Her Kilt-Clad Rogue Read Free Page A

obvious.
    He said nothing but walked toward her, as if he were a cat stretching his long limbs. He stood far taller than she remembered. It seemed unfair that age had not made him any less attractive, but instead had deepened his allure, casting his eyes with dark and knowing shadows and providing subtle and interesting lines around his mouth. For a moment she stared at him in disbelief, unable to accept the irony that God had created such a magnificent specimen in the form of a devilish Scotsman.
    “Come in, please.” This time his voice softened. “No need to linger by the door. I willna bite. No’ much anyway.”
    She saw a flicker of amusement in his eyes. Pride made her lift her chin. “I’m not lingering. You wished to see me?”
    His mouth curved into a smile. “I did. It’s good to see ye again. Ye’re all…well, grown up.”
    His gaze swept across her and Genevieve tried not to flinch, knowing he examined her only to remind himself of her glaring faults. She stiffened when his perusal lingered on her hastily combed hair, her wrinkled gown and plain, ordinary features. He most likely would know her grandfather had provided a lavish season for her in London and that she had turned down her one and only suitor. He would now remind himself of why no man, except for him during a summer amusement, had ever paid her more than a passing glance.
    She kept her chin raised high, refusing to let him unnerve her further.
    “I’m sorry to hear about your grandda.” He spoke with genuine sincerity. “He was an honorable man wi’ an even hand and a keen sense o’ business. He was a good friend to my family and I liked him.”
    “Thank you.” Her voice wavered with emotion.
    “I heard ye had to sell the estate to pay off his debts. I’m sorry to hear that. ’Twas a fine house ye had in Alnwick.”
    An unnerving flush of guilt swept through her, knowing she could have saved the estate had she accepted old Herbert Young’s offer of marriage. A lump rose in her throat. “Yes, it was a beautiful home.”
    “I regret your misfortune, but am grateful that ye’ve accepted our request to come here.” He straightened and pulled out a chair for her. “Please have a seat. I’d like to talk to ye about my son.”
    Genevieve complied and as she swept past him, they brushed arms. She jerked back as heat streaked all the way up her arm and down to her toes. Horrified, she peeked and saw him staring at her. She perched on the chair and waited. After a moment, he walked around the desk and sat down, the leather of his chair creaking as he lowered himself into it.
    “Have ye the opportunity to meet Ewan yet?” he asked.
    Relieved that the boy hadn’t yet come running to his father complaining of her, she nodded. “I have.”
    “And what did ye think o’ him?”
    She chose her words carefully. “We had an informal introduction. He seems rather…strong-willed.”
    “’Tis kind o’ ye to say it that way. The truth is the lad is in need o’ proper instruction in the ways o’ manners and learning. I’m oft away and need someone that I can trust to see to him.”
    Trust? She thought that an odd choice of words, coming from a man who had so carelessly treated her feelings. “He seemed rather shocked that I am English.”
    He seemed amused, but not surprised. “Well, is he, now? The lad hasna ever met an Englishwoman. ’Twill be a good experience for him, then.”
    “In what way?”
    “I mean that the English seem to have a way with…well, subjugation.”
    Genevieve bristled. “I find that remark quite improper.”
    He laughed, revealing a row of gleaming white teeth. “Now that’s the lass I remember—all prickly and proper. Do ye remember how many times ye berated me for what ye called my ‘insolent’ humor?”
    She did remember and even now could picture him needling her just to see her frown. After he’d manage to coax a rise out her, he’d kiss away that disapproval from her lips.
    “You don’t