Page 8 of Christmas in the Scot's Arms
Cecelia acknowledged Aila’s gesture with an inclination of her head, but she kept her gaze on Liam. “Can you afford such a gift?” When his eyes widened and he and his sister exchanged a swift look, Cecelia regretted her blunt question. “I beg your pardon. I should not have asked. It’s just that I have heard of the struggles in the Highlands.” And his sister had said he wasjust barelya lord.
Again, Liam and Aila exchanged a look, and as Aila opened her mouth, Liam shook his head at her. Had she been about to confess their clan’s financial woes?
Liam smiled at Cecelia. “I appreciate yer concern. Please…let me do this for ye.”
“His pride is involved now,” Aila asserted.
“Oh!” Cecelia exclaimed. She feared if she did not take it, she would make him feel poorly about his likely lack of funds. She grasped the book Aila had been holding out to her and brought it close to her chest. “Thank you,” she said, her voice catching on a swell of emotion that clogged her throat. “I’m not sure how I will ever repay you.”
A devilish smile came to Liam’s lips. “Ye can repay me by allowing me to escort ye wherever ye are going next.”
Slowly, Cecelia nodded. “I am going to see my same friend as yesterday,” she said.
As Liam held out his arm for Cecelia to take, Aila said, “And I still have a bit of shopping to do. Cecelia, it was nice to see ye again, and Liam, I will see ye back at the Rochburns’.”
Cecelia did not miss the curious look Aila gave her brother, but before she could contemplate it further, Liam spoke. “Shall we?”
She nodded, took his arm, and tried to ignore the gooseflesh that raced across her skin the moment they touched. As they started down the street toward Elizabeth’s, Cecelia felt she had to apologize for the way she had rushed away yesterday when Lord Tarrymount had appeared.
Stealing a glance at Liam, she said, “I’m terribly sorry if I seemed rude yesterday when Lord Tarrymount appeared. I, er, could not afford to linger and visit,” she fibbed, hating herself for the lie. She held her breath with the fear that perhaps Lord Tarrymount had made mention of her disgrace and Liam would now know she was lying. Yet, if Lord Tarrymount had spoken ill of her, surely Liam would not be with her now.
He regarded her quizzically for a moment, and her belly clenched with the certainty that he knew of her disgrace.
“That’s quite all right,” he said, and she could not stop the relieved exhalation that escaped her. “Tell me, Cecelia, besides reading Byron, what do ye like to do?”
She had the sudden, irrational desire to speak the truth and see if he looked at her with the wariness all men other than Blackmore always had. “I like to race horses. I like to take off my stockings and shoes, and feel the water on my feet. I like to laugh too loud and speak of politics.” The more she confessed the faster her footsteps became. “I like to speak the truth, which has gotten me in a great amount of trouble in the past. I like to eat hearty meals, and basically, I like all manners of things a proper lady should not like. Or should not admit to liking, at least.”
She stopped and was startled to realize they were already standing in front of Elizabeth’s home. Cecelia carefully pulled her arm away from Liam’s, feeling utterly foolish for her rant. Whatever had come over her? Whatever kept coming over her when this man was near? He was a stranger, yet he made her want to admit such personal things, things she ought not tell anyone.
She faced him and half expected him to be looking at her as if she were a raving madwoman. One corner of his mouth quirked up into an actual smile. He had a beautiful mouth.
“Ye’re a verra interesting lady, Cecelia. Unlike anyone I’ve ever met.”
“I’m sure I’ve horrified you,” she asserted, clutching the book he had given her and turning her head away in embarrassment.
When his finger came under her chin, she let out a soft gasp. He made her look at him once more. “Ye have intrigued me, not horrified me. I assure ye.”
She had no notion what to say to that, but her stomach fluttered with pleasure at his words. Just as a smile tugged at her mouth, Jonathan turned the corner to appear at the end of the street. She stiffened. She most definitely did not want to encounter that blackguard with Liam nearby where he could overhear the exchange.
Bobbing a quick curtsy, she blurted, “I must go!” She bit her lip at the surprised shock that swept across Liam’s face, but over his shoulder, she could plainly see Jonathan’s eyes narrowed upon her. Without wasting another moment, she rushed up the same steps she had yesterday and left Liam exactly where she had the previous day. If he had not thought her a lunatic before, he likely did now.
Her heart hammered as she knocked on Elizabeth’s door, and she fairly barreled her way into the home when Elizabeth’s ancient butler, Cooper, opened the door.
“Miss Cartwright, are you quite well?” he asked, his silver eyebrows arching.
Ignoring the butler for the moment, she rushed to a small window beside the door, pulled back the covering just a bit, peeked out of it, and felt her stomach clench as Jonathan passed by Liam without speaking. Clearly, they did not know each other. Liam stood on the walkway staring at the door for one more long moment before he turned away and departed.
Oh, she was most certainly not well. She had not been truly well in quite a long time, and she was starting to lose hope that she would ever be so again.
Behind her, Cooper loudly cleared his throat. Cecelia released the covering over the window, turned slowly to the butler, and offered him an apologetic smile. “I’m terribly sorry. I thought I saw someone I knew.” She could not very well say she was avoiding one of the lying scoundrels responsible for her downfall and spying on him.
Cooper inclined his head, taking her excuse without so much as the blink of an eye. “Lady Burton has been fretting that you were not going to be able to slip away to visit her today, since you are later than normal. She’ll be so happy that you’re here.”
A large lump formed in Cecelia’s throat. Elizabeth, though thirty-odd years older than Cecelia, had become her closest friend and confidant since Cecelia’s father’s ruination and then her own. When Father had died, Lady Burton had just been taking up residence in her London townhome. She had moved here from Yorkshire, where she said she had been summarily snubbed since her husband’s death. Lonely, she had come to London hoping to meet people who had a more open attitude toward her past as an opera singer, yet she had found herself in the same predicament she had faced in Yorkshire. She was not considered “good enough” to befriend by those in thetonbecause she had one been an opera singer before she married, and she was looked upon skeptically and thought of as “too good” by those who came from a class similar to the one from which she hailed because she did have money thanks to her beloved husband.
Cecelia had soon found herself alone, too, and they had struck up a friendship until Mother had forbidden it, fearing that if anyone learned of the close acquaintance, it would make matters worse with theton. Cecelia had not wanted to defy her mother’s wishes and cause her more anxiety, but she did not want to give up her friendship with Elizabeth, either.
“Are you ready to proceed into the drawing room, Miss Cartwright?” the butler asked.
