Page 36 of Miss Delightful
She peered at the artist’s signature. “This is a Nasmyth.”
Andthatwas another dodge. “My grandparents approved of his liberal politics, and say what you will about him, he’s an exceptionally bright man. Grandmama in particular took an interest in his career, seeing him as an emblem of modern Scotland. That woman was a force of nature. She could tell you in excruciating detail about every spat between the MacKays and Sutherlands, who among the ancestors scarpered for Denmark when Cromwell razed our castle, and why Great-Uncle George was no sort of Jacobite.”
Dorcas looked from the painting to Alasdhair, who was lounging with a hip propped on a corner of the desk. “You have her eyes. I will think of them as force-of-nature eyes.”
A silence bloomed, while Alasdhair reeled from a genuine compliment freely given. He’d adored his granny, and his last memory of her was a tearful farewell when Papa had bought him his colors.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Miss Delancey asked, gaze firmly back on the painting. “Your grandparents made a very handsome couple.”
“I’m looking at you this way because I want to kiss you—properly, or improperly, depending on your definitions—and that is complicated.”
He braced himself for a tart little set-down, a cool rejoinder that would leave him in no doubt as to the futility of his aspirations.
“Why complicated? Most men simply steal a kiss and congratulate themselves on their successful thievery. I have presumed somewhat on your person, too, a casual gesture between cordial acquaintances.”
“We’re not friends? You’ve seen me insensate on the bedroom floor, a bedroom you invited yourself into, I might add, and we’re not friends?”
He remained perched against the desk when he wanted to interpose himself between her and the portrait and force her to meet his gaze. Except he would never force a woman to do anything, least of all this woman.
“We are… something,” Miss Delancey said. “I like you.”
“And that bothers you?”
She nodded.
“Good. I like you, too, and that bothers me as well, but in a lovely sort of way. Would you like to meet my horse?” Alasdhair sought to leave this house, where Timmens could intrude at any moment, and Henderson might blunder along with a bucket of coal, or some nosy cousin was bound to drop by at the exact wrong moment.
Miss Delancey slanted him a fleeting glance. “Meet your horse? The one who’s loyal to his oats?”
“They are all loyal to their oats, but it’s as pretty an afternoon as winter offers, and I usually look in on Charlie at some point every day. Bonnie Prince Charlie, to his new acquaintances.”
“You named him for royalty?”
“I named him for a lost cause, which he certainly is.” And for Grandmama Charlotte and all her causes.
Miss Delancey scooted around the desk and made for the door. “Will you kiss me in the stable, Mr. MacKay?”
“My cordial acquaintances call me Alasdhair. And as much as I want to kiss you, I want to first ensure that you grasp that I am not a Captain Beauclerk, though once upon a time, I could have been.”
She waited by the door until Alasdhair opened it for her. “Once upon a time,” she said, “I was a sweet and trusting girl. I have parted ways with that girl, and I have no intention of regaling you with a recounting of her fate.”
The serpent—Saint Mornebeth—figured in that tale. Alasdhair knew that much without Dorcas having to admit it. “Then I will explain about me and kisses, and you will render judgment as you see fit.”
She paused on the threshold, spearing Alasdhair with a glower. “You will explain what it means to be bothered in a lovely sort of way?”
“Yes.” Given a chance, he’d do better than explain. He’d show her precisely what it meant, but only if she allowed him to, which, given what he had to tell her, she really should not.
* * *
The sightof Alasdhair MacKay and baby John charming each other had stolen Dorcas’s breath—stolen her heart too. Mr. MacKay had been confiding in the boy. An infant could not grasp the import of specific words, though he could sense when he was being cherished.
Your most powerful weapons will be kindness and courage.
I adore a managing woman.
I like you, too, and that bothers me… in a lovely sort of way.
Alasdhair MacKay deserved cherishing, and what a relief to be able to admit that about any adult male.
