Page 40 of Return of the Scot
Alec grinned and waved away the query. “What do ye think it means, her running away?”
“I do no’ know.”
Alec took the cigar back and lit it with the lantern that Lorne had hung on the hook. “Odd that Gille and Shanna are both missing.”
“What?” Lorne spat out the question, the thought having never entered his mind that the two of them were both missing—could it have been a coincidence?
Alec shrugged. “Seems strange, no?”
Lorne swallowed. Gille and Shanna—together? Nay. That would be almost a worse betrayal than selling the castle. “Impossible. Must be a coincidence, albeit a damned confounding one.”
Alec blew out a perfect ring of smoke and then stabbed the cigar into the center of it. “Has Malcolm found anything out yet about your wayward brother?”
“No’ yet.” Was it possible his brother had something to do with Shanna’s disappearance?
* * *
Jaime went first to the ladies’retiring room, her face still in flames, her mouth feeling swollen from Lorne’s kiss, and her mind racing so fast she was likely to trip over it. With a linen square, she dabbed water on her cheeks and neck, and sipped at cool cucumber water.
When at last her heart had ceased its pounding, and her cheeks wouldn’t give away that she’d been thoroughly kissed, she went back to the ballroom, avoiding gazes, and imagining everyone knew what she’d been doing in the gymnasium. Lorne was not in sight, thank God, or else she was certain to be light-headed again.
Oh…but that kiss…
No! No, we will no’ be thinking of that kiss! Even if it had made her toes curl, and she’d tossed aside every little thing she hated about him in order to feel the brush of his mouth on hers, the power of his body…And there it was, her face was flaming again.
When she finally located her aunt, the woman was in stitches with friends she’d likely not seen in a while. They were all dazzling in their silk gowns, white gloves, feathered and jeweled headpieces, sparkling gems at their necks. None of them spared Jaime a glance, much like when she’d come to these silly functions as a debutante.
“Auntie,” Jaime murmured. “I have a headache. Shall I take the carriage and have him return for ye?”
Aunt Beatrice barely looked up from a friend who was whispering in her ear. “Yes, dear, if you do not mind. I do hope you feel better by morning.”
Jaime didn’t mind at all. And in fact, Jaime gave her aunt a quick kiss before rushing from the room, afraid she’d change her mind. Fortunately, no one tried to stop her, though she did falter more than once when hands were raised to whisper as eyes focused on her. But she didn’t have time to wonder what they were thinking, especially if it had anything to do with the duke.
Mungo stood by the front entrance, and when he looked at her, his expression softened only slightly. “Miss Andrewson,” he said with all the formality expected of a butler.
“My carriage if ye could, please, sir.”
Mungo studied her, and she had to wonder what he was thinking, knowing that he’d led her to the gymnasium to be alone with his master. “Are ye well? Ye look…flushed.”
Well, if that comment didn’t bring about more flames to her cheeks. What exactly did he think went on behind those doors? Oh, no, never mind, she didn’t want to know the answer to that. “I’m perfectly fine, just a bit of a headache.”
“Ah, well, the duke does have that effect on people.”
Jaime was too shocked by the man’s frankness even to answer, and she stopped herself short of laughing. To top it off, Mungo winked at her before going outside to summon her carriage. Perhaps he was not judging her, after all. When the butler returned, she was still flustered, so she thanked him and hurried down the stone steps, working hard to place one foot in front of the other before she tripped and fell on her face. Twice in one night would be entirely too much.
She nodded to her groom, who held open the carriage door and offered her his hand. Jaime practically dove into the carriage, sliding over the velvet seats, feeling some of the air return to her lungs at the prospect of soon being away from here. As she was about to shut the door, a large hand reached around to stop her.
“What…” she gasped, and then Lorne was there, climbing into the carriage with her and shutting the door. The small enclosure of her carriage shrank in size with him there, looming out of the darkness, a sinful angel coming to corrupt her some more. “Get out of my carriage.” Her voice sounded as shocked as she felt.
“Marry me.”
Had he said what she thought he said? “Pardon?”
“Marry me, Jaime Andrewson.”
“Ye’re mad. Or drunk. Get out of my carriage before someone sees ye.” She tried to look around him to the front of the house.
“It will no’ matter if they see me if ye agree to be my wife. We’ll put all the questions and rumors to rest.”
