Page 39 of What a Scot Wants
“Dress kilt,” Ronan said without hesitation. He’d forego the sword, but he needed to remind himself of the part he was playing. That the game was still ongoing.
“Where’s the lass? Has she settled in?” Ronan hadn’t forgotten his promise to Imogen to have the urchin girl moved from the stables. She hadn’t put up much protest, and though he still felt the need to keep a close eye on her with the silver, he also felt relieved that she was in the house. And it made Imogen happy.
“Miss Rory is…adjusting.”
Ronan stifled his grin. “Causing havoc, is she?”
“She refuses to wear the clothing the other maids have provided, curses like a sailor, and has disrupted the entire household.” He shrugged. “She’s a smart little git, though. Doesn’t miss a thing going on around her.”
“Keep an eye on her,” Ronan said. “Let me know if she causes any problems.”
When he was shaved, dressed, and ready, he descended the staircase, only to be informed by her smirking maid that his fiancée had already left. That cheeky little harpy! Ronan swallowed his ire. Despite her recent setback, it appeared that the battle was still on. Luckily, it was a clear night, so he took the phaeton and arrived at the opera house in no time at all. The lavish foyer was well-lit and crowded, full of immaculately dressed people.
Eyes swiveled toward him when he entered. He endured several greetings, as well as no small amount of whispers at his clothing. He first searched the foyer for Imogen, and then directed his eyes up, to the balcony.
His gaze landed on Silas Calder. The man stood at the balustrade, glowering at Ronan. As soon as he met Calder’s glare, the man turned away, giving him his back. He wondered if Calder had already seen Imogen and vice versa. Ronan scanned the thinning crowd as most people went to their seats, but there was no sign of her. Perhaps she’d changed her mind and had gone elsewhere this evening. Though Vickers was rarely wrong.
Ronan decided to wait a few more minutes. His searching gaze touched on a head of red hair, and his stomach jolted as a pair of entreating green eyes met his. In all the commotion with Imogen, he’d forgotten about Grace.Lady Reid, he corrected. She’d said at the Bradburne ball that she was here for the Season. Where was her husband?
His jaw tightened as she sashayed toward him, clad in a fitted, cream-colored gown. She’d been a beautiful girl, and she’d become a beautiful woman. He’d have to be blind not to notice that, but it was strange that her beauty did not affect him as it had in the past.
“Ronan,” she said in a honeyed voice. “I was hoping to see ye again. We have so much to catch up on.”
“Where’s yer husband, Lady Reid?” he asked pointedly.
“Oh, ye havenae heard? He died last spring.”
Ronan heaved a breath, her motives becoming clearer. “And ye’re back. In London? Why not Edinburgh?”
“Because ye’re here,” she said, inching closer.
He narrowed his eyes. “I am betrothed, Lady Reid.”
“Ronan, I need ye to ken that I made a mistake—”
But before she could continue, a curious prickle of awareness passed over his shoulders. He glanced up and froze. Everything around him cut off but his ability to breathe, and even that was failing him by the heartbeat. A siren in sapphire silk entered the foyer. Heads turned and conversations ceased, and for once, Ronan was glad for the sporran on his dress kilt, because all his blood decided to rush below his waistband.
Lady Imogen Kinley was a vision.
Ronan had known that she had a pleasing figure from the plain dress she’d worn in her office at Haven, but her assets weren’t hidden tonight. She wore a deep blue dress that clung to every feminine curve. Her lustrous hair was wound into an intricate updo, a vibrant hothouse orchid tucked in the crown, leaving the creamy column of her neck and her plentiful décolletage on display.
Christ almighty, she was stunning.
He sensed the moment she saw him, her gaze flicking and narrowing on the woman at his side. Gone was her vacant expression, childish posture, and the doll-like smile on her lips. No, now she stood like a queen, regal and poised, confident in her female appeal. Her brilliant green eyes glittered as she approached him, the seductive roll of her hips making him suck in a ragged breath.
“Hello, darling. Sorry I’m late.”
Darling?
Imogen lifted her cheek for his kiss, and, in a daze, he leaned down to press his lips to her soft skin. She smelled delicious, heat and spice and wildflowers, and it took almost all of his willpower not to move an inch to the right and claim those smiling lips.
“Ye look beautiful tonight,leannan,” he told her, returning the endearment and relishing the slight widening of her eyes. “But I’m sure ye’re well aware of it.”
She met his gaze directly, a wicked smile surfacing to her lips. “Doesn’t hurt to hear it, however.” Her gaze swept over him, a dark eyebrow hitching at the dress kilt. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”
The look she gave him was so full of sultriness that for a second he couldn’t speak. “Thank ye.”
“Oh, Lady Reid, I didn’t notice you,” she said sweetly, turning to the woman beside him. “Lovely to see you again. You are a dear for keeping my fiancé company in my absence. Though I can take it from here. Enjoy the opera.”
