Page 17 of Lyon of Scotland
When he stepped close to her, she felt relief, and a sudden, silly urge to lean against him. Instead, she smiled up at him.
“Lord Lyon—an impressive title,” Dove said. “Quite an achievement for a younger gentleman, even if it is the Scottish government.”
Strathburn did not flicker an eyelash at the jab. “Miss Gordon,” he said, “I wondered if you might enjoy some refreshment during the interval.”
“I would love that, thank you. Shall I go with you?” In answer, he offered an elbow and she took it gratefully and turned under his guidance.
But Sir Frederic came with them. “Miss Gordon and I were just having a pleasant conversation. I can fetch her refreshment.”
“It did not sound pleasant to me,” Strathburn said. “Did you know Miss Gordon and I are neighbors in Edinburgh? Her father is a good friend.”
How nicely he stretched the acquaintance. Hannah smiled at Dove.
“Her father!” Dove growled.
“Aye. When he learned I was coming to London, he asked me to look in on his daughter and make sure she is content and secure here.”
“Secure,” she repeated. “I appreciate that.” In silent reply, Strathburn shifted his arm to press her hand against his side in reassurance.
“Ah, Naylor is over there,” he told Dove. “He was looking for you earlier, sir.”
“Was he? Very well.” Dove stalked off without another word.
Hannah looked up. “Did Sir George want to see him?”
“No. I just wanted to be rid of him,” Strathburn said.
“Thank you! He was—” She stopped.
“Being a bother? Seemed so.”
“A bit. It is just the way he is.” She shrugged and could not meet his intent gaze. She wondered again if he had overheard what Dove had said to her.
“Come with me.” Instead of leading her up to the lobby, he drew her down the dark, empty aisle toward the curtained stage to pause in deep shadow. “Is there something I can do to help, lass?”
His concern, his willingness, brought sudden tears to her eyes. She needed help but would not ask, so shook her head. “It is fine.”
“I was not exaggerating, you know. Your father did ask me to look after you. But not to spy. Do not fret over that. He is worried, I think, about his daughter being alone in London. If I were a father, I would do the same.”
If he were a father, he would be so kind and caring—and who would be that little girl’s mother? A breathless thrill sank through her. “I suppose you are right,” she said.
He set his hand over her gloved hand resting on his arm. “Miss Gordon, if you need something, tell me. Dove’s behavior tonight boils my Highland blood. If he harasses you again, I want to know it.”
“Truly it is fine,” she said. “He is just—not very nice.”
“An understatement, from what I saw.”
How much had he seen and heard? “Please do not trouble yourself about it.”
“Well. My offer stands. Would you like lemonade? It is not very fortifying though. If they had whisky, I’d fetch a dram. Your cheeks are too pale. But lovely,” he murmured.
Reaching out, he touched her cheek, then withdrew. Instantly she missed that gentle, fleeting touch. It carried a sense of safety that lessened the anxiety she felt after her encounter with Frederic Dove.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
He leaned down to hear her just as she tilted her head to speak. His cheek was very near hers. His breath sifted loose spirals of her hair. She felt entranced. For a moment, the candlelight, the noise of the crowd beyond, the stage and seats vanished. His dark eyes, the tender curve of his mouth, his hand brushing her gloved fingers, were all that existed.
“Should you need me,” he said, pulling back a bit, still very close, very quiet, “I am at Mivart’s Hotel here in London. In Edinburgh, I am on Northumberland Street, not far from your family home.”
