Page 3 of The Scot is Hers
Coward? Giselle snorted. Maybe she was when it came to saying no to her mother, but in any other circumstance, this was the last thing anyone would say about her.
What did he know? She whirled around, prepared to tell him that, but caught herself in time, clamping her lips closed. She turned back around to face the great house, prepared to march inside and tell her mother her head ached when her entire body collided with solid muscle.
“Oof,” she said, very unladylike. Her hands came up involuntarily to press against the stony expanse of male chest.Nay! The earl. “Oh. Pardon me.”
“What are ye doing lurking in my garden?” The Earl of Errol, or perhaps she should call him the Beast of Errol, made no move to get out of her way, nor did he retreat from her touch.
Giselle yanked her hands away from him, suddenly feeling heat creep its way up her limbs and onto her face.
“I was out here for a moment alone. Much as I suspect ye were, sir.” She tilted her head back and glared at him. If he were going to act the beast, she would put him in his place. Striking green eyes—or were they blue—glared down at her in the moonlight.Oh my. “I did no’ try to insert myself in your time alone. I was, after all, here first. I think it would behoove ye to treat me in the same manner. Now, if ye will excuse me.”
She made to step around him, but he stepped in her way, blocking her once more. Definitely, his eyes were green as they raked up and down her form, sending chills of something not altogether unpleasant racing along her skin.
“What did ye see?” he asked.
“What?” She wrinkled her brow. That was not a question she’d expected, and she didn’t even know how to answer it.
“Ye were watching me. What did ye see?” He brought his face close to hers as if trying to intimidate her. But he obviously had no idea who she was, for she would not be intimidated. And also, he smelled delicious. Spicy and woodsy.
Giselle looked him right in the eyes, lifting her chin. “I saw nothing.”
In the light of the moon, she watched his brows narrow. She should probably be worried, but the truth was, she wasn’t scared at all, only annoyed. The headache she was going to pretend to have was quickly coming true.
“If ye will excuse me, now, sir.” She again tried to skirt around him. This time he not only stepped in her way, but he also grasped her arm. Warmth shot from the spot where he held her. Exactly the opposite sensation she was certain she should have. “What are ye doing?” She stared down at where his long fingers curled around her arm. What would happen if she slid his hand down to her own and entwined her fingers with his?
Oh, stop, ye stupid fool. The man was angry and not at all in the mood for wooing, and her imagination was running wild again.
“Ye’re no’ afraid of me,” he stated.
Och, nay. Had he noticed her curiosity, read in her thoughts that she liked how he smelled, and wanted to hold his hand? “Of course no’. Why would I be?” Again she lifted her chin, going for obstinance.
“Every wee lass is.”
“I’m no’ a wee lass then, I guess.” Even if she was a mere nineteen years old. What did it matter? Age was only a number, and she’d had her fair share of issues in her short life not to worry about a man’s fit of temper while he was alone. It was none of her business, besides.
“Do I know ye?” he asked, cocking his head as he again raked that delicious gaze over her.
Dear me... “I’m afraid we were no’ introduced.”
“Why’s that?”
“I came late, and when I was announced, I met only your mother.”
“So ye know who I am?” His voice lost some of its edge.
Giselle’s gaze flitted nervously back toward the house. It was only a matter of minutes before they were discovered. “Aye.”
“Seems fitting that I should know ye, then.”
“I think no’ since I’m leaving.” She tugged her arm out of his grasp, and he surprisingly let her go.
“Why are ye in a rush to leave?” He crossed his arms over his chest, staring down at her, giving her pause.
“Because I did no’ want to be here to begin with.”
“What better thing did ye have to do than go to a ball?”
That was an irritating question, as was his accompanying sneer. Did the beast think that lasses only cared about frivolous things? Giselle decided to be completely honest with him. “I wanted to finish my book.”
