Page 73 of A Rogue in Moonlight
“Just so,” she said, laughing, glad to hear a man quote Robert Burns so readily. His intellect, she realized, was equally as attractive as his kindness, his strength of will, his handsomeness. “You do make a lovely whisky, sir, if I may say. And if I am in a state of undress, well, that is my own doing.”
He regarded her for a moment. “I think you should go upstairs now, lass.”
“Not just yet. I like your company.” She really did, she thought, and stood, tipping her head. But the movement made her dizzy again.
“I like your company too. But your brothers would surely come after me if they knew we were together here, with you dressed like that.”
“Only if I tell them. It also depends on what you decide to do this night.” She reached for the glass again, but Dougal took it neatly away and set it aside.
“Decide to do about what?” he asked quietly.
She felt wicked. “About your black lovesickness.”
“Best we leave that be for now.”
“Perhaps we could cure it.”
Dougal was silent for a moment, standing so close that Fiona tilted her head to look up at him. He lifted a hand, brushed her hair from her brow, while she closed her eyes, waiting, hoping. Dizzy. But he did not kiss her.
“What cure do you suggest?” he murmured.
“Mmm,” she said. “Maisie’s potion cures all, so she said.”
“You have had enough cure, I think. More remedy is best not pursued just now.”
“For a rascally smuggler, you are a true gentleman.” She smiled.
“Just so.” He took her arm to steady her as she wobbled against him. Glad for the support, she set a hand to his shoulder. Thought of dancing. Hummed a little.
Dougal stepped back, his hand encircling her wrist. “Here we go,my girl, off to bed with you.” He began to turn her toward the door.
“I am not your girl,” she said. “Am I?”
“Not so far, unless you want to be.”
She looked up, slightly dizzy, yet finding steadiness in his quiet gaze. “I think I have a touch of the black lovesickness myself.”
“Do you? I am glad I am not alone in that.”
“We are in this together, sir.” She leaned toward him, and he caught her by the shoulders quickly so that she would not tilt and fall.
“Oh aye, upstairs for you, my dear.”
“With you?”
“Good Lord,” he murmured. “Can you make it up the stairs to your room?”
“Aye—oh! I was reading a book. Let me fetch it.” She turned impulsively, dragging him with her toward the table where the book lay upturned and open.
Dougal picked it up and looked at the cover. “Fairy Tales of Scotland and Ireland.I have read this. An excellent collection by—Lady Struan,” he read on the spine. “Would she be related to you?”
“My grandmother was the author.”
“Truly,” he murmured. “How interesting.”
“She wrote several books about fairies and fairy lore.”
“A talented lady. So you became interested in such things because of her?”
