Kieran Kramer - If You Give A Girl A Viscount

That was his secret project.

He put down the bag of shinty sticks. “How about a break to take in the glorious view?”

And before she could answer, he turned his back to her, made great fists, and stretched his arms above his head as high as they could go. He was mildly sore from the shinty, had even taken a hit to his lower back that still stung.

But the stretch felt good. He felt good. He dropped his arms and sighed. In spite of the soreness, he felt brimming with vitality.

And there was a certain young lady behind him who quickened his blood to fever pitch.

She arrived at his elbow, put her hands on her hips, and took in the vista of mountains, loch, and sky. “It is magnificent, isn’t it? I could stay here all day and gaze.”

“Aye,” he said softly.

The word came naturally to him up here in the Highlands. It was such a pleasant, easy utterance, and he certainly felt a hundred times more relaxed in this corner of the world than he did in London.

Who couldn’t forget their worries when they were surrounded by such beauty? Including the unspoiled beauty of the woman at his side, a woman who didn’t believe she deserved a pretty dress.

But she did. He only wished she knew.

“I think what you’re doing to save Castle Vandemere is grand,” he said. “But what you’re doing for the ladies of Glen Dewey is equally as generous.”

She shook her head. “Anybody would do as much.”

“Not really. I know plenty of people who don’t think any further than themselves. Myself included.”

She laughed. “You are a rather self-centered viscount. Although today in the village, you were simply—”

“What?”

“A good man.”

“Is that so?” He pulled her close. “I’ve known you but a day. Why does it seem longer?”

“I wonder that myself,” she said. “I feel like I’ve known you forever.”

Forever .

She pulled away from him, grinning. She clutched her skirt in her hands and took small steps backward, up the slope.

“Where are you going?” he asked, climbing after her.

“Nowhere,” she whispered, a teasing lilt to her voice.

She kept backing away.

He kept following.

And then she stood still. “I didn’t know it would be like this.” She released the hold she had on her skirt. Her expression was serious, yet there was also a gleam of something happy in her gaze.

She was so beautiful then, he could hardly bear to blink. “You didn’t know what would be like this?”

“Meeting a man. Feeling as if I know him already.” She hitched her shoulders.

“I’m honored.” He allowed himself a grin. “I think.”

Her mouth curved in a small smile, and she pulled a lock of hair out of her eye. “But I also feel that I’m a bit in danger around you. A pleasing danger.”

He grabbed her waist. “There’s nothing to fear.”

“I think there is,” she whispered, and moved a fraction of an inch closer to him.

He was touched. When one was in danger, one usually moved away.

“I’m afraid my stepsister will find out,” she said. “And she can’t. I’m frightened for Hester and Joe. And I’m afraid that I’m selfish.”

She bewitched him with her honesty.

With her vulnerability.

“I won’t let your stepsister find out,” he assured her. “Joe and Hester will be fine. And you’re the opposite of selfish.”

He held on to her, and they stood still for a moment, listening to the sough of the wind through the glen.

She looked up at him with her fairy blue eyes.

And he saw trust.

Trust .

Funny how that twisted his heart.

Funny how it made him almost speechless.

Almost .

“All I can think about right now is kissing you,” he confessed, his voice hoarse with longing.

He wouldn’t apologize or pretend to be a cool, sophisticated London bachelor. With her, he couldn’t. He’d tried, in the dining room. But it was stupid. And false.

He wasn’t that man.

Beneath his expensive clothes and behind his illustrious name, he was like any other man. And that was a good thing. A relief.

He’d felt different for so long. Left out. Bound by his family’s expectations and society’s rules.

But in that moment, standing on the slope of Ben Fennon, he felt closer to what being a man is all about than he ever had before. He still wasn’t sure what it meant to be one entirely, but here in the Highlands, with Miss Montgomery keeping him on his toes—and trusting him at the same time—he felt the stirrings of understanding.

She peeked at him from beneath her lashes. “You’ve kissed a lot of women.”

He nodded. “That’s what Impossible Bachelors do.”

“What’s an Impossible Bachelor?”

“A silly title given me by Prinny himself. It means I’m adept at charming women and avoiding legshackles.”

She put her hands on his chest. “Prinny named you this?”

“Yes, His Royal Highness himself. It was a lark, of course. He lives for amusement. As I have always done.”

Until now, he wanted to add. But he didn’t want her to know he was enjoying the newfound sense of responsibility he felt as a stand-in for his grandmother.

God forbid anyone knew.

Miss Montgomery tilted her head. “So why should I let you kiss me ?”

“Because I think you’re beautiful.” His hands were splayed across her back, and he felt her rib cage still.

She wasn’t even breathing.

“I’m not just saying that,” he reassured her.

She started breathing again. “You’re not?”

“No.” How could he get her to believe what he said was true? “Don’t get me wrong. A lot of men say that to … to get women to kiss them, but I mean it. You are beautiful. You’re full of fire, and your eyes get to be a stormy blue when—”

“Sssh.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed him.

It was exactly the tonic he needed!

The kiss went on …

And on.

The sun warmed the back of his neck, and the smell of the heather mixed with the scent of her skin tantalized him. He couldn’t get enough of her sweet mouth.

Finally, after endlessly frustrating but glorious kisses, he picked her up.

She laughed. “Where are you going with me?”

“Over there.” He angled his chin at a fine patch of soft grass off the road. Above it a slab of rock jutted out toward Glen Dewey. It looked like a set of stairs. Below it was a grouping of three larch trees, standing sentinel on the mountain.

“No one can see us from above or below,” he said, “and if someone decides to come up or down the road, we’ll hear them well before they get here.”

“You’ve brought me to the Stone Steps,” she said, and kissed that vulnerable place beneath his chin. It was rough from lack of shaving. “It’s the best place to be to get a view of Glen Dewey, and the mountains behind form a marvelous backdrop. But a warning to the newcomer.”

“Yes?”

“Right next to the steps is the worst place to be.” She pointed to a copse of trees to their left. “Binney’s Bog lurks behind those pines. Stay far away. You’ll sink and never be found if you accidentally land in it. And that’s not a barmy Scots legend—it’s the truth. Mr. Binney was the first on record to have lost his life there, some four hundred years ago.”

“Thanks for the cautionary tale. I’ll heed it well.”

She kissed him beneath his chin again, lingering as he walked with her.

They’d arrived at the perfect spot.

“Here,” he said, and lowered her to the grass.

He took the pins out of her hair one by one, until the tight bun was released and her long golden locks lay across her shoulders and down her back.