Page 23 of The Scottish Duke Tames the Bluestocking
“Is it that? Or did ye wish to continue our conversation without the pryin' eyes of bored women?”
Harriet merely laughed and Hugh turned to look at her. He studied her for a long moment, his head cocked to one side as he took another deep drag of his cheroot. The tip flared bright orange before dying - a hypnotizing effect created by it and Harriet averted her eyes quickly as she felt heat rising to her cheeks.
“Perhaps a conversation was the deciding factor,” she admitted, and he laughed.
“Is that so?”
Mirroring his stance, Harriet moved to stand next to him - surveying the other people on the veranda.
In truth, she had no earthly idea what had possessed her to follow him out here. It had been a whim: a mad impulse, born of the strange energy that crackled between them whenever they occupied the same space.
She cast him a furtive glance, her gaze falling upon the cheroot dangling from his fingers. A wicked notion took root and it spread through her like wildfire.
“Will you believe that I have never tried that?”
She gestured to the cheroot in his grip and he laughed - almost sounding shocked. “I would certainly believe it,” he declared simply, and she moved to stand in front of him.
“I want to try,” she insisted, and Hugh coughed - clearly taken aback by her brazen request.
“I beg yer pardon?”
“Your cheroot,” Harriet insisted and held out her hand. “I want to try a... a puff.”
For an interminable beat, Hugh simply stared at her - his expression unreadable. Then a smile tugged at the corners of his lips and to her shock, he extended his hand - offering her the cheroot with a shrug.
“Be me guest,” he rumbled, amusement thick in his voice. “But daenae say I dinnae warn ye.”
Harriet’s heart hammered at this, but she plucked up her every bit of courage and took the cheroot from him with trembling hands. Steeling herself, she lifted it to her lips and took a tentative puff. Instantly, acrid smoke filled her mouth with unfamiliar harshness and her throat closed up at once - a violent coughing fit wracking her frame as she struggled to expel the obnoxious fumes from her lungs.
Dimly, as though it was quite a distance off, she registered Hugh’s deep, booming laughter ringing out across the veranda - no doubt drawing the scandalized attention of anyone within earshot.
Harriet doubled over, hacking and wheezing, tears streaming from her eyes as she fought to regain her composure. Through the haze of her watering vision, she could just make out Hugh's face, etched with mirth as he grinned down at her.
“Easy there, lass,” he chuckled and took the offending cheroot from her fingers before grinding it out beneath his heel. “I did try to warn ye.”
Despite the lingering burn in her throat and the mortifying spectacle she had made of herself, Harriet found she couldn't quite summon any true irritation. There was something about Hugh’s laughter that sent a strange warmth to the pit of her belly.
She straightened her back with as much dignity as she could muster and swiped at her teary eyes with the back of her hand.
“Yes, well,” she managed to get out, her voice strangely raspy from the smoke. “I suppose I should have heeded your warning.”
Hugh laughed and nodded teasingly. “Aye, I would say it would serve ye well to listen to me.”
Harriet frowned at this immediately and he leaned closer, a soft chuckle escaping her lips and his breath tickling her ear.
“But where would be the fun in that?”
There was nothing she could say to this - so she merely smiled as she settled next to him.
Perhaps the evening would not be as awful as she had feared.
CHAPTER12
Where they stood next to each other, Harriet kept stealing glances at Hugh. Her plan to scandalize and shock him with her brazen behavior had backfired spectacularly. If anything, the infuriating Scot seemed rather intrigued by her antics and his eyes sparked with a maddening mix of amusement and admiration every time she outed propriety.
One thing was certain: Hugh Wilkinson was unlike any of the men in theton. He seemed to be utterly immune to the dictates of society. She was quite certain that she would not be able to unravel him.
As though he could read her mind, Hugh shot her a sideways glance, a smirk playing around his lips.
