Page 13 of The Highlander's Auctioned Wife
“So, ye daenae like me adornments,” she said a moment later. “But what do ye make of the dress? I daenae think ye ever said.”
Gordon turned in a circle and swept toward her, the two of them mirroring one another with no more than a half step between them.
“It’s nay concern of mine,” he replied bluntly.
She frowned, frustration showing in the pursing of her lips and the narrowing of her eyes. “Ye daenae mind it?”
“Am I supposed to?” He dropped his gaze to the almost transparent panels, teased by that blurred writing once again.
“Nay, but Iwouldhear yer opinion.”
“I’ve said it,” he insisted, seeing no need to repeat himself. But, clearly, she wasn’t satisfied with his answer.
She puffed out a breath as she hopped from side to side, blowing a lock of copper hair out of her face. “Would ye have me wear such a thing to an important gatherin’?”
It was something Laird Glendenning had said and Anna hadn’t liked the man’s answer. Nor had Gordon, in truth, deeming it beneath a man to trouble himself over a lady’s fashions and fancies. Surely, a woman knew better than a man what was appropriate and what would be of benefit in an important situation?
“I wouldnae tell me wife what she can or cannae wear, if that’s what ye’re really askin’,” he said, closing the gap a little. Dipping his head, he murmured, “Besides, I doubt there’s anythin’ that wouldnae look good on ye.”
Anna’s cheeks flushed with pink, her laughter soft and sultry as she raised her gaze to him, her green eyes shining. Her hand went to her heart, half-shock, half-intrigue. “I dinnae think ye were a rake, M’Laird, tryin’ to seduce me with compliments. Indeed, I already told ye I couldnae be wooed with seduction.”
“It wasnae a compliment,” he grunted, wondering if seduction was the only thing that mattered to her after all, since she’d mentioned it twice now. “Just the truth.”
“Ye think me dress looks good, then?”
He resisted the desire to roll his eyes. “I think it serves a purpose. The same purpose that would make it useful in an important gatherin’.”
“And what purpose would that be?” she said, her voice coy while her expression had tightened, suggesting she wasn’t satisfied withthisanswer, either.
“It’s intended to distract and to elicit conversation,” he replied flatly.
And I wouldnae mind stealin’ ye away to see what that writin’ says, where it’s nae covered up with that irksome fabric.Itannoyed him that he couldn’t read the words, the way it would annoy him if he couldn’t read the contents of an important letter, soaked by the rain. He wanted to know what secrets she was hiding in plain sight, his fingertips itching to tear the panels to get to the mystery beneath.
Indeed, it was taking all of his discipline not to.
Infernal man.
Anna supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised, considering he was the Devil of the Highlands. But she hadn’t expected him to be so… frustrating, so implacable, so much like an immoveable block of stone, impervious to her mischief and her plan.
Indeed, she was rather furious with herself for laughing because of what he’d said about brigands, and furious that he’d agreed to dance, and was dancing quite well at that. He was supposed to be giving up, not advancing.
What would vex him? What would give him reason to depart the auction? What could I do to make him surrender?The questions swirled around in her mind as they continued to dance, Gordon matching her step for step with surprising proficiency. He wasn’t the most graceful dancer she’d ever seen, but he wasn’t making a fool of himself either, his movements solid and competent.
A few more garish dresses and Laird Glendenning will lose interest, but what ofthisman? This statue?
An idea burst into her mind, thrumming with mischief.
“Jackson, might ye hasten the pace!” she called out, having half forgotten that her family were watching.
Without hesitation, Jackson began to clap his hands quicker, joined by their mother and Laird Glendenning. Somewhat reluctantly, Ewan added his own beat to the rhythm, though Anna’s father didn’t involve himself, choosing to sip his wine and avoid looking at the scene entirely.
Anna altered the dance with no warning, whirling around, letting the swifter rhythm guide her in a far livelier reel. She thought she saw Gordon’s eye flicker with disapproval, but disapproval wasn’t enough; she needed him to be outright horrified, so much so that he’d leave before the rest of the Lairds even arrived.
I must dispense with them one by one.
Spinning around like she had been possessed by the spirit of dance itself, spurred on by the loud cheers of Jackson and Laird Glendenning, she didn’t halt when her forearm collided with Gordon’s chest. Nor did she retreat when her hand struck him again as she whirled into the next rotation.
Although, it took every ounce of determination she had not to gasp in pain: his chest was much harder than she’d anticipated, like striking solid rock.
