Page 65 of A Rogue in Firelight
“Papa says I am full of dreams and had best wake myself up to the real world.”
He frowned. “Hold onto your dreams. Keep them safe.”
“I will try.” She hesitated as he stepped down again. He turned, finding her height closer to his. “Ronan, would you—kiss me again? Before we go?”
He did, and then did again, pressing her close so that she would know his desire for her, while he felt hers blooming in the curve and warmth of her body. Moments and kisses passed, until at last he drew back, letting go of the dream that could never be.
“Miss Graham. Come this way.”
“Ellison,” she said.
“Elly, my lass. This way.” Gently he guided her down to the door that connected to the main house, to reality, and tomorrow.
Chapter Thirteen
“Such a warmday,” Sorcha said, fanning herself with a painted silk fan as she sat beside Ellison in the carriage. “Perhaps it will feel cooler in Kinross.”
“The closeness in here makes it warmer,” Ellison said.
“Kinross feels good breezes off Loch Leven,” Ronan said. “You will enjoy the outing either way.” He looked toward Ellison and she turned her head, remembering shared kisses in the tower stair. She had brazenly asked him to kiss her again. Embarrassment whirled through her.
At supper last night and breakfast today, he had been polite but distant, and Ellison was sure his opinion of her was unflattering. Never again would she follow a ratafia nightcap with strong whisky. But that had led to those unforgettable kisses.
“How nice you could come with us today, Lord Darrach,” Sorcha said.
“Aye,” he said, though Ellison noticed a subtle wince at hearing the title.
“We need not stay long,” Ellison said. “We only need to visit the seamstress and do a few errands.”
“It’s so exciting,” Sorcha went on. “My aunt is kind to include me in her party in Edinburgh so I can attend the king’s reception for the ladies, too. Mama does not care to go, since the crowds are expected to be so large. She has a delicate constitution.”
“More than enough reason to avoid the city this summer.” MacGregor flashed a blue glance toward Ellison, then away.
“Sir, do you have some business in town as well?” Sorcha asked.
“I can visit one of my solicitors, who has an office in Kinross.”
Interesting that he wanted to see his lawyer, Ellison thought, frowning. She hoped it would not involve talk of smugglers, prisons, or some means of escaping the king’s introduction and any connection with the Grahams.
Trust him,she reminded herself. She had agreed to do that. If she had made a blunder last night, it was not only the drink, but because she felt at ease with him. Would he feel the same now, or think her a silly young woman—worse, a desperately lonely widow?
Reaching the main street through Kinross, MacNie drove the carriage at a leisurely pace, passing Muir’s Inn on the left, then headed toward Green’s Hotel, closer to the shops. Ellison had requested they stop there, thinking it would be a good meeting place once they finished their errands. Green’s served an excellent tea, and she hoped there might be time for that.
As a groom ran through the yard to help with the horses, MacGregor stepped out first, turning to hand Sorcha, then Ellison down. Setting her hand in his, she thought he pressed it slightly in some silent message. Apology? Promise? Affection? She dared not hope as she stepped down.
He pulled his hat low over his brow, tugged at his coat collar, and glanced about, as if wary of being recognized. Ellison felt sympathy more than suspicion, seeing that.
“Where would you like to go first, ladies?” he asked.
“The seamstress’s shop is there along the High Street.” She pointed nearby. “We can easily walk. Where is your solicitor’s office?”
“Near the town hall.” He gestured the other way. “I will go there, and meet you here at the hotel later. Would that suit?”
“You need not hurry,” Ellison said. “We will visit other shops as well. Lady Strathniven gave me a list of errands. But I hope we have time for tea here at Green’s.”
“I would enjoy that,” Sorcha said. “Lord Darrach, I hope you can join us.”
“An honor, Miss Beaton. Will an hour do?”
