On her feet again, she crossed her arms in front of her chest and nodded towards the glimpse of white bandage beneath his sleeve. ‘What about your dressing? I really think I should change it for you.’
‘It can wait until later.’
‘I only want you to be more comfortable.’
‘I’m fine. Like I said…we have a lot to do, and the work won’t get done by itself.’
Pursing her lips, Georgia turned regretfully away. ‘Okay…But nobody can say I didn’t try…’
The last thing she had expected was an invitation—though— it was more akin to a command—to join Keir at the dinner party on Saturday evening.
For the past couple of days he had been kind enough towards her, but there had been no more incidents like the one when he’d spontaneously pulled her onto his lap and kissed her, and—more pertinently—no— late-night visits to her bedroom.
Georgia knew she wasn’t imagining the distance he seemed to be deliberately putting between them. Telling herself that he must badly regret making love to her, she barely knew how she kept herself sane—but— reverting to her usual saviour of hard work helped. And when she wasn’t working alongside Keir in his study she helped Moira and the other staff in the kitchen, or ran errands for the household into Lochheel or Dundee.
She’d begun to understand that this dinner party was to be a bit of a ‘statement’ for the new Laird. Not only had he returned to Glenteign when he’d always vowed he wouldn’t, but he’d also acted like a new broom—first getting the administrative side of the household up to scratch and inspiring new confidence— in his staff, and secondly organising the bold new designs for the formal gardens.
Moira had told Georgia that the house had never looked as beautiful, and the younger woman believed her. Everywhere she looked polished surfaces gleamed, carpets and floors had been swept and vacuumed to within an inch of their lives, picture frames had been dusted, artefacts and ornaments fairly sparkled with the loving devotion they’d received, and the dining room and drawing room of a duke or a king could not have looked as decoratively elegant, she was convinced.
Georgia felt a bit like Cinderella learning that she was going to the ball. Now she’d realised how important— this event was to Keir in terms of his reputation— and standing in the community, she decided she couldn’t let him down by borrowing the same dress she’d worn to the classical concert shortly after she’d arrived. So she went into Dundee early on Saturday afternoon and, after a frustrating two hours of not finding anything she particularly liked or could afford, found the most exquisite black cocktail dress in a small retro boutique down a cobblestoned sidestreet. She was delighted when it fitted as though it had been made for her.
When the time finally came for her to wear it, Georgia had spent a good half an hour beforehand in a scented bath, and had washed her dark chestnut hair until the little lights deep in the colour gleamed like tints of burnished copper. She took great care with her make-up too, and when there was nothing else to do other than drape her burgundy pashmina round her shoulders and take a final morale-boosting glance in the wardrobe mirror she left her bedroom to head down the long silent corridor to the staircase.
Keir was in the huge chequered hallway, greeting his guests as they arrived back at the house after being shown round the gardens by the head gardener Brian. There was a smartly attired member of his staff waiting beside him with glasses of champagne ready to place into their hands after Moira Guthrie had taken any unwanted coats and jackets to the downstairs— cloakroom.
As if he’d been intimately attuned to the very moment she would appear at the top of the grand winding staircase Keir glanced round to see Georgia standing there. Everything inside him rejoiced at the sight of her. He had always considered her beautiful,— but tonight in his opinion her loveliness excelled that of Venus herself. As he observed her one side of the Pashmina shawl slipped a little down one shoulder, and the smooth radiance of her perfect skin was inadvertently revealed in a black strapless dress—including the soft, sensual swell of her breasts. He hardly knew how he took his next breath he was so transfixed.
‘Come and join us,’ he invited, over an almost tinder-dry throat.
His gaze tracked every tread as she descended the staircase. When she reached his side, his blue eyes devoured her as though he would swallow her whole.
‘You look stunning,’ he told her, uncaring that the mingled guests drinking their champagne overheard him. Turning, he lifted a fluted glass full of the fizzing, sparkling wine from the waiting tray and placed it into her hands. ‘Let me introduce you to my guests.’ He smiled.