Page 40 of A Rogue in Firelight
“Using the wrong fork is a serious matter, is it? Tie a cravat properly or someone will die?” He raised a brow. “A dangerous wee game, this. Then what?”
She ducked her head, went rosy. “I am not sure what happens afterward.”
“Bidh a h-uile càil gu math,”he said softly. All will be well. “I suppose polite chatter and a little dancing are preferable to hanging.”
Her earnest nod was endearing. That was dangerous too. He stood. “We have been alone too long. We must practice propriety.”
She stood, just at the height of his shoulder. He felt very tall and protective. Going to the door, he reached for the handle and paused.
“Miss Graham,” he murmured. “Whatever happens to me is my concern. Do not fret over it. You did a brave thing tonight.”
“Brave?” Her eyes were dark, sincere gray now. His breath stirred a soft curl at her brow. Aware he stood too close, he did not move, nor did she.
“You delivered a message that two men were too cowardly to give. Just who needs to learn some manners?”
She smiled. “Tutoring you should prove easy enough, sir.”
“See how quickly I learned English tonight. What shall we do tomorrow?”
“Whatever you think is best.”
“I always do that,” he murmured, and reached over her head to open the door.
Chapter Nine
“Iso enjoya cup of tea in the morning rather than coffee.” Lady Strathniven took a sip from a china cup. “Ellison, you have had two cups already. Are you fatigued?”
“I am fine. Strong tea is so bracing early in the day.” Ellison glanced at the man standing by the sideboard and recalled their meeting last night. Dressed in the black suit that closely fitted his tall, muscular figure, with his dark hair swept back and his beard all but gone—just a shadow this morning—he was not just handsome. He was perfectly distracting.
Her gaze kept sliding toward him, her awareness keen. Standing in the sunlight filtering through ivory silk draperies, MacGregor was a powerful masculine contrast in the pink and cream dining room. He opened the spout of a silver samovar to pour himself more coffee, and then glanced up to meet her gaze. She looked away quickly.
“Glenbrae, is the coffee to your liking this morning?” Lady Strathniven asked.
“Very much, my lady.” He stirred cream into the cup. “Thank you for your hospitality.” He resumed his seat on the other side of the table.
“Of course. Mrs. MacNie was very glad to prepare breakfast this morning for a gentleman with a healthy appetite. All we usually take is tea and toast or porridge.”
“It is a delicious breakfast.” He took up knife and fork to slice into a fat sausage.
“Better than prison fare, I trust!” Lady Strathniven leaned forward. “What did you eat there? Moldy bread and old beer?”
MacGregor stifled a laugh. “You have a vivid imagination, my lady. Bread, cheese, thin ale or weak tea. Porridge. Soup. Occasionally meat.”
“Oh dear. We shall feed you well, I promise.” Lady Strathniven tipped her head. “I must say, your English has improved overnight.”
Ellison began to translate into Gaelic, but he caught her eye and shook his head.
“Lady Strathniven, I have a confession,” he said.
“That you speak excellent English after all, and do not require an interpreter?”
“I speak both English and Gaelic fluently.”
“Glenbrae found Gaelic more useful in his previous situation,” Ellison explained. “Papa and Mr. Corbie assumed he needed a translator. It is not necessary.”
Lady Strathniven clasped her hands. “Well, this will make our conversations easier! Oh! Is he aware of the arrangements? Did I speak out of turn?”
“I am aware, my lady.” MacGregor inclined his head.
