would you have me say I never want you in my bed again? I don’t hunger for the taste of your mouth and your skin. I didn’t spend half the night last night remembering our spellbinding encounter in great detail, wishing you were there with me so we might do it again and again. Do you believe those lies?”

Oh, heaven help me. “You should not, sir.” She tried to pull away and get up, but he placed a strong arm across her lap, his hand cupping her hip, spurring even more instinctive urges.

“Why? What is so terrible about telling the truth and speaking my mind?” The edge of passion and irritation in his voice alarmed her.

In defense, and to still the trembling deep inside, she crossed her arms over her chest. “You want the truth? Here it is—you are a laird. And I’m only a disowned woman my family is ashamed of. The very things you speak of are what make me thus. I admit I have a shocking hunger for sensual pursuits. They are my downfall. If they weren’t, I wouldn’t have been banished.”

“Och. ’Tis only nature, m’lady.” His tone softened. “Your society would say men are different from women in their appetites. That ’tis acceptable for men to feel desire but not for women. But that is a lie. Both men and women have desires and urges. ’Tis the way God created us.”

With his explanation, lovemaking sounded so simple and reasonable. Acceptable. But she still couldn’t convince herself to believe it. Too many years and too many people had drummed a certain way of thinking into her—that women, especially ladies, were supposed to be above those carnal urges and immune to them.

She shook her head. “No, we must resist our human nature.”

“Why must we resist the way God created us? He gave us the ability to feel these desires.”

“No, you don’t know what you’re talking about. What we did yesterday was bad.”

“You must call it what you will. But I won’t call it bad. ’Twas beautiful beyond measure.”

He released her and she sprang from his lap. Indeed, their lovemaking had been beautiful. The most exquisite thing she’d ever experienced.