Page 64 of The Devil Wears Kilts
“I wouldn’t, necessarily,” the earl returned. “Glengask doesn’t respond well to threats—much less direct violence. I’m in no mood to get my nose broken again because some Englishman or other doesn’t like Highlanders and I’m easy to blame.”
Well, that was a surprise. Or a very clever statement. Arran touched Will’s shoulder. “I think that’s our table ready,” he commented. “Again, pleased to meet you, Berling. Gentlemen.”
Once they were out of earshot, Will slowed his retreat to the library. “What do you make of that?”
“I’m not certain. But I do mean to find out.”
Whether or not Berling had set that fire, he’d certainly done damage to the MacLawrys before, and as far as Arran was concerned, he needed to be dealt with. If he wasn’t the one burning buildings next to where his brother and sister were dining, though, someone else was. And that someone needed to be found. Which meant Ranulf needed to know what Arran had been up to today.
That wouldn’t go over well. The idea of anyone else taking risks on Ranulf’s part had never sat well with his brother. In fact, the only thing he was likely to be angrier about was when Arran advised him to leave the English lass alone before he got himself forced into a marriage he couldn’t possibly want. And to think, he might have stayed at Glengask.Damnation.
***
“Charlotte, may I borrow your pearl earbobs?” Jane asked, hurrying into her sister’s bedchamber.
“Certainly. They’re in the jewelry box.”
Seated at her dressing table, Charlotte glanced at her sister in the mirror’s reflection. While Janie had always seemed young—and after all, seven years separated them—since yesterday the difference had become even more marked. Janie had her dreams about beaux and breaking hearts, but she’d experienced none of the reality of it.
When James died, Charlotte felt that she’d abruptly and without reason been denied her dream of a happy life. Until yesterday she hadn’t actually known what a man, a marriage, meant. And the knowledge was rather… thrilling. Invigorating. Arousing.
“Oh, Char, you look so lovely,” her sister exclaimed, walking up for a closer look. “Are those onyx?” Jane touched a finger to the black ribbon threaded through black beads and braided into her blond hair.
“They are. It was Simms’s idea.”
Jane caught the maid’s arm. “Say you’ll show Maggie how to do that, Simms.”
“Of course, Lady Jane.”
Once her sister had pranced out of the room again, Charlotte turned her head to look at the lady’s maid. “Thank you again,” she said quietly. “I know yesterday was nothing you could possibly wish to find yourself entangled with.”
Simms curtsied. “I only hope no harm comes of it, my lady.”
“So do I.” And the fact that she’d thought of almost nothing but deep blue eyes and strong, warm arms and the gloriousness of that fit, hard body inside hers, couldn’t possibly bode well.
Their mutual attraction may have been dealt with tohissatisfaction, but she wanted more. She wanted more sex with him, she wanted to fall asleep in his arms, and wake up to see him beside her. If he’d been anyone but who he was, she would call him perfect.
“That should do it,” Simms said finally, stepping back to admire the tumble of hair shot through with black, sparkling beads.
“You’ve outdone yourself,” Charlotte returned, standing.
“I wanted something to complement that magnificent gown.” A brief smile dimpling her cheeks, Simms busied herself with straightening up the dressing table.
Not even to herself could Charlotte pretend that she hadn’t dressed tonight with Ranulf in mind. The deep red gown with the delicate black lace over the bodice and dripping from the sleeves, the black beads sewn into the skirt—she had no idea why she’d ever had it made in the first place. But now, tonight, it seemed a perfect match to the way she felt inside.
The family was already gathering in the foyer when she left her bedchamber, and she steeled herself for more questions about who might have caught her eye, and did she know she stood a risk of putting the debutantes to shame. Well, tonight she felt like that woman. And it was nice—very nice—to simply be a wicked, wanton woman for a few minutes before she had to become Charlotte the older sister well on the shelf once more.
“Charlotte, do you have a moment?” her father said, emerging from his office just as she passed by it.
“Of course, Papa.” She followed him back inside, and he quietly closed the door behind them. “Has Jane begun writing bad poetry about some man again?” she asked with a grin.
“No, nothing as dire as that.” He faced her. “Lord Glengask.”
For a brief, horrified moment she thought Simms might have told. But her father wasn’t swearing, and her mother wasn’t even present, much less weeping over her older daughter’s ruination, so Charlotte pasted a frown on her face. “What about him?”
“The two of you went driving yesterday.”
She nodded, her mind racing ahead of the conversation, seeking for answers he hadn’t yet asked—but likely would. “He wanted to see some of the sights.”
