Page 33 of Highland Champion
“Have ye called on Lady Melissa today?”
Damnation. He wasn’t about to go that far. She’d actually dropped by Mount Stuart’s office yesterday—supposedly having some papers her father had sent down from Northumberland—and hinted at how she’d love to have a lemon ice. Mount Stuart had given him a look to remind Alasdair that he could use her father’s support, so he’d escorted her to the Pot and Pineapple. He wasn’t about to call on her this afternoon. Her aunt would be acting as chaperone, and the woman would likely wander off if she smelled fresh tarts.
“Not today.”
Several emotions flitted across Lorelei’s face, all of them too brief for him to interpret. A part of him wanted to tell her that he was not interested in Lady Melissa, but he all too clearly remembered the conversation he’d overheard them plotting. He wasn’t about to bare his soul just to be rejected.
But if she and his sister wanted to be unencumbered to enjoy the Season, Westwood and Campbell better not come calling, either.
…
“Did ye see how often Alasdair looked at the flowers?” Fiona giggled as she threw herself across the bed in their chamber an hour later. “He probably near bit his tongue off trying nae to ask who they were from.”
“He did not ask, though, did he?” Lorelei replied. She had noticed him glancing at them as well and had been hard put not to laugh. She did have to admit that he’d been remarkably self-disciplined aboutnotasking, although it was likely just stubborn male pride that had kept him quiet. “He will probably try to ferret information from Gavin when we are not around.”
“If he were wondering if Gavin sent them, he’d have just come out and asked me.Demanded, even. Thinking it his brotherly duty and all.” Fiona shook her head. “I think he was worried Lord Westwood sent them.”
Lorelei felt a little tingle of pleasure that Alasdair might be jealous. It was paradoxical of her, she knew, to want him to favor her when she’d agreed with Fiona that having him hover would keep them from their adventures. Still. When they’d been at the Pot and Pineapple, the way his fingertip had grazed her lip and wiped away a speck of ice had caused something like molten lava to course through her veins. But…that had beenbeforehe’dforbiddenthem to venture off. There were a number of places they still wanted to go, and Alasdair was not going to stop them. She needed to stop thinking about him. “Randolph would not send flowers. He has not once attempted to flirt with me.”
“Well, my brother doesna ken that.” Fiona grinned. “We doona need to tell him the roses were for Lady Bute from her husband.”
Lorelei smiled at that. “The countess did say Lord Bute sent them to make amends for staying away from London for the Season.”
“Aye. I wonder how many men actually do enjoy all the social events.”
“Your brother certainly seems to.” The words were out before Lorelei thought how they might sound. “I…mean…he does like to dance.”
Fiona gave her a curious look. “Alasdair has always liked to dance. At home, he always made sure to find the lassies who hadna been asked.”
That Alasdair would notice the wallflowers—if that’s what they were called in the Highlands—and make sure they were included was something she hadn’t considered. Of course, the only ball she’d been to in Scotland had been at the Campbells…but her dress had been ruined by spilled wine from her encounter with Neal Cameron, so she hadn’t noticed. She widened her eyes suddenly, remembering that after Alasdair had escorted them home, he’d insisted they do a bit of dancing in the empty Great Hall. Had he consideredherthe equivalent of a wallflower?
“What?” Fiona asked. “Ye have the strangest look on your face.”
“It…is nothing.” She didn’t want to think that maybe Alasdair had felt sorry for her at that time. “Your brother could be a real asset at Almack’s. At least if he can get away from Lady Melissa.” Lorelei clamped a hand over her mouth, embarrassed by what she’d just said. “I mean—”
“Ye doona have to explain.”
Lorelei knew her face must be red. It was also quite unreasonable of her to dislike Medusa—Melissa—when she’d also agreed that keeping Alasdair distracted would allow them the freedom to flirt and dance and enjoy the attentions of other young men. She just hadn’t expected the girl to do such a good job of it.
“Doona fash,” Fiona continued. “My brother kens quite well how to keep a parson’s noose from slipping over his neck.”
She wasn’t sure she wanted to knowhowhe had acquired that skill, but she wasn’t about to ask. She’d already voiced too much.
“Did ye nae see him paying attention to a lot of other girls at the dance Wednesday night?”
Thatshe had noticed. He’d nearly disappeared in a puffy cloud of pastels as soon as he’d come through the door. Lady Melissa had looked none too pleased. While she certainly didn’t feel sorry for Melissa, she couldn’t blame the other girls for pursuing him. They probably remembered seeing him in his kilt that first night, brawny and muscular. But even attired in proper Sassenach clothing, there was something about him… Perhaps it was his longish black hair that he wore loose, or his imposing physique and broad shoulders that an evening coat couldn’t hide—but he always looked a little bit wild, and a little bit rogue.
As tempting and beguiling as the devil himself.
And that, she realized, was very, very appealing.
The thought gave her a jar. Did she want his attention because he was giving it to everyone else? He’d danced only the one dance with her and he’d danced at least two with Melissa. Was she jealous? She didn’t like the idea at all.
“Are ye listening?” Fiona asked. “Ye didna answer my question.”
Lorelei frowned, trying to remember what it was. Ah, yes. Alasdair’s flirting with all the ladies. “I noticed.”
“Well then.” Fiona sat up and smoothed her skirts. “Ye doona have to fash about Lady Melissa Talbot sinking her claws in too deep.”
