Page 24 of Highland Champion
Alasdair flexed his arm for the proper angle and Lorelei tried not to notice how very solid and muscular it was as they walked out. A little tingle shot through her own arm when he pressed strong, warm fingers over her hand for a moment, settling it in place. It felt rather like the time in the carriage. Perhaps taking his arm had not been the best strategic move on her part because as they walked, she could think only of strolling the paths at Vauxhall with him.
…
While Louisa masked her disappointment—and Lorelei knew she was, because she’d had a topic to debate at that morning’s bluestocking meeting—she didn’t show it. Instead, she appeared to be interested in window-shopping along Bond Street. Being the daughter of a former prime minister had no doubt instilled her with the need to mask feelings and emotions.
Fiona had no such compulsion. Not only did she glower at her brother, but she heckled him as well, asking if they needed his permission to enter a store or if he thought to restrict that decision as well. Not that she waited for an answer. She just pulled Louisa with her into the next shop. Alasdair seemed to take it in stride which meant he was probably used to it. In fact, he turned to her and grinned.
“I doona suppose ye’ll be asking for my opinion, either?”
“Why would I…” Lorelei stopped, wondering if he were teasing. He did seem to enjoy agitating his sister. “I think the question should be why you did not ask our permission to come along?”
“’Tis an easy answer. Ye would have said nae.”
“Well, yes, but…”
“Ye would have said ‘yes’ if I’d asked?”
“Well, no, but…” She stopped again, realizing what he was doing. “I suppose you do serve a purpose, carrying our purchases.”
He laughed as if she’d made some hilarious joke and she shook her head.
Truthfully, Lorelei didn’t mind his company. Not that she was happy they’d had to cancel their plans to visit Vauxhall, but she was enjoying keeping her hand in the crook of his elbow and feeling his muscles flex when he moved it—which allowed her to adjust her own fingers and slide her hand over more of his arm. Silly thing, really, but it was her own private little game. He did seem to be flexing his muscles often. Was that on purpose or was she agitating him? Maybe she should move a little closer so her skirts would brush against his thigh—
“Umph!” The sound came out of her as strong hands encircled her waist and she was suddenly lifted and swung to one side. In another instant, Alasdair had pinned her to the side of the building, his hard chest pressing against hers. All sorts of odd tingles started happening, beginning with her breasts wanting to break free of her corset and butterflies fluttering in her stomach, culminating in an odd little pulsing farther down… “What—”
“Eejit driver!” He stepped back and dropped his hands. “Did ye nae see the carriage careening toward us? He nearly ran ye over.”
She blinked, trying to focus on his words. She followed his hand gesture to see a carriage rattling off down the street and a number of raised fists from pedestrians behind it. Good heavens. How could she have missed the noise of that? She felt her cheeks grow warm. She’d been so engrossed in touching Alasdair, she hadn’t noticed. “I—”
“Ye’ve got mud on your skirts.” Alasdair glared after the disappearing carriage. “The wheels must have splashed it before I could get ye out of the way.”
“It is of no matter.” She brushed at her skirts ineffectually, although it did keep her from having to look at him until she could compose herself. “It can be laundered when I get home.”
“I suppose ye will want to go there now?” he asked. “Or do ye have a mind to continue to shop?”
She shook her head. “Being seen in a muddy dress is not the impression I need to make.”
He lifted a hand to flag a hackney as Fiona burst out of the shop, followed by Louisa. “What happened?”
Alasdair explained as the carriage arrived and they all climbed into it. Although he played down the potential danger of what had happened, Lorelei realized she could have been badly hurt. She closed her eyes for a moment. Had Alasdair saved her life today?
It was something she needed to think about.
…
It wasn’t as though he had nothing else to do than attend a musicale on a Saturday afternoon. Alasdair made another attempt at getting his cravat straight, wishing he could just wear his kilt and jacket with its jabot shirt.Thatdidn’t need all the intricate turns and tweaks that the infernal length of linen wrapped around his throat did, which felt like a good effort from unseen forces to strangle him. He had enough visible forces to deal with.
Unfortunately, this was an invitation he couldn’t make an excuse to stay away from, since Mount Stuart’s wife Charlotte was hosting it. Guests were beginning to arrive and he could delay going downstairs for only a few more minutes.
Yesterday’s shopping excursion had been bad enough, given that Lorelei had nearly been run over. He couldn’t remember his heart hammering as hard as it had when he saw that carriage coming toward them. Or maybe his heart had been hammering because he could still feel her plump breasts that had been pressed against him before he released her. He didn’t need to be thinking about that or how pleasant it had felt for Lorelei to tuck her hand inside his elbow—and he’d made sure it stayed there—but he could have sworn the ladies’ original plan had not been to shop. He was almost certain they were up to something, but he didn’t know what it was.
But that wasn’t his only concern at the moment. Now he had to deal with Gavin Campbell.
He wasn’t surprised that the Duke of Argyll wanted to know every detail of what was being done with the MacGregors’ land claims, but he’d sent his nephew instead of a team of solicitors. Most likely that meant the duke had given specific strategies for Gavin to take that might not be considered entirely ethical. It would be a wily decision, especially since the king’s major focus was on the rebellious colonies and he wouldn’t be paying as close attention to such matters.
Alasdair had played enough chess to know he needed to keep a few moves ahead of Gavin. He wondered if Campbell’s flirtatious remarks toward Fiona weren’t another strategy in their pseudo chess game. Acting like some kind of gallant knight toward his sister might well be intended to distract Alasdair—much like sacrificing a chessboard knight—a powerful piece—would cause the opposing player to ponder the move and not notice that his own queen had been put in jeopardy.
And, in keeping with his chess game analogy,washis own lady in jeopardy? She might not exactly be his yet, since he’d not been able to talk to Lorelei privately yesterday and he hadn’t been able to manipulate the conversation around to the Marquess of Westwood, either. Not that he had planned to be so obvious as toaskabout the man’s intentions. Since he’d overheard the plotting conversation, he intended to do quite the opposite. He would praise the man’s accomplishments and mention the good things he’d heard of Westwood’s integrity. He wouldn’t even have to exaggerate because, from all accounts, the marquess was close to a damn saint. What Alasdair wanted to do was observe Lorelei’s reactions to his comments. He’d visited enough gaming hells to know what to watch for in the small responses. A subtle widening of the eye or a tiny quirk of the mouth for a good card, the slightest hint of a frown or barest tightening of the lips for a bad one. Hands, too, told a story. Calm, folded hands would show disinterest, or at least, neutrality. Movements were open to interpretation from nervousness to anticipation. He didn’t want to think about whatanticipationmight mean in this case. Thanks to Campbell’s arrival, he hadn’t been able to test his theory with Lorelei.
