Page 49 of Hit Me With Your Best Scot
Gasping, she pushed away from him. “The Runescroft ball! I forgot it was tonight. Oh, you shouldn’t have left for me.” Helping him find a wife at the ball had very nearly been her entire side of their bargain. And now he’d left it midway through to come see to her. “Coll, you have to go back.”
He shook his head. “I’ll do nae such thing. Ye—Flora, is it? Find us someaught to eat, will ye?”
Flora squeaked in annoyance from the hallway behind him. “I do not take orders from you.”
“Please, Flora,” Persephone seconded. “We should all eat something. You and Gregory, as well.”
“Very well, Miss Persie. But you shouldn’t be in there alone with a man. I could—”
With a low snort, Coll stepped forward and closed the door on the maid’s complaint. “Ye should keep that lass about. She looks after ye,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss her.
She kissed him back, twining her hands into the lapels of his black coat. Her worries and fears faded into mist when he wrapped his arms around her and held her close. No one could possibly be foolish enough to attempt harming her while Coll MacTaggert was by her side.
That, though, was a path to more trouble. Firstly, he couldn’t be by her side at every moment. Secondly, he had his own worries without shouldering hers as well. Persephone frowned. She wanted to confide in him. Doingso, though, would only mean more hurt when he walked away.
When she lifted her hands to shove against his chest, he let her go, and she crossed the room to the bed again. “Thank you for coming,” she said, utilizing her years of acting experience to keep her voice low and even. “As you can see, though, I’m relatively unhurt.”
His gaze moved from her to the portmanteau on the bed and back to her again. “Ye going somewhere, Persephone?”
“I’m considering it,” she admitted, though she wasn’t about to confess that she’d been halfway to France in her mind. “A few days in the country while I sort some things out in my head.”
“And ye reckon a few days away will see ye safe again? That whoever’s trying to harm ye will forget and flit off to go murder someone else in yer stead?”
Of course he wouldn’t believe that she meant to take a holiday. Persephone drew in a breath. “Very well, perhaps I won’t return. Evidently my critics have spoken, and I’m no longer London’s darling. Cornwall has a well-respected acting troupe. Th—”
“Ye ken who’s after ye, dunnae?” he broke in, closing the distance between them. “Why’d ye let me go threaten Claremont if ye knew it wasnae him?”
“I thought itwashim,” she retorted. Or at least, she’dhopedit was him. The alternative… A chill went down her spine. The alternative now seemed to be the most likely explanation. She didn’t want to consider it—didn’t even want to think about it. At the back of her mind, though, the truth kept pushing at her thoughts; her preferences didn’t matter. What mattered was whether she meant to run or stay. And if she stayed, she would need help. That, though, meant relying on someone else—relying on CollMacTaggert. The man who’d only just been dancing with a field of prospective brides.
Her breath caught. “You should go,” she made herself say. “As I said, I’m not injured, and you have other concerns.”
His jaw clenched. Beneath his breath, he muttered something that sounded like “stubborn,” then turned on his heel and dropped into the reading chair by the small hearth. “I dunnae like wee spaces,” he said abruptly, the very image of a proper gentleman in everything but his size and accent and unruly hair.
“I—what does that have to do with anything?”
“When I was but a bairn, my brother Aden and I played hide-and-seek. I closed myself in a wardrobe, and it locked. I was in there in the dark for what felt like days before someone found me. Since then, wee places and I dunnae deal well together.” He blew out his breath. “I dunnae drink, either. I say things I shouldnae, and I break things, and I hit people.” Coll shrugged his broad shoulders. “I do the same thing when I’m sober, but at least then I know what I’m about and I remember it after.”
“It’s admirable to see a man who will admit to his flaws,” she said slowly, “but forgive me if I’ve missed whatever point you’re attempting to make.” If he was one of those men whose own dilemmas were required to be more significant than whatever anyone else faced, then he’d answered several of her unspoken questions. She couldnotconfide anything to him.
“Aye. I’m nae saying it well. My point, lass, is that I can avoid wee spaces, and I can avoid drink. How do ye mean to avoid someone who’s trying to kill ye? If ye make one mistake… Well, ye cannae. So, for God’s sake, let me help ye.”
“Why?” she burst out. “Why on earth do you want to spend your time helpingme? You’ve wasted weeks andweeks here in London, intentionally making a muck of things, and now you have less than a month to find a bride. And you need to find a wife, because otherwise you will lose the funding to your family’s estate. So give me a reason why you would risk all that for an actress. And it had best be a very good reason, because believe me, I’ve heard them all. Twice.”
He looked at her for a long moment. “How many lasses do ye reckon I’ve chatted with since I arrived here?” he finally asked.
“Dozens, I would imagine.”
“Aye. Hundreds, maybe. Some of them are bold, ready to lift their skirts to gain a title. Others are deeply offended by me being Scottish. Another handful are actually scared of me, though more than that feign it because they think it’s amusing to pretend the big Highlands brute might squash ’em or someaught.” He shook his shaggy head. “I like to argue with my fists, but I do have some wits about me. Enough to ken that nae a one of them would do me for a wife. But then I met ye, Persephone.”
Heat flooded her face. “Oh, no, you don’t,” she snapped, holding her palm out in his direction. Good heavens. He had no idea. None. “Perhaps you fell for Rosalind, or for Juliet, or perhaps you like the idea of my fame. But you are not—”
“I’m nae proposing, woman,” he interrupted, scowling. “I’m telling ye that I like ye. That I enjoy spending time with ye, and it would pain me nae to have ye in my life. And that whether or nae ye and my own mother agree that I cannae marry ye, mayhap I’m willing to push her as far as she’ll go to release me from that agreement so I dunnae have to find someone else.”
That was… nothing she’d expected. “You would forego marriage to spend your time with an actress?”
“Aye. I reckon I would.”
“What about children? Heirs?”
