Page 28 of Return of the Scot
And all this time, they’d thought him dead.
But—there had been at least one person thinking of him. Jaime. Even if her thoughts had veered toward revenge and hatred. Much as she wished him dead now, he’d still take it. Better to be thought of in that light than forgotten altogether.
Lorne approached her as she turned away from one of her men and sauntered head down back toward her office with a ledger book.
“Miss Andrewson.”
She jerked her gaze up, faltering in her steps, obviously surprised to see him. Quick to recover her footing, she demanded, “What are ye doing here?” She slammed her ledger book shut and stopped her forward progression.
“Thought ye’d gotten rid of me?” Lorne dismounted and looped his horse’s reins around the horse-tie pillar.
With whitened knuckles, she clutched the ledger to her chest like a shield. “Well, when ye put me out on your stoop, it was quite clear ye were rid of me.”
“True. And I apologize for such a rude gesture. I was…frustrated.” He offered her a smile that she did not return.
Jaime’s brows narrowed, and if possible, her knuckles grew whiter. If she clutched that ledger book any harder, she’d shred it. “Did ye just apologize, Your Grace?”
A tingle rose along the back of Lorne’s neck, the same one he got when ready to box or fence—the sign of an imminent challenge. And there were no immediate indications of danger; it was merely his instinctual reaction to the firebrand before him. “Aye.”
“And so easily.” Oh, he was in trouble, for her voice had taken on the smooth, silken tones of a viper about to strike.
Lorne’s smile faltered. “What are ye getting at?”
Jaime shrugged and seemed to file away whatever information she’d gleaned from his reaction. “Nothing. What do ye want?”
Lorne studied her, taking in the splotch of ink on her forehead—a smear really, no doubt from rubbing her brow with a stained finger. Without hesitation, and perhaps hoping to shock her, he tugged his handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it to her skin, wiping away the smudge.
She gasped, jumping out of reach, and then touched her forehead, bestowing upon herself another ink splotch. “What are ye doing?”
At least she’d been forced to drop her shield of the ledger book, and he hoped that meant she’d ditch the other armor she’d erected.
“Ye had ink on your face, and now ye’ve just added some more. I was trying to help.”
“Oh my goodness.” Flustered, she wiped at it again, only making the spot bigger until he had to stop her.
Lorne grabbed her hand, turning her palm upright. “Look at your fingers. They’re covered in ink, and now your entire forehead is dyed black.”
Jaime looked stricken, so he handed her the handkerchief.
“I do no’ think this will help ye now. Ye need a good scrubbing, I wager.”
She let out a frustrated growl and charged back toward her office. “I’m no’ a street urchin.”
“I’d never mistake ye for one.” Lorne followed behind, allowing her a moment to get ahead of him to compose herself. Though he shouldn’t have, for once more, he was forced to watch her retreat, which was not a hardship. But he’d regret it later when the enticing swing of her hips haunted his dreams.
Emilia sat at her desk, glancing up when he came in, then leaping to her feet as recognition hit. “Oh, Your Grace.” She made an awkward curtsy. “Can I get ye some tea?”
“No, thank ye. And ye need not curtsy every time I come in,” he said softly. “I’m no’ the king, and ye are no’ my servant.”
Jaime came back into the room, her face clean, but her cheeks flushed. “Ye’re still here.” The woman couldn’t have sounded any more disappointed.
He grinned. “I am. I came to apologize, if ye recall.”
“Ye already did that. So be about your way. I am busy, and ye are distracting me.”
Good. He wanted to distract her.
She stared at him expectantly, and he found himself at a loss for words. Jaime seemed to be the one woman in all the world who didn’t find him attractive or interesting. More like a nuisance, a fly she wanted to squash, and he found himself drawn to her because of it. And he shouldn’t be. He had to focus on his goal—getting his castle back, either by negotiation or marriage, but neither of these things seemed to be working. Mostly because he’d yet to try to negotiate beyond demanding she return it. And secondly, because a marriage between them was supposed to be a business transaction, yet he felt more and more unbusinesslike every time he saw her.
