Page 17 of Hit Me With Your Best Scot
“That they are. My mother, Lady Aldriss, flung two lasses at me last night. That’s how I ended up backstage to meet ye. She willnae stop meddling, so I told her before I rode off this morning that I mean to wedye. That should send her into a twirl for a bit and give me time to find my own woman.”
The floor dropped out from beneath Persephone’s feet, a yawning, endless blackness opening below. Stretching out, she grabbed for the steadiest thing within her reach—the viscount’s arm.
“Whoa there, lass,” he muttered, putting his other arm around her and guiding her to one of the half dozen thrones sitting about backstage.
She sat heavily, lowering her head until her vision cleared again. “Gentlemen do not marry actresses,” she stated, unable to hold back the tremor at the end of the sentence. “Lady Aldriss must have been mortified.”
“She did look like she’d swallowed a bug when I toldher. I have to marry; I know that. While she’s fretting over ye and me, and doing whatever she can to put a ball through my plans, I’ll have a damned minute to find my own woman. But I’m nae wed yet, Mrs. Jones. And neither are ye.”
As she listened, the blood began to return to Persephone’s fingers and toes and to heat other, more private areas. He’d only been stirring up a distraction for himself by saying he meant to marry her, then. He hadn’t actually meant what he’d told the countess. Thank goodness. Firstly, that meant he wasn’t a madman, and secondly, it wouldn’t bring her the trouble and disruption she tried very hard to avoid. Living on the fringes of respectability was no easy thing under the best of circumstances. Going about as the betrothed of a viscount headed for an earldom, or even having that rumor hanging about her, would have been… horrible.
“And here I was debating whether it was Rosalind or Juliet or Beatrice you were expecting to find behind the stage, and which one it was you were lusting after. Instead, you just needed my name to shock your mother. And for a bit of bedchamber fun, of course.”
“More than a bit, I hope. Ye ken that standing in the wings last night was the first time I’ve seen ye perform. It’s nae one of those other lasses I’m after. I’ll admit, though, that ye prancing about in those trousers definitely caught my attention.”
She stifled a grin. “If it’s Ganymede you found attractive, my lord, I think you may be looking for something I cannot provide.”
Glendarril’s eyebrows joined together as he scowled. “It wasnae Ganymede, woman. Christ almighty.”
“Even so, you—”
“Claremont said he was yer protector. Last night I reckoned that meant he kept the other lads away from ye andsaw ye away from here safely. Since then, I’ve heard the word flung about a few times, and now I’m thinking it doesnae mean what I thought it meant. Or that it means more than I reckoned.”
Her cheeks warmed. “He called himself my protector, yes. That doesn’t mean he ever saw the inside of my bedchamber. That is the general… assumption that accompanies the word, though. It was certainly what he wanted, whether I agreed to it or not.”
“He was disagreeing with ye over the bedchamber bits when I set him on his arse.” Keener eyes than she expected studied her face for a long moment. “I’ll be yer protector. Lord knows ye need one, if ye have men panting after ye like I saw last night. As for the rest, I’ve told ye what I want. Ye answer me however ye choose. I need ye to put a fright into my mother. I want ye because ye’ve gone and caught my interest.”
She returned his gaze. He wasn’t the only one whose interest had been caught. “You are a conundrum, my lord. If it is a lady like Rosalind you wanted, though, you will be disappointed. I am Lady Macbeth now.”
The viscount shook his head. “Ye’re both, and ye’re neither. I’m nae as thick-headed as ye think I’m pretending to be.” He glanced over her throne at the gathered actors rehearsing just out of their hearing. “Now tell me where ye live, and I’ll nae trouble ye here.”
“No.”
One straight eyebrow lifted. “Ye’re a conundrum yerself, Persephone Jones.” He leaned over her, putting a hand on either arm of the throne. “At least tell me the truth about Mr. Jones.”
He was quite possibly the first man to ask her that. What it meant, though, she didn’t suppose she cared. She didn’t need anyone else’s money, and while having someone keeping all the other men away from her was pleasant, shecouldfend for herself. This was fast becoming a question of what she wanted, andthatwas becoming more complicated by the moment. It did occur to her that complications were the last thing she needed. They never led anywhere the least bit pleasant.
“I am in a scandalous profession, Lord Glendarril,” she said aloud. “Being a wife—or a widow—gives me a semblance of respectability. It doesn’t keep proper women from turning their backs on me in a milliner’s, but it allows them to come to the theater to see my plays. It allows me to find respectable lodgings. No, there is no Mr. Jones. He does serve me well in absentia, though.”
“Ye dunnae need to defend having a made-up spouse, Persephone Jones. I’d invent one myself, if it would satisfy the solicitors.”
She could sink into that lush green gaze. Persephone shook herself. Evidently, she still carried more than a hint of lovestruck young Rosalind about with her. “One of your brothers recently married, did he not?”
“Aye. Niall. And my other brother, Aden, is to wed a week from Saturday.” His expression folded into one of attractive annoyance. “Damn all Sassenach women and their underhanded ways, anyway.” Coll MacTaggert sat on the throne perched beside hers. King John’s, as she recalled. “I’d thought to ask ye to come to Aden’s wedding with me to keep mymàthairoff-balance for a wee bit longer, but since when I mentioned marrying ye just now ye nearly fell to the floor, that might be a poor idea.”
Despite his words, he continued to eye her. Persephone considered whether he actually understood the enormity of what he’d asked her. She knew Lady Aldriss solely by reputation and rather liked the idea of putting a shock into the aristocracy, but the fact that the countess had kept a prime box at the Saint Genesius for at least the past six years made her loathe to offend the woman. Lady Aldrisshad a powerful voice among thehaut ton. “Yes, I think it would be a poor idea,” she said aloud.
“I’m beginning to think ye dunnae like me.” The giant stood again and held out a hand to help her up with surprising gentleness. “Let me take ye to luncheon, at least.”
Inwardly, she sighed. Not at the gross overconfidence from which most men suffered, the belief that they were irresistible to any and every woman, but at the idea of simply going out and sitting down for luncheon with a very handsome and rather interesting man because he’d asked, and not demanded. Because he hadn’t begun this expecting her to comply because he’d done her one good turn. “I don’t—”
He held up one hand. “Wait. Let’s try one thing, and then ye answer me.”
When she nodded, curious, he grimaced, tilting his head again as he gazed at her. Then, before she could ask which one thing he thought might convince her, he took a long step forward, lowered his head, and kissed her.
His lips met hers, warm and self-assured as he placed his hands on either side of her face and tilted her chin up. Hints, promises, and things unspoken but deeply felt all rattled through her at once, leaving her heart pounding, her lungs aching for air, and her eyes shut as she tried to take everything in.
Slowly, he lifted his head again. “Will ye join me for luncheon, Persephone Jones?”
