Page 18 of Hit Me With Your Best Scot
Good heavens. Summoning an answer took far more effort than it should have, likely because the answer she needed to give wasn’t the one she wanted to give. “You kiss well,” she managed, blinking and trying to call her wits back into her mind. “‘By the book,’ as Juliet would say.”
“And what doyesay, then?”
“I say no. I don’t need a protector, and you need to finda bride. So, thank you, but you are more trouble than I need, Lord Glendarril.”
He straightened. “I reckon ye’d be more trouble than I need as well, lass. If ye change yer mind, though, I might be willing to see my way past that.” With a slight, brief grin that didn’t quite touch his eyes, he inclined his head, then turned and walked away.
Persephone sighed. A bit of fun, indeed. Coll MacTaggert was the sort of man to turn a woman’s head. It was a shame she didn’t wish her head turned. Or rather, she did, but she didn’t want—need—the trouble that would come with him.
“Persie, Huddle is reading your lines,” Gordon Humphreys bellowed from the rear corner of the theater. “For God’s sake, come and save us!”
She stood up from her borrowed throne. Yes, Coll MacTaggert was a distraction, and one she didn’t need. As she stepped forward, a quartet of sandbags crashed down onto the throne she’d just vacated, smashing it into bits of wood. Something flew against her cheek as she spun around, and she lifted her hand to her face. Her finger came away with a bit of blood on it.Good heavens.
More noise erupted around her, queries over what the noise had been, and queries over her safety from those who’d been close enough to see. “Persie! Are you injured?” Charlie Huddle barked as he reached her side. “Good God.”
“It’s the Scottish play,” Gordon said, his complexion ashen as he took in the sight of the smashed throne. “I’ve sat in that throne!” He half collapsed against a convenient upright beam.
“Harry!” Charlie called, turning around to look for the head stagehand. “For God’s sake, do not be hanging sandbags while the actors are wandering about! If we lost Persephone, we might as well close our doors.”
“No one was up on the catwalks, as far as I know,” the brawny man in rolled-up shirtsleeves returned, crouching to lift up the end of the rope. “It’s dusty and frayed, but that seems to me like a clean cut there.”
“Nonsense,” Charlie said. “You’ve been shaking the foundations all morning with that hammering.”
Beth Frost, Flora’s daughter and the company’s current head seamstress, dabbed at Persephone’s cheek, making her jump. “It looks like a splinter caught you,” she said, peering more closely. “I think Charlotte can cover it with powder so no one will ever know.”
“I’m fine,” Persephone said to the crowd in general. “It’s not the first time I’ve nearly been knocked down by a sandbag.”
“I don’t suppose anyone has seen Claremont since last night?” Charlie muttered under his breath, leaning in to examine her cheek.
Ice abruptly tipped her fingers. “He wouldn’t do such a thing. It was an accident.”
“Hmm. I hope so. All the same, you might want to keep that Scotsman about for a few days.”
The Scotsman she’d just sent away. The one who had four weeks to find a bride and had teased his mother withhername. The one who’d set Claremont on his arse, quite possibly making the earl angry enough to… attempt to kill her? No, that made no sense. Even so, Coll had offered to be her protector with no expectation of her granting him any kind of personal favor. “I’ll be back in just a moment,” she said, turning on her heel, hiking up her skirts, and running for the rear door of the theater.
“Now Persie’s gone mad,” Lawrence Valense lamented. “And it’s only the first day of rehearsals. We’re doomed.”
She barely noted that bit as she stepped outside, blinking in the sunlight. Someone whistled at her, but she ignored it as she spied the Highlander half a street away and mounted on a great black devil of a horse.
“MacTaggert!” she called, hurrying after him and ignoring the stares and commentary of the passersby around her.
He reined in the horse and turned the beast around, dismounting as she reached him. “Did I forget someaught?” he rumbled.
“We’ll be finishing here at one o’clock today,” she said a bit breathlessly. “I’ll meet you by the rear door then.”
“I thought ye didnae need the trouble I bring with… What the devil happened to ye, lass?” Without asking, he reached out and gently brushed his fingers along her injured cheek.
“An accident. I have a business proposition to discuss with you, if you would care to take me to luncheon after all. Perhaps we could help each other.”
His green gaze lifted to meet hers. “It wasnae business I had in mind with ye, Persephone Jones, but as I said, ye’ve gone and made me interested. I’ll meet ye here at one o’clock.”
Relief—and something else she couldn’t quite name—ran down her spine. “Thank you, my lord.”
That infectious grin of his appeared again, curving his very capable mouth and reminding her that he knew how to kiss. “I told ye to call me Coll.”
“Coll, then.”
“That’s better. Now ye go be Lady Macbeth, and I’ll see if I can find a phaeton or barouche or one of those other fancy carriages ye lasses favor.”
