Page 7 of In the Highlander's Bed

Headmistress Hillary frowned, but did as he asked. She had no choice. “Miss Constance Cameron, may I introduce to you Mr. Gordon Lachlan of Speyside. His father was an important magistrate in this country. Miss Constance is related to the Duke of Colster.”

He had the right woman. “Miss Constance,” he murmured with a slight bow.

She didn’t want to play at manners. Her hands stayed at her sides. She was angry that her desire to go outside had been thwarted, and he wondered what waited for her there. Most likely a gentleman. All of London knew the Cameron sisters were opportunists.

Now, how could he play this to his own advantage?

“Miss Constance?” Mistress Hillary prodded. “Perhaps you are not feeling well and wish to be sent to your room?”

A reluctant gloved hand came up and was offered to him. “It is a pleasure, sir.” She even bothered to give him a curtsey, although it was the very swiftest bob of her knees.

Gordon wanted to laugh. Now that he had her, he wasn’t going to let her go. “Please honor me with the next dance,” he begged.

A frown formed between her brows. She blamed him for her being caught, but before the word ”no” formed on her lips, she cast a swift glance at Mistress Hillary and changed her mind. “I’d be honored, sir.”

Thomas and the lads would be proud of him, Gordon thought. Now all he needed was to discover why she wanted to go outside and promise to escort her. This was going to be far easier than the original plan of scaling a wall and stealing her from her bed.

Gordon offered his arm. She accepted it with all the grace of a princess being paired with a peasant, not even bothering to meet his eye—and he felt challenged.

Women chased him. It was rarely the opposite.

“If you’ll excuse us, Headmistress?” he said.

The headmistress nodded her assent, her lips pursed in concern.

Gordon waited until out of earshot of the headmistress to confide, “She is not happy with you.” Offering sympathy was often the easiest way to a woman’s heart.

“She rarely is.” Miss Constance kept her gaze forward, her back stiff.

And Gordon realized he was going to have to work harder. His sister Fiona had often said that women came too easily to him. He wondered what she’d say now.

“I’m sorry I upset your plans for a lovers’ tryst,” he said, taking a stab at her motive for going out into the garden.

Her chin lifted. “I wanted a breath of fresh air. Nothing more.”

“Liar,” he said.

Her head whipped around and her gaze met his. “Snitch,” she responded.

Startled, Gordon came to a halt.

He reassessed his original impression of Constance Cameron. She was young but not defenseless. He’d best be on his toes.

“You are a bit older than the other girls, aren’t you?” he said.

“You are a bit rougher than the other gentlemen, aren’t you?”

“I know my manners,” he said.

“I do, too,” she answered, but then capitulated with the truth, “Well, sometimes I do. It seems every time I turn around, Headmistress Hillary makes up new rules for me to obey. And I fear I’ve been a bit gruff. It’s not your fault I received a dressing down.”

Her directness, her honesty, caught him off guard. Shewasn’tlike the other preening women in this room.

And for a moment he could imagine himself in another time and place. For a moment he found himself wishing he was nothing more than a country gentleman come to flirt a few hours away at a dance. For a moment he wanted to live in those precious carefree days of what seemed to be long ago.

“Let us start this again,” he offered. He bowed. “I’m Gordon Lachlan of Speyside.”

Her clear eyes searched his face before dropping to the ungloved hand he offered. He gave no apology. Not for not having gloves nor for the calluses there, a sign that he was accustomed to hard work.