Page 42 of Hit Me With Your Best Scot
Coll kept his gaze on the earl. “Aden, ye’re better at digging up liars than I am. What do ye say about this one?”
“In my opinion,bràthair, Claremont here has more to lose by appearing hurt over being turned away by an actress than he might gain by killing her. I dunnae think he’s yer man.”
That was precisely the conclusion Coll had reached, and as much as he wanted to level the man for putting a hand on Persephone, it made sense. An earl behaving like a fool over an actress wouldn’t look well, and the way things looked was everything to the Mayfair set. “Then I’m finished here, I reckon.”
“Oh, good,” Claremont commented. “Best of luck buying your way beneath her skirts, Glendarril, but don’t part with anything you value, because you’ll likely never see it again. And you may find yourself booted out the back door when she finds someone more stupid than you to protect her when you suggest she owes you something with which she’s not willing to part.”
Well, that was enough of that. Coll turned around, his fists clenched, only to have Aden step between the two of them. “Ye’re after a wife,” his brother whispered. “Dunnae make yer reputation with the lasses even worse now by bloodying such a pretty lad.”
That made him snort. Reluctantly, Coll turned around again and left Pierce House. “He deserves to have his beak flattened,” he grumbled, freeing Nuckelavee’s reins and swinging back into the saddle.
“Aye. If ye begin punching every man here who deservesit, though, ye’ll nae have time for anything else.” Aden drew Loki up beside him. “Are ye still convinced someone’s out to harm the lass?”
“I am. That bucket—if I hadnae been there, it would have killed her. And I’m nae allowing that to happen.”
Aden frowned. “Coll, dunnae hit me, but I’ve another question.”
“Ask it, then.”
“Are ye certain Claremont’s wrong about her? That she’ll nae take up yer time and lead ye on when ye have someaught else ye need to be seeing to right now? That ye’re nae… a hound on the scent, being led about by yer cock?”
“I’m nae a virgin, Aden. And I’ve already caught the lass. So nae, she’s nae leading me anywhere.”
He watched as his brother took in that information and mixed it in with the other facts he already had to hand. “If it’s nae yer cock leading ye about, then, for God’s sake, ask yerself what it is. Because if it’s yer damned heart, ye’ve another set of problems entirely.”
His heart?Where had that come from? He was passing the time, sending his mother around in circles while he looked for a suitable bride. That had nothing to do with Persephone Jones, other than the fact that hers was the name that would most annoy Lady Aldriss.
Aye, he enjoyed chatting with the lass, and he liked the way she viewed the world in a combination of bright colors and gaping holes in the pretty fabric, and that it all, palette and pain, interested her. And he liked that she fit him, body to body. But his heart wasn’t involved. He wouldn’t be and couldn’t be in love with a lass he’d known for but three days. Especially when he was on the hunt for a bride, a woman who could stand as his match and a leader to all the folk answerable to the MacTaggerts.
“Dunnae be an idiot, Aden,” he said aloud. “I’m donewith ye. Go back to Oswell House and make doe eyes at yer wife-to-be.”
“Dunnae mind if I do,” his brother returned, clearly not the least bit insulted. “But keep yer eyes on Francesca; someaught’s afoot, but I’ve nae been able to figure out what it is yet.”
“If it’s another lass for her to ambush me with, I’m nae likely to be happy about it.” Coll wheeled the black around to head east and north, to the Saint Genesius. “Thank ye for the warning, though.”
“Be safe, Coll. If someone is after the lass, they’re nae going to be happy to have ye standing in the way. And ye make for a large target.”
“Aye, but this target has teeth.” And claws, and a bad temper. And a lass who needed protecting for the sake of honor. Aye, that’s what it was. Honor.
Chapter Nine
“Stars, hide your fires;
Let not light see my black and deep desires.”
MACBETH,MACBETHACT I, SCENE IV
Persephone wrung her hands, her gaze unfocused. “‘I laid their daggers ready,’” she said in a low, musing tone. “‘He could not miss ’em. Had he not resembled my father as he slept, I had done’t.’”
“Christ, Persie,” Thomas Baywich said from a neighboring chair. “You just gave me the shivers.”
“That would be the point, wouldn’t it?” Charlie Huddle put in, slapping his folio against his knee. “People who get the shivers come to see the play a second time.”
“I’m thinking I should be more impatient,” Persie commented, looking over the lines again. “More of a ‘what’s taking him so long?’ than a waking nightmare.”
“Let’s try it that way,” Charlie agreed. “Gordon, from your line, if you please?”
“I don’t know how the lot of you can concentrate on a play about murder when any of us could be standing beside Persie the next time something falls from the rigging,” the actor playing Macbeth snapped. “And that person is likely to be me, since I share the most scenes with her.”
