against
associating with him, Killjoy is forced to carouse with displaced Englishmen.”
“Wasn’t there some sort of myth regarding a Buchanan
chieftain who betrayed William Wallace over an ancient grievance?”
“Oh, that was no myth, my lord.” Her lavender eyes glowed
with laughter as she stopped beside him and tilted her head back to meet his
gaze. “We Buchanans are loyal unto our own above all else and we never forget a
grievance, no matter how ancient. You might even think it our family motto.”
What an enchanting creature she was in that moment, her pale
face luminous in the sunlight, her eyes as beautiful as the English sky at
twilight, and her too-wide mouth lifted into a wicked grin.
“Why do I get the feeling you are issuing a warning?” Henry
asked, his blood pounding with the sudden, inexplicable urge to toss her over
his shoulder and carry her away to some remote forest where he could do a bit
of pillaging and plundering of his own.
“What a fanciful imagination you have, Lord Hasty,” she
replied with a throaty laugh that tightened his balls and made him acutely
aware of the cockstand in his trousers. “Do you mind if we switch sides?”
Before he could reply to her question she stepped around him
and came up on his left, tucking her hand through his elbow.
“A childhood injury,” she explained, waving her free hand
toward her voluminous skirts. “I’m afraid the uneven terrain will set me off my
gait. You don’t mind if I lean on you just a tad?”
“Not a bit.” Christ, let her lean on him, let her lean over
him, let her arch her long slender back beneath him.
She threaded her arm through his elbow, her hand clasping
his forearm.
Looking down at her hand encased in white lace he was struck
by her exceptionally long fingers spread over and around his jacket sleeve,
gripping him tight.
“Would you rather sit down?” He nodded toward a bench in the
shade of a sprawling oak.
“The villagers will have us betrothed the moment your bum
touches down.”
Henry tossed his head back and let loose a laugh, causing a
number of said villagers to stop and stare.
“Hush, my lord,” she admonished, tugging his arm to start
them walking once more.
“You are an uncommon woman, Miss Buchanan,” he praised when
he’d gotten his mirth under some semblance of control. “How is it we’ve never
met?”
“We hardly run in the same circles, my lord.”
“We’ve been at a number of events together…that is at the
same time.”
“Have we?” she asked with a frown that formed a tiny wrinkle
between her arched brows and pushed out her lower lip. “Yes, I suppose we
have.”
“You don’t intend to play coy with me now, do you?” Henry
teased. “Not when you are finally within sight of your greatest desire.”
“My greatest desire?” she repeated, halting beside him, her
fingers tightening on his arm. “I’m afraid I don’t take your meaning.”
“Don’t you?” Of course she did. This was no shy maiden, but
rather a woman who made no secret of the fact that she’d known more than one or
two rakes in her lifetime. Hell, she’d followed him from London after pining
for him for a twelvemonth.
“You know, then?” she asked, all breathless anticipation.
“You’ve not been terribly discreet,” he answered with a
wink.
Whether the words or the wink set her off, he hadn’t a clue,
but she pulled her arm free and took two stumbling steps back. A rush of color
suffused her cheeks and Henry wondered if he’d bungled it somehow. The lady
looked shocked. Beyond shocked, she looked…amused?
Miss Buchanan erupted into laughter, her eyes shining, her
luscious lips open to show off her teeth and a bit of her gums. She pressed one
hand to her heart as her shoulders shook.
“Miss Buchanan, are you quite all right?” Henry followed her
retreat, not certain whether he ought to be angry or charmed.
“Good lord,” she spluttered. “You…and me… me ?”
“Most definitely
associating with him, Killjoy is forced to carouse with displaced Englishmen.”
“Wasn’t there some sort of myth regarding a Buchanan
chieftain who betrayed William Wallace over an ancient grievance?”
“Oh, that was no myth, my lord.” Her lavender eyes glowed
with laughter as she stopped beside him and tilted her head back to meet his
gaze. “We Buchanans are loyal unto our own above all else and we never forget a
grievance, no matter how ancient. You might even think it our family motto.”
What an enchanting creature she was in that moment, her pale
face luminous in the sunlight, her eyes as beautiful as the English sky at
twilight, and her too-wide mouth lifted into a wicked grin.
“Why do I get the feeling you are issuing a warning?” Henry
asked, his blood pounding with the sudden, inexplicable urge to toss her over
his shoulder and carry her away to some remote forest where he could do a bit
of pillaging and plundering of his own.
“What a fanciful imagination you have, Lord Hasty,” she
replied with a throaty laugh that tightened his balls and made him acutely
aware of the cockstand in his trousers. “Do you mind if we switch sides?”
Before he could reply to her question she stepped around him
and came up on his left, tucking her hand through his elbow.
“A childhood injury,” she explained, waving her free hand
toward her voluminous skirts. “I’m afraid the uneven terrain will set me off my
gait. You don’t mind if I lean on you just a tad?”
“Not a bit.” Christ, let her lean on him, let her lean over
him, let her arch her long slender back beneath him.
She threaded her arm through his elbow, her hand clasping
his forearm.
Looking down at her hand encased in white lace he was struck
by her exceptionally long fingers spread over and around his jacket sleeve,
gripping him tight.
“Would you rather sit down?” He nodded toward a bench in the
shade of a sprawling oak.
“The villagers will have us betrothed the moment your bum
touches down.”
Henry tossed his head back and let loose a laugh, causing a
number of said villagers to stop and stare.
“Hush, my lord,” she admonished, tugging his arm to start
them walking once more.
“You are an uncommon woman, Miss Buchanan,” he praised when
he’d gotten his mirth under some semblance of control. “How is it we’ve never
met?”
“We hardly run in the same circles, my lord.”
“We’ve been at a number of events together…that is at the
same time.”
“Have we?” she asked with a frown that formed a tiny wrinkle
between her arched brows and pushed out her lower lip. “Yes, I suppose we
have.”
“You don’t intend to play coy with me now, do you?” Henry
teased. “Not when you are finally within sight of your greatest desire.”
“My greatest desire?” she repeated, halting beside him, her
fingers tightening on his arm. “I’m afraid I don’t take your meaning.”
“Don’t you?” Of course she did. This was no shy maiden, but
rather a woman who made no secret of the fact that she’d known more than one or
two rakes in her lifetime. Hell, she’d followed him from London after pining
for him for a twelvemonth.
“You know, then?” she asked, all breathless anticipation.
“You’ve not been terribly discreet,” he answered with a
wink.
Whether the words or the wink set her off, he hadn’t a clue,
but she pulled her arm free and took two stumbling steps back. A rush of color
suffused her cheeks and Henry wondered if he’d bungled it somehow. The lady
looked shocked. Beyond shocked, she looked…amused?
Miss Buchanan erupted into laughter, her eyes shining, her
luscious lips open to show off her teeth and a bit of her gums. She pressed one
hand to her heart as her shoulders shook.
“Miss Buchanan, are you quite all right?” Henry followed her
retreat, not certain whether he ought to be angry or charmed.
“Good lord,” she spluttered. “You…and me… me ?”
“Most definitely