Page 51 of The Devil Wears Kilts
“How did you get here so quickly?” she demanded.
“I try to anticipate trouble.”
They continued gabbing excitedly and introduced a blushing Jane into the mix, but Charlotte ceased paying attention as Ranulf moved around them and approached her. Something had happened last night; she couldn’t define what it was, but when the Marquis of Glengask walked into the room, everything else seemed to fade away. It was ridiculous that after a pair of kisses and a pair of waltzes and a handful of fascinating, aggravating conversations she felt so… drawn to a man who was so wrong for her, especially when he only meant more trouble.
And yet she had to stop herself from meeting him halfway across the room, from throwing her arms around his shoulders and kissing him. She swallowed. Clearly she’d become overtired last night, and had lost her bearings.Be logical,she ordered herself. Facts could never lead her astray.
However impressive he’d been in his kilt, he seemed to have done away with it entirely; today, if she didn’t think he would consider it an insult, she would say that he looked very English, from his brown coat to his buckskin trousers to his highly polished Hessian boots.
“How’re yer hands, lass?” he asked, taking them both in his larger, broader ones and turning them palms up.
Not so English after all, once he spoke. A tremor ran down her spine, settling into a low excitement between her thighs. “They sting a bit,” she said in as even a voice as she could manage, “but I think with a pair of gloves and some caution I’ll manage quite well. How are you?”
Deep blue eyes raised to meet hers. “The fire’s stayed out and the worst injury seems to be a pair of blistered palms. I’m relieved. And furious.”
The way he said it so matter-of-factly made the words somehow even more deadly sounding. She could understand his anger, but he was not a man who would settle for exchanging words. “I am not going on a drive with you if you mean to jump out and bash people along the way.”
“So I expect. I’ll do nae bashing or jumping whilst I’m in yer company.”
And he agreed so easily she couldn’t help being suspicious. “The fire was an accident, then?”
“Nae, I reckon it was done deliberately.”
Charlotte frowned. “Then why—”
“Why do I mean to be a proper gentleman today? Because of these hands,” he said quietly, stroking his thumbs gently across her palms. “Because of what ye did fer me last night,leannan.”
“I’m not the only one who helped. For heaven’s sake, all I did was turn a crank.”
A slow smile curved his mouth. “What say we forgo the museum and I’ll find somewhere quiet just for us?” he murmured, moving a breath closer to her. “I’ll explain my gratitude to ye.”
Somehow, the way he said it made it sound even naughtier than it already was. And there she stood, five-and-twenty, past the age of making a good marriage, looking at a man who couldn’t possibly want her for a bride. And a man far too dangerous for her to want as a husband. Perfect, in its imperfection.
“If you can manage that without ruining the life I have,” she whispered back, “I might well be amenable.”
Brief surprise lit his gaze. “What changed yer mind, lass?”
Men.Charlotte favored him with an exasperated grin. “Do you really want me to explain it to you?”
“Nae. Not if there’s a risk of ye deciding against it again. Let’s be off then, shall we?”
“It might not be as simple as all that, you know.”
He nodded, his slight smile sending butterflies through her chest. “Leave that to me,leannan.Where are yer gloves?”
“Simms has them. Simms?”
Her lady’s maid came forward, and together they managed to get the soft white kid gloves over her blisters without overmuch teeth-gritting on her part. She had to fight a wince every time she flexed a hand, but a few blasted blisters were not going to keep her home today. No matter what.
When she looked up again Ranulf’s brother Arran stood gazing at her, his lighter blue eyes curious. No wonder; she’d completely forgotten he was in the room. “So you’re Arran,” she said, offering her hand. “Winnie talks about you and Munro all the time.”
He grinned. “I’ll give ye a bow, and I hope ye don’t take my refusing to shake yer hand as an insult, Lady Charlotte.”
She grinned back at him, sensing in him an easier temperament than his older brother possessed. Equally handsome, perhaps, in a different way, but not nearly as compelling. “I’m quite relieved, actually. Thank you.”
With almost absurd caution Ranulf took her outstretched hand and wrapped it over his sleeve. “Arran, I leave ye to do Winnie’s bidding. Don’t cause too much of a ruckus, either of ye.”
Charlotte chuckled as he led her through the foyer and out the front door to his waiting barouche. “Your poor brother. You’ve just sentenced him to go hair ribbon shopping.”
