Page 43 of Hit Me With Your Best Scot
That sparked the third argument in twenty minutes.Persephone sat back in the hard, wooden chair. These people were her family; she’d known some of them since she’d first set foot on a London stage. She couldn’t fault them for wanting to keep their distance, but at the same time, a bit more supportive conversation would have been welcome.
A warm breeze seemed to whisper across her skin, lifting the hair on her arms. She glanced over her shoulder at Gavin, the Scottish groom who’d been standing against the nearest wall since Coll had appointed him to watch over her, but he wasn’t there.
In his place stood Coll himself, arms folded across his chest and his gaze on the dim rigging at the top of the theater.
She took him in all over again. Several inches over six feet tall, all lean, hard muscle, shoulders broad and strong enough to put Hercules to shame, and a countenance of chiseled, hard perfection… Only when he grinned did his face soften enough to give a hint of the good-hearted man who resided within, but even when he was serious, he still looked… delicious.
Even more intoxicating, he made her feel safe—and that was taking into account that he’d called her a closed book he couldn’t quite read. The way he’d charged into action, saving her from the bricks and bucket and then not even hesitating before going after Claremont—she couldn’t conjure an image of anyone else who would have done such a thing for her, or even have been capable of it if they’d wished to step in.
“Persie,” came Charlie’s voice, and she shook herself.
“Yes?”
“Your lines, dear.”
“She’s too occupied with ogling the Scotsman,” Jenny cooed, sighing. “And so am I.”
“Excuse me a minute,” Persephone said. “I need to see what he was able to discover.”
“By all means, go,” Gordon urged. “I need to know if the danger is over with before we continue. The Scottish play is a large enough menace without all of this going on.”
When Charlie waved a dismissing hand at her, Persephone stood and walked back into the shadows, where the Highlander stood. He watched her approaching now, and the goosebumps on her arms returned. It was tempting to just walk into his arms and let him enfold her, but that would never do. He was someone to help her pass the time, and to keep buckets of bricks from falling on her—and only for the next three-and-a-half weeks at the most, after which he would be married and she would be well into her nightly performances of Lady Macbeth.
“Lass,” he murmured as she stopped in front of him.
“I’m glad to see you unharmed.” Persephone curled her fingers to keep from touching him. “Claremont?”
“It wasnae him.”
“Damn.” From the abrupt tightness in her chest, she’d placed more faith than she’d realized in the idea that it had been the earl out to pay her back for his embarrassment. “Are you certain? Of course you are.” She leaned back against the wall beside him.
“Aye. He has nae reason to risk his reputation over ye. Nae offense.”
She sighed. “None taken. I know what you mean, and it makes sense. But did you speak to him? How did he react?”
“I did speak to him. Ye said he was nae yer first protector, and I dunnae think ye were his first actress. He said he tried giving ye pretty things but put it to making a bad investment. Between ye and me, I dunnae think he has enough spleen to be angry enough to kill.”
That matched her own assessment of Claremont’s character fairly well. And yet—she’d wanted it to be James Pierce. She wanted it to be something she and Coll could see finished. If it wasn’t Claremont, then she needed to be able to prove at least to herself that these two near-misses had both been accidents. That strained evenherimagination.
“I wanted it to be him,” Coll said aloud, echoing her thoughts. “I wanted to be able to walk in here and tell ye I took care of things for ye.”
She turned her head, looking up at him as he gazed down at her. When she’d chased after him the other day, it had been with the idea that he might be helpful. Belatedly, it occurred to her that he knew precisely what she was about, and he’d agreed anyway. And it was more than that; he hadn’t just agreed. He’d wanted to help… her.
Evidently, she’d been luckier than she deserved. She’d hoped to find a capable man. What she’d found had been an honorable one. “If you’re not careful,” she said aloud, “I’m going to begin liking you.”
His brief smile left her wanting to kiss him all over again. “Ye’ve already turned my head, lass. But now I have to ask ye who else might nae want to have ye about. Do ye have any ideas?”
Persephone shrugged. Yes, she did have a broad idea or two, but nothing that made sense here and now. “I am rehearsing the Scottish play. Perhaps Gordon has the right of it, and itiscursed.”
“And mayhap Gordon doesnae like being teased, and he’s out to prove the play is cursed by killing Lady Macbeth,” Coll suggested.
“Gordon faints when he gets a nosebleed,” she retorted. “Just tell me it could have been an accident. Two accidents.”
He held onto his silence longer than she liked. “Theycould have been accidents,” he finally conceded. “But I dunnae think either of them were. So, if ye want my help, ye need to give me a direction to head. Who might wish to harm ye, Persephone?”
She shook her head, pushing upright in the same motion. This was beginning to stray too close to uncomfortable territory. No one trod there, including her. “I cannot think of a soul. I’m an actress. Unless it’s one of my critics or rivals or a lunatic admirer, I have no idea. If you press for an answer, I say that both incidents were only accidents. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a rehearsal to finish. And you have the Runescroft ball to attend.”
As soon as she said it, she regretted it, but he only straightened and reached down to take her hand. “If ye think of anything that might help, ye send me word. Gavin will stay here. He or I will see ye home.”
