Page 21 of Laird of Twilight
“What!” he burst out. Heat like outrage, or unbidden passion, swirled through him. “I could compromise you if I were the sort of rascal to do that. But I am not,” he said firmly. “Now tell me what in blazes you are going on about.”
“You swear quite a bit,” she said. “Highland gentlemen rarely curse. It is not Gaelic custom. Is it a Southron habit?”
“Pardon. It is a habit I developed among soldiers and living a bachelor’s life. Which I do not intend to change,” he clipped out. “Do not play coy, pouting like a pretty child, swatting your eyelashes as if there is sand in your eyes.”
“Oh. Was I?” She frowned. “Not intentionally. What should we do, then?”
“I suppose it depends on what you want to accomplish.”
“A gentle compromise. Only that.” Smile. Sunshine.
She was trying, albeit clumsily and somewhat innocently—he hoped—to manipulate and charm him. But why? “Miss MacArthur, you had best say outright what you intended by coming here.”
“I came to see your garden. That is all. But now that I am here, and this has happened, I think I would rather enjoy being compromised.”
His heart thundered. “Do you know what you are saying?”
“Gloriouslyrrruined,” she went on, in an exaggerated Scots burr. “That would quite suit me. If you do not mind, Lord Struan.” She took up the glass, sipped the last drop, turned it upside down, and smiled up at him. “Please.”
He stared, suspicions churning. “Ruination,” he snapped, “would lead to marriage, Miss MacArthur. Compromise and matrimony would both be mistakes.”
“We are alone together. Regardless, I am already compromised.”
“So you plotted—and not very well—to trap the local laird into marriage? It will not work, I assure you.”
“I did not!” She sat up. “It occurred to me just now. Perhaps I spoke in haste—”
“Let us hope so.”
“—only thinking it could solve a problem for me, and for you as well.”
“The only situation to solve,” he snapped, “is how to get you home quickly.”
She tilted her head, assessed him. “Something else troubles you, and marriage might solve it.” She frowned slightly, sympathetically.
How the devil would she know that? He stared down at her, thoughts racing. But her damnable suggestion had merit. He had come to Struan House to finish his grandmother’s book—and to look for a woman of fairy descent to marry. With those fey and graceful looks, Elspeth MacArthur could fill that role. And Sir Walter Scott, the judge of this profoundly irritating scheme, already liked the girl. This could work.
James watched her in silence. She smiled. He scowled. “Compromise has one rightful companion. Marriage.”
“I know.” She had a fey quality when she smiled, to be sure. He frowned.
“Do you know what you are proposing?”
“I—I think so.” For a moment, she looked hesitant. Then she nodded.
Did he have the heart to ruin this young woman, and marry her for his own ends? She was irresistibly alluring—a coy but darling beauty, forthright and seductive all at once. What drew him in? Her luminous eyes, or elusive dimples? The bow curve of her lips, her graceful throat, the rise of full breasts beneath that sodden gown? He noticed all of it, and glanced away.
While she sat smiling and calm, his heart and body pounded. He was wary and suspicious, yet aroused. And he was already hatching schemes in tandem with her mad suggestion.
Marrying this Highland girl and claiming she had fairy blood was preposterous. Yet the conditions of his grandmother’s will were equally absurd. And the girl was eager and all too willing.
Had she devised a trap for him—or was he about to trap her?
“Miss MacArthur.” He cleared his throat. “We are neither of us thinking clearly. Let me tend to your injury. I will find some bandages—the kitchen will have something—” He turned, ready to bolt.
“Lord Struan.” She rose to her feet and hobbled close, and he grabbed her arm to steady her. She was fine-boned, his hand large on her forearm. He felt strong and protective. He felt needed. Then she looked up and batted her eyelashes very deliberately, and he told himself he was surely being managed.
“Sand in your eyes again?” he murmured.
