Page 31 of A Hot Scot for Christmas
Introductions were made. Rory tipped a bow, his deep voice sending ripples through the crowd.
“Mr. Frampton, a pleasure, sir.”
Polite chatter followed, twelve seconds worth, by Rory’s estimation. Then, the gentleman in wolf’s clothing made excuses and floated to the back of the receiving line.
Rory bent near Sabrina’s ear. “Dearest…that was a nice touch.”
“I’m glad you approve.”
He buried a hand in the curls falling down her back. Like silk, those strands. Just as he thought. “How am I doing? We’re not inside and one gentleman caller’s already been dispatched.”
She was cozy against him, her cheek against his great coat. “Are you keeping count?”
“Just trying to earn my keep. Maybe I’ll keep a list of the men I scare off. Though you might reconsider, Mr. Frampton. He seems a decent sort…if you look past his knobby knees.”
She giggled. “Don’t be fooled,” she whispered. “The man has a brood of eight children all under the age of nine. He wants a nurse maid, not a wife.”
The footman didn’t mention that.
“You could play nurse maid with me,” he whispered.
“I already have.”
At last, the herd of revelers migrated through Lord and Lady Rutger’s front door, but not before they’d found fresh news to chew. Rory heard their talk, a convenience his height afforded him. To the people round here, Sabrina wasthat young widow from London. Two plump matrons with feathers in their hair were eyeing him. Those feathers twitched and fluttered as their heads bobbed. Elevated whispers ensued.
Mrs. Throckmorton-Rutherford was off the marriage market, they said. Rory decided to add that to his list, right under Mr. Frampton’s name. But, as he breached the front door, more bone-jarring gossip reached his ear.
Those feather-headed ladies saidthat young widow from London is truly in love.
Chapter Ten
Sabrina held the ends of her cloak together. Servants were running to and fro, overwhelmed. Rory still wore his great coat. The costume reveal was coming, but for the moment she’d collect herself. With such high ceilings, voices and laughter swelled to maddening levels. Her first time here, she tipped her head and gawked.
Rutger House was stately, countrified wealth. At least two hundred bodies packed the receiving hall. Musicians played in a hidden galley above their heads. Sabrina searched floor to ceiling paneled walls for them, a pattern emerging. Lady Rutger hung old tapestries in between monstrous displays of ancient weapons. And wasn’t it pleasant? Red bows, holly berries, and sprigs of greenery could be found on them.
Christmas cheer was present.
Spinning slowly, she let her gaze travel from one section to another. She stalled on a single weapon mounted on dark walnut paneling. Her feet took her forward. Rory came with her.
A crimson bow draped a grand sword, the shimmering ends winding a loving trail along the iron’s length.
“Look, that sword has a bow on it.” She held in a hiccup. “This might be the brandy talking, but that display looks…sensual.”
Sipping brandy while Polly curled her hair had been ill-advised. The brandy was good, and her hair was…everywhere. Polly worked wonders. The woman Sabrina glimpsed in the mirror before she departed for the ball had seductive eyes, decadent hair, andkiss mered lips.
“That’s not a sword. It’sclaidheamh mór.A claymore.” Rory bent his head low enough his head brushed hers. “As to it being sensual…” his grained laugh teased her “…it might be you find Scot swords appealing.”
Heat stirred in her belly. She began fanning her face with her handsince she lacked an actual fan.
“I’ve heard of them, claymores, but never seen one this close. It’s big.”
Which earned her another grained laugh from the Highlander. This one sunk into her skin. Her fanning stopped and she touched her throat, agitated. Her hand wandered lower of its own accord. To her collar bone, to her chest, the wool of her cloak ragged under her fingertips—even though she wore finely woven wool.
She kept marveling at the fair display when another man joined them.
“Comparing claymores to longswords, Mrs. Throckmorton-Rutherford?”
Lieutenant Shaw. She smiled at him.
