flattery, how to accept it, evade it, discount it. Somehow it wasn’t as easy with him. “Let me pass,” she muttered.
“Would you have kissed me?” He put two fingers under her chin as he asked. Serena held the tray like a shield. “Would you have, this morning, when the need for sleep was all over your face and the light just going gold?”
“Move aside.” Because her voice was husky, she shoved the tray at him. Brigham caught it instinctively to keep it from falling. Unencumbered, Serena headed for the door with him two steps behind. The sound of running feet stopped them both.
“Malcolm, must you sound like a great elephant? Coll’s sleeping.”
“Oh.” A boy of about ten skidded to a halt. His hair was a deep red that would probably darken to mahogany with age. Unlike the other men in his family, he had fine, almost delicate features. He had, Brigham noticed immediately, the deep green eyes of his sister. “I wanted to see him.”
“You can watch him, if you’re quiet.” With a sigh, Serena shook his shoulder. “Wash first. You look like a stableboy.”
He grinned, showing a missing tooth. “I’ve been with the mare. She’ll foal in a day or two.”
“You smell like her.” She noticed from the mud in the hall that he hadn’t done a thorough job of cleaning his boots. She would sweep it up before their mother saw it. She started to speak to him about it, then noticed he was no longer attending.
Brigham found himself being studied and assessed, quite man-to-man. The boy was lean as a whippet and smudged with dirt, and there was sharp curiosity in his eyes.
“Are you the English pig?”
“Malcolm!”
Both ignored her as Brigham stepped forward. Calmly he handed the tray back to Serena. “I’m English, at any rate, though my grandmother was a MacDonald.”
Mortified, Serena stared straight ahead. “I will apologize for my brother, my lord.”
He shot her a look ripe with irony. Both of them knew where Malcolm had come by the description. “No need. You would perhaps introduce us.”
Serena’s fingers dug into the tray. “Lord Ashburn, my brother Malcolm.”
“Your servant, Master MacGregor.”
Malcolm grinned at that, and at Brigham’s formal bow. “My father likes you,” he confided. “So does my mother, and Gwen, I think, but she’s too shy to say.”
Brigham’s lips twitched. “I’m honored.”
“Coll wrote that you had the best stables in London, so I’ll like you, too.”
Because it was irresistible, Brigham ruffled the boy’s hair—and grinned wickedly at Serena. “Another conquest.”
She lifted her chin. “Go wash, Malcolm,” she ordered before she flounced away.
“They always want you to wash,” Malcolm said with a sigh. “I’m glad there’ll be more men in the house.”
* * *
Nearly two hours later, Brigham’s coach arrived, causing no little stir in the village. Lord Ashburn believed in owning the best, and his traveling equipment was no exception. The coach was well sprung, a regal black picked out with silver. The driver wore black, as well. The groom, who rode on the box with him, was enjoying the fact that people were peeking out their doors and windows at the arrival. Though he’d complained for the last day and a half about the miserable weather, the miserable roads and the miserable pace, he felt better knowing that the journey was at an end and that he’d be left to tend to his horses.
“Here, boy.” The driver pulled up the steaming horses and gestured to a boy who stood beside the road, ogling the coach and sucking his finger. “Where will I find MacGregor House?”
“Straight down this road and over the rise. You be looking for the English lord? That be his carriage?”
“You got that right.”
Pleased with himself, the boy gestured. “He’s there.”
The driver sent the horses into a trot.
Brigham was there to meet them himself. Braced against the cold, he stepped out as the coach pulled up. “You took your
“Would you have kissed me?” He put two fingers under her chin as he asked. Serena held the tray like a shield. “Would you have, this morning, when the need for sleep was all over your face and the light just going gold?”
“Move aside.” Because her voice was husky, she shoved the tray at him. Brigham caught it instinctively to keep it from falling. Unencumbered, Serena headed for the door with him two steps behind. The sound of running feet stopped them both.
“Malcolm, must you sound like a great elephant? Coll’s sleeping.”
“Oh.” A boy of about ten skidded to a halt. His hair was a deep red that would probably darken to mahogany with age. Unlike the other men in his family, he had fine, almost delicate features. He had, Brigham noticed immediately, the deep green eyes of his sister. “I wanted to see him.”
“You can watch him, if you’re quiet.” With a sigh, Serena shook his shoulder. “Wash first. You look like a stableboy.”
He grinned, showing a missing tooth. “I’ve been with the mare. She’ll foal in a day or two.”
“You smell like her.” She noticed from the mud in the hall that he hadn’t done a thorough job of cleaning his boots. She would sweep it up before their mother saw it. She started to speak to him about it, then noticed he was no longer attending.
Brigham found himself being studied and assessed, quite man-to-man. The boy was lean as a whippet and smudged with dirt, and there was sharp curiosity in his eyes.
“Are you the English pig?”
“Malcolm!”
Both ignored her as Brigham stepped forward. Calmly he handed the tray back to Serena. “I’m English, at any rate, though my grandmother was a MacDonald.”
Mortified, Serena stared straight ahead. “I will apologize for my brother, my lord.”
He shot her a look ripe with irony. Both of them knew where Malcolm had come by the description. “No need. You would perhaps introduce us.”
Serena’s fingers dug into the tray. “Lord Ashburn, my brother Malcolm.”
“Your servant, Master MacGregor.”
Malcolm grinned at that, and at Brigham’s formal bow. “My father likes you,” he confided. “So does my mother, and Gwen, I think, but she’s too shy to say.”
Brigham’s lips twitched. “I’m honored.”
“Coll wrote that you had the best stables in London, so I’ll like you, too.”
Because it was irresistible, Brigham ruffled the boy’s hair—and grinned wickedly at Serena. “Another conquest.”
She lifted her chin. “Go wash, Malcolm,” she ordered before she flounced away.
“They always want you to wash,” Malcolm said with a sigh. “I’m glad there’ll be more men in the house.”
* * *
Nearly two hours later, Brigham’s coach arrived, causing no little stir in the village. Lord Ashburn believed in owning the best, and his traveling equipment was no exception. The coach was well sprung, a regal black picked out with silver. The driver wore black, as well. The groom, who rode on the box with him, was enjoying the fact that people were peeking out their doors and windows at the arrival. Though he’d complained for the last day and a half about the miserable weather, the miserable roads and the miserable pace, he felt better knowing that the journey was at an end and that he’d be left to tend to his horses.
“Here, boy.” The driver pulled up the steaming horses and gestured to a boy who stood beside the road, ogling the coach and sucking his finger. “Where will I find MacGregor House?”
“Straight down this road and over the rise. You be looking for the English lord? That be his carriage?”
“You got that right.”
Pleased with himself, the boy gestured. “He’s there.”
The driver sent the horses into a trot.
Brigham was there to meet them himself. Braced against the cold, he stepped out as the coach pulled up. “You took your
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