Page 5 of Waiting for a Scot Like You
The footman appeared at the door. He stepped aside to permit someone entrance, and a moment later, a striking woman walked into the study in a waft of blue silk, a slight smile tilting the corners of her generous mouth.
It was impossible not to throw an exasperated look in Rotherby’s direction. The cursed bastardknewhow Duncan felt about this woman, and it was clear now that his friend hadn’t mentioned the name of the lady he’d be escorting on purpose. Had Duncan known, he would have been far more reluctant to agree to this mission.
“Lady Farris,” Rotherby said with a voice as smooth as polished stone, “I believe you already know Major Duncan McCameron.”
“Major McCameron.” Her smile turned faintly sardonic as she held out her hand. “We met in June.”
“Lady Farris.” Duncan bent over her hand in a bow, catching the first floral arabesques of her perfume. It wasn’t a heavy or cloying scent. Far from it. “It was at Carriford, ma’am.”
He straightened and took the opportunity to study her. She was an arresting woman with bold features and slashing dark brows. Silver streaked through her chestnut hair, and there were tiny lines at the corners of her sable-brown eyes. Duncan was rubbish at gauging people’s ages, but it was clear that she’d left girlhood behind some time ago. A ripe sensuality clung to her, revealing itself in her full mouth and the way she held herself, as if at any moment she might lean forward and whisper an erotic suggestion into a willing ear.
What would it be like to be the owner of that ear?
He dismissed the errant notion at once, recalling instead how the countess had gone and done outlandish things like climbing trees and sitting on the rooftop to watch the moon rise and laughing with effervescent energy, and she’d simply beentoo much. He’d been unable to stop looking at her, incapable of directing his attention toward anyone else.
She hadn’t behaved like a respectable dowager. How was one supposed to talk to a genteel woman who didn’t seem to care about decorum or do anything remotely expected?
His friends had even remarked on it, that he’d turned into a gruff, surly bear in her presence, which wasn’t his proudest moment. But, damn it, he had been graceless and awkward every time he was near her.
“Your bedchamber was next to mine,” she said, “and every time I took a step in my room, I heard the floorboards creak in yours, matching me step for step.”
“I sleep lightly, ma’am.” Which was true, but that night when they’d shared a wall, he had been acutely aware of her presence nearby. Her own restlessness over the course of that night had fired his own.
“Are you to be my minder, Major?” Lady Farris asked, a note of teasing in her voice.
“I’ll be accompanying you to Nottinghamshire, ma’am,” he replied with severe politeness. “I expect the journey shall take us four to five days, depending on the condition of the roads. Before we leave, I should like a list of every place along the way wherewe intend to stop, as well as a listing of inns that would be suitable for a gentlewoman to spend the night. We should have no moment unaccounted for.”
Lady Farris’s lips quirked. “Does that include timing my visits to the necessary?” When he did not answer, she went on. “For mealtimes, perhaps I ought to calculate how long it takes me per bite of food. But does that include only chewing, or chewingandswallowing? Oh, and we should take into account wiping my mouth with my napkin, which I’m certain adds up.”
Duncan’s jaw tensed as he stared at her. “Ma’am, you must take this trip seriously.”
“MustI? You’re so very adept at seriousness, I’m sure you’ll do the job amply for the both of us.” There went that smile of hers again, halfway between teasing and mocking.
It was impossible to try to talk sense into this woman, so he didn’t bother with an attempt.
“That’s an exceptional glower, Major. I would wager that you earned a special commendation in glowering. The Golden Scowl.”
Rotherby chuckled, though his laugh turned into a cough when Duncan shot him a glare.
At Duncan’s silence, Lady Farris lifted her eyebrow. Turning to Rotherby, she said, “Your Grace, much as I appreciate your efforts in finding me an escort to Nottinghamshire, perhaps we might be able to find someone less”—she eyed Duncan, who stood straighter beneath her perusal—“regimented.”
“Major McCameron is the superlative candidate for the job,” his friend said smoothly. “In these uncertain times, having a former soldier accompanying you on the road is ideal.”
“Oh, very well,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “He’ll do.”
“If you don’t want me as your escort,” Duncan said tightly, “I’ll gladly honor your wishes and remain here in London.”
“Lady Farris,” Rotherby said with a charming smile, “might I have a word in private with the major?” He already had his hand on Duncan’s arm.
“By all means.” She swayed over to the bookcase and pulled a volume down from the shelf. It was clear from the speed at which she turned the pages that she wasn’t reading a bloody word.
Duncan allowed Rotherby to haul him over to the window, hating how in the countess’s presence his body moved as clumsily as his tongue.
“The devil is wrong with you?” Once again, Rotherby’s light tone belied the meaning of his words. “The dowager countess is perfectly lovely—”
“Perfectly daft,” Duncan muttered. “For God’s sake, she climbed one of Carriford’s trees. What full-grown adult does such a thing?”
Lady Farris snapped her book shut and made a show of returning it to the shelf before selecting another, her expression determinedly airy.
