Part 15 (1/2)
”Och! Ye're a fine one to talk, Angus MacLellan! I've seen ye chase the pugs all o'er the front lawn, I have.”
”Only when her grace asked me to. Other than tha', I dinna take a step toward 'em unless they welcome it.”
”Why, ye lyin'-” Freya caught herself and, with an apologetic glance back at Dahlia, straightened her narrow shoulders and faced the cheeky footman. ”We'll discuss this another time.” She curtsied. ”Thank ye fer bringin' the missive.”
”Ye're wel-”
She slammed the door. A m.u.f.fled word came from the hallway, but she ignored it and brought the note to Dahlia, who instantly recognized Kirk's familiar back-slanted handwriting.
The maid had the grace to look shamefaced. ”I'm verrah sorry fer slammin' the door, miss. I shouldna' ha' done tha', but tha' mon is a lazy bit o' bone and blood, he is. E'er since the d.u.c.h.ess asked him t' be the one t' carry puir ol' Randolph oop an' down the stairs when he refused t' do it hisself-”
”Pardon me, but who is this Randolph?”
”Och, Randolph is the oldest o' the Roxburghe pugs, miss. He's ancient, he is, bu' full o' life. MacDougal thinks 'tis all a trick and tha' Randolph can manage the stairs fer all tha' her grace thinks he canno'. Angus, meanwhile, has been lordin' it o'er everyone belowstairs, actin' as if he'd been crowned king.”
”King of the pugs, is he? Men can be so infuriating.”
The note was pleasantly heavy in her hand, as if it held something of great value. So you've made arrangements for us to meet privately, have you? She'd wondered when and how he'd manage it. A faint s.h.i.+ver rushed over her, a wave of invisible heat.
Aware of the maid's eyes upon her, Dahlia tossed the unopened missive onto the dressing table and said, ”I believe I'll wear the blue slippers.”
”Aye, miss. They'll look fetchin' wit' tha' gown. I'll fetch them fro' the dressin' room.”
”Thank you.” Dahlia waited for the maid to leave before she picked up the missive. Yesterday, when Kirk had suggested that they practice their skills so as not to embarra.s.s themselves again, she'd found herself in complete agreement, swayed by both his reasoning and his presence. But the cool logic of a night spent thinking away the hours had brought to light several flaws with this plan, not the least of which was the impropriety of it. Beyond that, there could be unexpected outcomes from their continued contact.
As it was, she was having a difficult enough time forgetting their kiss. Those first seconds had been beyond anything she'd ever dreamed, which was why she'd reacted so strongly. So how would she be able to forget a kiss from Kirk that was exceptional from beginning to end? Could she forget it? Would she want to?
She picked up her silver comb and, just as she'd done to Dalhousie's missive, she slid it under the flap and broke the seal. She replaced her comb on the dresser and then unfolded the stiff paper.
The paper was remarkably fine. Only the best for the master of Fordyce Castle. She smiled as she opened the vellum.
The library at ten. Do not be late.
Kirk She frowned. Short and to the point, with no time taken for pleasantries. Worse, he doesn't even ask, but announces it as if I'd have nothing to say about it. As could be expected from Kirk, the missive was vastly unsatisfying.
She scowled at the letter. Why had she agreed to his request to hone her kissing skills with him, of all men? It was ludicrous. She'd come to the d.u.c.h.ess's to find love and romance, something Kirk couldn't understand, nor did he wish to. Why, even common courtesy seemed to stretch his resources.
A rational woman would have avoided him, and would certainly have never agreed to his proposition. But yesterday, she hadn't been able to do either.
Something had happened when Kirk had lunged for her bonnet and she'd found herself in his arms. Even now, if she closed her eyes, she could feel the split second of heat caused by that innocuous embrace and smell the faint hint of cologne that had lingered on his coat.
Of course, now that time had pa.s.sed, she realized that his seeming embrace had merely been a way to steady himself. Equally disheartening, she also realized that his scheme to advance their kissing skills-something she would have suspected as an attempt at flirtation had another man proposed it-was exactly as he'd declared it: he wished to avoid another embarra.s.sing moment and he was woefully without practice.
Perhaps it was kind that he thought to include her, but it still confirmed that there was nothing the least bit romantic about his efforts.
As always, Kirk's request had been based on cold, hard practicality and his own needs, and she deeply regretted agreeing to partic.i.p.ate. And yet somehow she had.
But perhaps she shouldn't be so hard on herself. She'd been raw from their horrid encounter; then after he'd held her, she'd fallen under some sort of spell cast by his dark gaze and the feel of his strong arms about her.
Well, her reason had returned. She would meet with him at ten o'clock and explain why she was no longer interested in ”perfecting” her skills.
She tossed the letter on the dresser where it came to rest beside Dalhousie's longer, more eloquent missive. The viscount had requested the honor of her presence, not rudely a.s.sumed that he would have it. There were many other things to recommend Dalhousie's letter over Kirk's, as well-his warm tone, the politeness of his request, the time he'd taken to plan an amus.e.m.e.nt for them both-all of it pointed to a deepness of thought and consideration that was completely lacking in Kirk's abrupt, demanding missive.
A cold, wet nose touched her elbow.
”Oh!” Dahlia looked down at the pug, who was wagging her curly tail with abandon. ”Your nose is like ice.”
Freya stuck her head out of the dressing room. ”Och, is she botherin' ye, miss? I can try to catch her and-”
”No, no. She's fine.”
”Verrah weel. I mus' say tha' I'm glad, fer she dinna take kindly to bein' chased.”
”None of us do.”
Freya twinkled. ”Unless 'tis by the right mon, miss. I've found yer shoes bu' they needed a mite o' polish. I'm jus' finis.h.i.+n' them oop now.”
”Thank you, Freya.”
”Ye're quite welcome, miss.” The maid disappeared back into the dressing room.
Dahlia regarded the dog sitting at her feet. ”I wish you could go to the library for me. If there's one thing I'm certain of, it's that Lord Kirk is going to be angry when I tell him no.”
Meenie c.o.c.ked her head to one side.
”Oh, I know, he stomps about and snaps like a dragon. He meets almost everything with irritation-a change in the weather, a book that has had the corners of the pages folded, a cravat with too much starch-the list is endless. Which is why, when he huffs and puffs, I shan't pay him the slightest heed.”
Meenie wagged her tail.
Dahlia was heartened by this positive reaction. ”Yes. I will simply tell him I don't need to hone my skills. I need to hone my reaction.” She reached down to pat the pug. Its hair was velveteen soft and made her smile. ”You are a sweet one. Come sit on my lap.”
The dog barked once, and then ran away as fast as its legs would carry it, making wider and wider circles around the room until, once again, she collapsed in a panting, grinning heap before the fireplace.
Freya came out of the dressing room carrying the shoes. ”Ye canno' pick tha' one oop, miss. No' unless she decides she wishes ye to do so.” She placed the shoes on the floor before Dahlia. ”So Lord Dalhousie sounds as if he might be interested in ye, miss. Do ye like him?”
”I don't know.” Dahlia opened her jewelry box and selected her favorite garnet earrings. ”He's fun and lively and he flirts outrageously, but . . . we shall see.” Compared to Kirk, who didn't like to do many things at all, Dalhousie was the most attractive of companions.
Still, for no reason at all, she couldn't help but wonder what a real kiss from Lord Kirk might be like. A kiss born and sustained by pa.s.sion, one uninterrupted by her own inexperience.
But Lord Kirk has no pa.s.sion. As he pointed out yesterday, we knew each other before, so naturally we're comfortable when we're together and enjoy a feeling of familiarity. Yet there had been that decided flare when he'd held her. That was stronger than mere familiarity.
”Why are ye scowlin' so, miss?”