Page 17 of Return of the Scot
“Pardon me, Miss Andrewson.” He tried on a smile, surprised when pink tinted her cheeks, and she looked flustered.
Jaime leapt backward as though she’d stuck her hands in a vat of broken glass and shook her head up at him. “I did no’ know ye were there,” she muttered.
A pretty woman, tall with dark hair in a bun atop her head, rushed forward. “Your Grace, what a surprise.”
He cocked his head at her, not used to being addressed in such an informal manner, even with his title presented before .
“Your Grace, my clerk, Miss Emilia Baker.”
Emilia curtsied, then looked behind her as if searching the office for something.
“What do ye want?” Jaime asked, avoiding all pleasantries and skipping right to the matter.
Ordinarily, her brisk attitude might offend him, but he was starting to enjoy her sour nature, if only because it was part of the game—he was going to turn her sour lemons into sweet lemonade.
“I brought ye scones.”
“Scones?” Jaime narrowed her brows at him.
Lorne held up a box of scones from his favorite bakery. “They are quite delicious, and I assure ye, no’ poisoned.”
Jaime rolled her eyes and passed the box to her clerk. “Poisoning me would no’ get ye what ye want.”
“Oh, currants.” Emilia had opened the box and was taking in a deep breath, licking her lips.
“Ye’ll find a pot of cream inside as well.” Lorne nodded toward the box and then smiled down at Jaime. “Someone appreciates my gift.”
“I want nothing from ye, except for ye to return to the grave.”
He gave an exaggerated wince, and for a split second, she looked as if she regretted her words.
“Och, that’s painful, J.” He liked watching the way her eyes widened at his use of her pseudonym, and he ignored the fact that she wished him dead. He had to remain on course if this was going to work.
“Leave,” she said, then added, “please, Your Grace.”
Lorne chuckled. “I’ve no intention of leaving just yet.”
“If no’ to deliver scones, then what?”
Now to deliver the speech he’d prepared on his ride over to the wharf. “I was curious, if I may confess, about your company.”
“My company?” Jaime cocked her head to the side.
“Andrewson Shipping?” Lorne spread out his hands, indicating their surroundings.
She pinched her lips closed, opened them, and then pressed them closed again.
When she still said nothing, he continued, “I thought ye might give me a tour of the docks.”
“Why would I do that?”
Heavens, but this was not going at all the way he’d planned. “Is this how ye treat all of your clients?”
She crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot. “Ye’re no’ a client.”
“But I might be.”
“And what would ye export?”
