The Laird Takes a Bride(25)

She’d given him some purchase, and he seized upon it. “Thank you. Do you like to sing?”

“Not really.”

“Do you play an instrument?”

“No. My mother tried to interest me, but I’m not very musical, I’m afraid.”

“Nor interested in cards, either? You’ve not been joining in.”

“No. Quite the dull stick, aren’t I?”

He groped for something else to say. “Dancing?”

“No.”

This was not encouraging. “What do you like to do for fun?”

“I like to ride. And read. And work in my garden. I enjoy sewing and knitting, too.”

“Anything else?”

“Well, I do like food.”

“And?”

“Isn’t that enough?”

“I like to ride, and to read, too, Miss Douglass. And I’m fond of a good meal also. But it wouldn’t be enough for me.”

Fiona shrugged, as if indifferent. “To each his own.”

He leaned forward. “Do I detect, perhaps, a hint of criticism in your voice?”

At last she looked up from her sewing, brows lifted. “Why on earth would I criticize you, laird? We’re parting ways soon enough, after all.”

She was so cool, so composed. So incredibly annoying. He said, edgily, “I could choose you.”

She laughed. “Against my will? Dear me. What a delightful marriage that would be.”

He couldn’t stop himself, and replied, with mockery playing in his tone, “After nearly a week together, you haven’t changed your mind about me?”

“No.”

To his surprise, the cynical humor faded from her expression and she looked at him very thoughtfully.

“But I’ve seen how other women respond to you. As if—oh, I don’t know, as if you’re the sun, ever shining, and they’re flowers seeking your warmth.”

“Very poetic.”

“A garden metaphor. It seemed to fit.”

“Yes, but comparing women to flowers? A wee bit stale.”

“True. I suppose it’s the colorful gowns that made me think of it. The point is that women like you. And you obviously like them.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I didn’t say there was. There’s no need to be defensive.”

“I’m not,” he said, defensively.

“We’ve wandered off track. I’ve also observed how you wear your authority absolutely, but lightly. That you have a nice way with servants. That your clan obeys you without reserve. That you have great material wealth, and you live in a marvelous home in a breathtakingly beautiful part of the world. And yet . . .”

“And yet what?” he asked, more sharply than he intended. And yet. Together they were two of the most irritating—defiant—troubling words in the world. God’s blood, but Miss Fiona Douglass got under his skin in a way he didn’t care for one iota. “Should I prepare myself for a catalogue of my faults? Or a further recitation of all the scurrilous gossip you’ve heard about me?”

Fiona blinked, as if she’d abruptly been jerked from a dream, and focused on his face, on the fiery gem-like brilliance of his eyes. She’d gone and let her tongue run away with her. Again. She’d just been about to say And yet there’s something missing in you.

Quickly she looked back down at her sewing. At the soft flannel bed-gown she was making for Nairna in her forthcoming confinement. For the baby she had conceived with Logan Munro.

Fiona almost laughed out loud. And with a certain bitterness. She was a fine one to talk about something missing.

“And yet nothing, laird,” she said, and to her then came rushing a confusing torrent of thoughts and emotions: a strong desire to change the subject, a painful feeling of vulnerability, a sudden strange wish to see that hard look in his eyes soften. She went on, a little shakily and almost at random:

“Speaking of gardens, what do you—”

But here was Janet Reid, young and lovely in her emeralds and silk. “Oh, laird, won’t you show us that card trick again? We all want so much to see it!”

And she swept him away.

Fiona kept her eyes on her sewing, glancing up only once, when she heard the now-familiar sound of Alasdair Penhallow laughing. Apparently he’d made the jack of spades appear and disappear seemingly at his will. Sitting on the arm of his uncle Duff’s chair, his white teeth displayed in an engaging smile, Alasdair held the deck in one long-fingered hand as he swept a mock-complacent half-bow while the others applauded.

“Again!” cried Janet Reid playfully. “I’ll learn your ruse, laird, I swear I will!”

“Never, Miss Reid,” he answered, just as playfully. “I must keep some of my secrets intact.”