Page 35 of The Devil Wears Kilts
He leaned a breath closer. “Do I?” he countered in his soft brogue. “Then why do ye still have a hold of me, Charlotte Hanover?”
She blinked, uncoiling her fingers from his lapel. “I…”
“Conjure up yer lie later. They’ve begun the waltz, and I want my hands on ye again. With everyone watching.”
Charlotte tried to find both her breath and her scattered wits again. When she nudged at his shoulders, the lean mountain gave way, letting her move past him toward the ballroom door. “It’s just a dance, my lord.”
“All of life’s a dance, my bonny lass.”
That seemed a very poetical thing for him to say, but if she stopped to argue that it was out of character they would miss the waltz. And whatever she might pretend, she wanted his hands on her, as well.
Perhaps she had a fever and was delirious, because none of what she felt made the least bit of sense. Lord Glengask was exactly the sort of hotheaded man she’d had her fill of with James Appleton. When James courted her she’d felt… pleased, that so earnest a man had set himself after her. And then she realized that earnest had very little to do with good-humored, and what a flaw that had been. Now, though, whatever lesson she knew she’d learned, a single kiss—or rather two kisses now—from Ranulf sent her spinning, not certain where her feet were or if she wanted to find the ground again.
Inside the grand ballroom half a hundred couples had begun the waltz. In one smooth move Ranulf had her around the waist, took her hand in his, and swept her into the dance. The idea that the well-muscled Scotsman was nearly naked from the waist down but for a knee-length scrap of black and gray and red wool and a single pin to keep it from flapping open felt nearly as intoxicating as did the dance itself. And the way the other women looked at him with such… open lust, and the way they eyed her with only slightly better concealed envy—it baffled and aroused her all at the same time.
“What are your intentions, Ranulf?” she asked after a moment, keeping her voice pitched low.
He lifted an eyebrow. “‘Intentions’?” he repeated, a slow smile once more on his sensuous mouth.
“Yes. You’ve kissed me twice now and said that you want me.”
“Those are my intentions. To kiss ye, and to have ye.”
A blush warmed her cheeks. Had she ever had a similar conversation with James? If so, she couldn’t recall it—and it seemed the sort of thing a body would remember. “And after that?” she pursued. “You know I am the daughter of an earl, and a female without an interest in causing a scandal.”
“So ye’ve said.” His amused expression faded as he no doubt sensed another argument approaching.
“So I have,” she agreed, taking a breath and trying to push away the very pleasant sensation of being in his arms. “And if you say you’ve come to Mayfair looking for a bride, I shall call you a liar to your face. You’ve made your… contempt for the Sasansack very clear over the past few days.”
“Sasannach,” he corrected, his brogue making the word sound prettier than she knew it must be. “Nae, I’ve seen what the Highlands does to a proper and delicate English lady. I willnae make the same mistake my own father did.”
Her first thought was to inform him that while she had her sensibilities and her belief in right and wrong, she wasn’t particularly delicate. But in the next moment it occurred to her that in comparison to him, perhaps shewasdelicate. After all, he spoke of murders and fistfights as if they were done over breakfast. And that was something she would not—could not—tolerate. She knew firsthand what pain and heartache such things wrought, and to willingly place herself in the middle of a barbarians’ feud—it was simply unthinkable.
Given that, wondering what his father’s mistake had been where his mother was concerned, wondering what had killed the “delicate” daughter of a baron, seemed a waste of her time. Ranulf’s reasoning aside, they simply wouldn’t suit.
“Ye’ve nothing else to say, then?”
“What should I say? You’ve just told me you want to bed me while having no intention of marrying me. I decline your… offer, sir.”
Blue eyes flashed. “Do ye, now?”
“You’ve offered me nothing but ruination and an exile from a life I find quite enjoyable,” she retorted, affronted that her refusing such a base offer—pleasurable and unforgettable though it likely would have been—would offendhim.What about her, for heaven’s sake?
“So ye like being yer sister’s nanny and stepping out to dance only when an even number of couples is required?”
Ha.“Excuse me, but what are you doing here in London but serving as your sister’s nanny?”
He glared at her for a long moment, his grip on her so firm that she didn’t think she would be able to pull free of him if she’d wanted to. Even so, she wasn’t afraid of him. Perhaps she should have been, but she knew with a certainty that Ranulf MacLawry would never injure her—except, perhaps, with a few choice words.
“Faic tùsan,”he finally muttered.
“And what does that mean?” she demanded.
“It means that I find ye maddening.”
“Likewise, Lord Glengask. And as I’ve heard what you want of me and I’ve refused you, you will henceforth stop flirting with me and attempting to kiss me.”
A muscle in his jaw jumped. “In response to that, I say that a lass willnae ordermeto do anything. I also further say that ye’ve not convinced me that ye find my touch distasteful. In fact, I think ye enjoy having me aboot to argue with. I think ye were bored before Rowena and I arrived on yer doorstep.”
