Page 43 of A Scot on Duchess Square
His tone must have remained brusque, because she sought to further assuage him. “We were going to come right back and wait for you to join us for the day. I know how eager you are to browse the knitting yarn shops with me.”
He shook his head and laughed. “Aye, it is all I have dreamed about.”
She smiled and her eyes lit up with mirth. “How was your meeting with your bankers?”
“All went well.”
He did not know why he felt so extraordinarily pleased as he escorted Miranda and her niece the short distance to what turned out to be quite an impressive antiquarian bookshop. But it felt so good to have Miranda by his side.
Odd—he had not felt the lack of a woman’s touch in his life until now, for women made themselves available to him whenever the bedding urge struck him. But this was not at all the same thing. This present urge was about permanence and sharing his days and nights. Having now been traveling with Miranda, and before that, caring for her in his home, he did not want to go back to his old ways.
Nor did he wish to waste time courting her, for he had made up his mind and knew what he wanted…her.
Miranda could not be rushed, however.
This was not going to be easy for him, since patience was never one of his virtues.
A bell above the doorway tinkled to announce them to the bookshop’s owner. A little man with thin gray hair bustled forward, his smile broadening as he assessed the elegance oftheir clothing and recognized they had money to spend. “Are you looking for any reading matter in particular?” he asked. “I have several beautiful manuscripts of rare quality that—”
“We are just browsing,” Miranda replied.
Gwenys smiled at the elderly man. “You have a lovely shop. Would you happen to have books of poetry?”
“I do,” he responded brightly. “Although we are known for our antiquarian books, we also have many popular selections. In fact, I have an entire section devoted to the romantic poets. They are quite popular with the ladies. May I show you?”
“Oh, yes. Please do.” Gwenys followed him to the opposite end of the shop. It was a large enough establishment that one could find privacy behind the rows of bookshelves.
Bram realized what Gwenys was doing in occupying the shop’s owner. She meant to give him time alone with Miranda.
Yes, the sweet lass was definitely his ally when it came to wooing her aunt.
Unfortunately, he was not very good at courtship, since he was used to getting whatever he wanted merely upon request. Not that he considered himself a rogue with any particular prowess in bedding ladies, for most were like Lady Wharton and offered their bodies to gain advantage for themselves. He had no idea if their cries of pleasure were feigned or real.
But if he ever got Miranda into his bed, her sighs and passionate moans would be his assurance that she had enjoyed the moment.
Of course, she would never offer her body unless he had also won her heart.
“I wonder if he has a section on knitting books,” Miranda mused.
Bram laughed. “Seriously?”
“Yes, I assure you that I have quite a domestic heart. I love to embroider, as well. Oh, there’s a selection.” Unthinkingly, she took his hand and led him toward a nearby shelf.
It took her a moment of perusing the titles of these desired books to realize she was still holding his hand. When she finally glanced down, she released her light grip and blushed as she did so.
“Feels natural, doesn’t it?” he remarked, crossing his arms over his chest and easing a shoulder against the shelves as he watched her.
She ignored the question, as he expected she would. “Solway, can you reach that red leather-bound book up there for me?”
“Aye, at yer service.” He read the spine as he brought it down, chuckling over its yawn-inducing title. “Stitching with Wool. Gad, my heart is pounding with excitement,” he teased.
She playfully smacked his shoulder. “I’ll knit you a woolen vest for those cold Highland winters.”
“Ye would do that for me?” he asked with some surprise. Having met her in her warrior queen glory, it was hard to reconcile that side of her with the sweet, home-and-hearth-loving lass she claimed to be.
She nodded. “Gladly. It is nothing compared to the kindness you have shown me and Gwenys.”
“Och, seeing ye safely back to London is the least I could do after what Mongo did to ye. But my desire to protect ye, whether from brigands or from those miserable Lawsons, has nothing to do with duty and all to do with…”
