Page 57 of When the Laird Conquers

“Nightdress. Off,” he ordered.

He watched her throat bob, his fingertips itching to touch it. A problem, undoubtedly, when he had promised himself that all he would do was look.

Right up until the moment she had revealed the ace of hearts, Agnes had been convinced that she could still win. More than that, she had been having more fun than she had had in months, able to forget everything except the game and the company before her.

“Off with it,” Gordon pressed, his eyebrow raised, his arms crossed over his chest.

She puffed out a breath and scrambled off the bed. “Very well.” She sniffed. “A deal is a deal, and you are, to my chagrin, the victor.”

Besides, as she had told herself before, it was probably nothing that he hadn’t already seen. Maybe he had only caught glimpses, but she was sure his imagination had filled in plenty of blanks.

“We are going to play something else after this,” she said, walking to the end of the bed, the posts framing her. “And I am going to have the answer to whatever question I care to ask.”

He shrugged. “Or ye’ll have to give somethin’ else.”

“We shall see,” she replied, her heart pounding in her chest.

The room suddenly felt unbearably hot as she reached for the lapels of the housecoat she had borrowed and pushed the large garment over the peaks of her shoulders. The heavy fabric slid down her arms and landed on the floor, leaving her in nothing but the thin nightdress.

She swallowed thickly, her face aflame, her skin feverish, as she forced herself to hold his gaze. This was what he had asked for, this was what he had rightfully won, and she would not look away from him, no matter how shy she felt.

With slightly shaky fingertips, she reached for the top buttons of her nightdress and began to unfasten them, taking her time.

That strange light in Gordon’s eyes smoldered, his expression transforming from amusement to a hunger that she had not seen in him before. A hunger that made her think of his nickname—the Last Wolf of the Highlands.

He sat forward, his crossed arms relaxing at his sides, his teeth grazing his lower lip as he waited for more.

There was such power in holding him to attention like that, a rush that she couldn’t begin to understand or describe. He may or may not have done something to the cards, but he was the one enchanted now.

She resisted a smile as she unbuttoned all the way down, conscious of keeping the two sides of her nightdress as closed as they could be without the fastenings to hold them. Teasing him with glimpses, denying him any hurried reveal of her bare form.

As the last button came undone, she paused for a moment. His gaze roved over her, savoring the sliver of skin, his breath sawing in and out as his eyes burned more fervently.

Faint movement beneath the heavy wool of his kilt drew her eye, and a breath caught in her throat. Was that the hardness she had felt between her thighs last night? His manhood?

Christine’s description of the male member had been somewhat metaphorical, but there had been enough details to let Agnes know what a man could do with that dangerous flesh.

Her stomach tightened at the thought, her breath turning shallow, her skin tingling with the idea of feeling his touch, of imagining how it would be to feel him inside her.

And take the same risk as your sister? No, thank you, her brain jumped in with some common sense, tempering the heat that flared within her.

“Take it off,” Gordon growled.

Drawing on that sensation of absolute power, Agnes skimmed her fingertips under the open sides of her nightdress. Slowly, very slowly, she began to push the sides apart, exposing more and more of her bare body.

With each revealed inch, a thrill bristled through her, her power rising, her confidence soaring, while Gordon’s intense appreciation teetered on the edge of wildness.

She peeled off the garment as if she were unwrapping his gift for him, and as the flimsy fabric whispered down her arms and tumbled to the floor, she stood proud and unashamed. Stripped entirely bare, bathed in the amber lanternlight.

I bet you wish you had kept the drapes open, she thought with a smile, for the moonlight might have shown far more of her.

Gordon stared at her like a man possessed, his hungry eyes taking her in from head to toe. His hand brushed across the bulge in his kilt, and she almost felt jealous that she could not touch him herself, to learn what was hidden there.

“Are you happy now?” she asked, her voice thick. “Here is your prize.”

“Happy?” He shook his head, swiping his tongue over his lower lip. “I wouldnae use that word.”

“Well, that is not my fault. There you are, you have had your view of me, and now I shall put my nightdress back on and⁠—”