How to Marry a Highlander by Katharine Ashe Page B

seemed entirely for her. “That wouldna be proper, would it?”
    “Perhaps not, but I should like it quite a lot.”
    He moved a half step closer. “What have ye got in that bonnie head o’ yers, lass, that makes ye believe ye’ve got leave to make demands as ye do?”
    Dreams. Hopes. The desperate wish for somebody to understand her. “I am a distant relation to the king and imperiousness is in my blood.”
    “I dinna believe ye.”
    “Hm.” She could not hold his gaze any longer. “Lord Eads, Mr. Yale says you can be trusted with a woman’s safety,” she said to her gloved fingers twined together. “But, it is the most curious thing, you see: It turns out that I do not feel in the least bit safe with you.”
    “That surprises ye?”
    “Eighteen months ago I thought I knew . . . something . Even the other day when I went to your flat I thought I did. But the more I see of you the less . . . the less . . .”
    “The less like a game it seems to ye.”
    She looked up. His handsome face was sober.
    “No,” she said. “It was never a game. Only . . . I wish you would speak to me.”
    “I’m speaking to ye nou.”
    “About something that matters. About something real.”
    He did not look at her as though she were queer. He did not scowl or frown or shake his head in confusion like everybody in Harrows Court Crossing always did when she spoke her heart.
    “I did remember ye,” he said quietly. “Hou can a man forget the sweetest smile he’s ever seen?”
    Oh . “Sweetest?”
    His gaze traced her features. “Aye.”
    “Why did you pretend you didn’t recognize me?”
    “I wanted ye to go away. I want ye to go away nou. I’m praying ye’ll go away o’ yer own accord so I willna have to make ye.”
    “I cannot,” she said through the clog in her throat. “I made a promise to your sisters.”
    He paused a moment. “Will ye have a ride aboot the park?” He gestured to the boy with the horse.
    She blinked in surprise. “With you?”
    “Aye.”
    “Now?”
    His cheek dented again. “Aye.”
    “I haven’t got a mount here, and I am not dressed for it.”
    “Tomorrow morning, then?”
    “My lord, are you . . .” It was not possible, not after what he’d said. “Are you courting me?”
    He laughed. “Ye’ve no patience for uncertainty, do ye, lass?”
    “Please don’t call me lass. And no. But . . . are you?”
    “I anly wish to thank ye for the day ye’ve given ma sisters.”
    She sucked in her disappointment. “In that case I had better go inside and see what’s what. The day I gave them wasn’t quite ideal.” Teresa started up the steps. The earl followed.
    She halted two steps above him. “Lady Beaufetheringstone is holding a ball three evenings from tonight. Will you escort your sisters?” She fully expected him to decline this invitation above all. To him there could be no good in returning to the place she had first seen him.
    “Aye, I’ll do it,” he said, took the two steps in one, and looked down at her. “Teresa Finch-Freeworth o’ Brennon Manor in Harrows Court Crossing,” he said quietly, as though savoring the syllables upon his tongue. “Ye’ve no idea the sort o’ man I am or the deeds I’ve done.”
    “Then either you will have to tell me and allow me to make my own judgments, or I shall have to judge you according to the deeds you do now. Shan’t I?”
    He shook his head but he offered his arm. She laid her hand upon it.
    “There,” she said as briskly as she could. “This isn’t so hard, is it?”
    Duncan wanted to laugh. “Managing female,” he muttered.
    “Barbarian Scot.”
    “Saucy—”
    “I asked you not to call me lass.”
    “Ye asked me to marry ye too, but I havena done that either, have I?”
    “Not yet .”
    An expensive carriage with wheels rimmed in red, shining panels, and a matched quartet drew up on the street behind them. A young fellow disembarked. Without showy display, the diamond lodged in his neck cloth and