Page 44 of The Devil Wears Kilts
He shrugged. “I can’t very well judge London from the outside looking in, now can I?”
She looked up at him searchingly for a moment, then closed the distance between them to fling her arms around his chest. “Whatever’s gotten into ye, Ranulf, thank you.”
Ranulf hugged her back tightly. “What are ye thanking me fer, lass? I know ye havenae forgotten the brawl at the Evanstone soiree.”
“I don’t know,” she returned with a short laugh, straightening again to wipe at her eyes. “I suppose because you’re still here, at all. And because I’m still here.”
“I gave ye my word,piuthar.” He refrained from reminding her that she’d sworn never to leave damned London; one thing at a time.
A figure in a yellow gown entered the room, but he let out the breath that had caught in his throat. Jane was pleasant enough, but she wasn’t the Hanover sister he wanted to see. And then there she was, in a simple green silk with a gray pelisse over it, her hazel eyes taking in the tasteful décor of the tasteful room. And he knew it was tasteful, because he’d bought it fully furnished.
Resolutely he returned his gaze to the younger sister. It wouldn’t do to be rude, after all. “Lady Jane,” he said, taking her hand and bowing over it.
“Lord Glengask. You have a… very nice home.”
“My thanks, lass. I’m still awaiting a heavy rain to see if the roof leaks, but I believe it to be sound.”
Only then did he face Charlotte. “Well, my lady, what do ye think?” he asked, putting his hands behind his back. It seemed the best way to keep from grabbing her for a kiss—especially when he was just as likely to be greeted with a slap.
She kept her gaze on his face. “I think I’m surprised.”
“Ye shouldnae be,” he returned in a lower voice, as the rest of her family went to greet Myles. “Ye’re the cause of it.”
Her brow lowered. “I didn’t suggest you purchase a house.”
“Nae. Ye told me to stop judging where I have nae knowledge. I’m gaining knowledge.”
Twisting her fingers together, she glanced away. “That’s good, then.”
“Aye. I think so. I’ve also bought one o’ those barouches. Not very practical fer the Highlands, but I wondered if ye’d care to go fer a drive with me tomorrow. I’ve been wanting to take a look inside the British Museum.”
She took a step closer. “I don’t understand. You—”
“I handed ye an insult to yer sensibilities, and ye pierced me to the bone with yer response,” he interrupted. She’d done it in a way that no one else he’d ever met would even have attempted, but that had only made it more forceful. “So might it suffice to say this is a new day? A new beginning, perhaps?”
After a moment she shook her head. “No new beginnings.”
A muscle in his jaw clenched. He hadn’t expected sunshine and roses, to be sure, but to be denied a chance when he’d done all this… A thought struck him. Had he decided to make a better acquaintance with the English for himself, because it was a wise thing to do? Or had he done it to erase the look of disgust from a pair of kind, wise hazel eyes? And what the devil did that mean? “Well, then,” he forced out. “I thank ye for being honest with me.”
“Then you may collect me at ten o’clock tomorrow,” she said.
“Wh-what?”
“I’m not going to ignore what I know of you any more than you’ll set aside what you know of me,” she commented, reaching out to fluff his very proper cravat. “And I will admit that I feel… drawn to you, Ranulf. Despite my better judgment. And despite what you’ve stated you want of me.”
“Ye’ve kept me awake nights, Charlotte,” he returned. “Because of what I want of ye. Ye’d be wise to run the other way.”
“And yet here I stand.”
“Aye. There ye stand.” His gaze lowered to her mouth, to the soft, warm curve of her lips. God, he wanted a taste of her. It had been a damned week of pushing away impatience and frustration and old hatreds. All because of something he couldn’t even put a name to, but felt the desperate need to pursue.
“Ranulf!”
He jumped. From Charlotte’s expression she’d been startled, too. Hoping what he’d been thinking didn’t show through his trousers, he adjusted his coat and faced his sister. “Aye?”
“Do you have time to show us the house now, or should we wait until after dinner?” Her gray gaze flicked from him to Charlotte and back again.
“Let’s go now,” he heard himself say. Without daring to look back at Charlotte he strolled over to join the main group. “Before I took it, this house was the London residence of Matthew, Viscount Danvers. It came to him from his grandmother, Lucille Gilden, Marchioness of Huntly. Did ye know either of them, Lord Hest?”
