Page 30 of The Scot is Hers
“They are rather boring, most of the time. And stop looking at him. I think he knows we’re talking about him.”
Jaime smiled into her teacup, then settled it on the saucer. “Aye, quite boring, unless there is someone ye fancy.” She stood up suddenly, her face a little pale. “I’ll be right back.”
Giselle pursed her lips, watching Jaime disappear from the parlor, and then glanced down into the lukewarm tea, wishing it were a glass of champagne, which the ladies at the card table had recently been served. She set it down on the table, thinking perhaps it was time she retired to her room. Dinner could be sent up. And after her earlier ordeal, a rest sounded mighty fine.
Alec’s strong hand came into her view then, holding a delicate flute of bubbly.
Giselle jerked her gaze upward, trying to keep the surprise from her face. “Why, thank ye. How did ye know?”
“Ye were wringing your hands so hard from across the room I thought ye’d break a finger. Ye needed something to distract ye.”
Giselle reached for the glass, her fingers brushing his and a spark of something quite delightful shooting up her arm.
“By distraction, did ye mean to get me drunk?”
Alec shrugged. “Do ye oft get drunk, lass?”
“What if I said I did?” She sipped at the effervescent drink and sighed.
“I would no’ believe ye.” There he went, winking at her again, causing her insides to melt. “But since ye seem the type to enjoy challenging me, I’d stick around for the entertainment.”
Giselle made use of her brows and frowned at him as fiercely as she could if only to remind herself that flirtation was not the reason she’d come to Slains. This castle was a refuge from an unwanted marriage. She hadn’t been invited to the house party, wasn’t an actual guest. She took a long sip of her champagne, the bubbles tickling mercilessly down her throat.
Alec chuckled. Meanwhile, Jaime returned with her mouth practically falling to the floor in shock at seeing the two of them flirting.
“I’ll get ye another glass,” Alec mused, waving his hand at a footman.
Oh, no.Giselle had not set out to get drunk, merely to do as he’d said, which was challenge him. This was not going to end well for her. She caught Jaime’s wide-eyed expression and mouthed, “Sandwich.”
Jaime once more scurried away.
Giselle sipped casually at her first glass of champagne, realizing that all that was left was the dregs.
“How is your ankle?” Alec’s gaze tempered to one more of concern than when he’d been all about challenging her. He raked his regard over her form, down to her feet, leaving her feeling exposed mildly, even though she was fully clothed.
“The champagne is helping.”
He grinned. “Are ye certain ye’d no’ like to prop it up?”
“If I thought it would no’ make the society papers, then aye. But alas, facts are facts.” She cocked her head to the side, giving him a coy look. “Ye’d make a good governess.”
Alec chuckled. “I do believe that ye’re the only one who thinks so.”
Jaime returned with a small plate of sandwiches. Giselle passed her finished champagne flute to Alec, already feeling slightly light-headed, and held onto the plate, taking as delicate a bite of the sandwich as she could.
“I see ye aim to fill your belly to dilute the alcohol.” He gave her a deferential nod. “Well played.”
Giselle amazed herself by winking at him this time. Alec seemed stunned, but she rather liked surprising him.
He mumbled something under his breath and started to turn away, but not before his mother cut in.
“Do no’ leave on my account.” The countess glanced down at Giselle with a raised brow and clear disapproval on her face as she scanned with deliberate distaste the plate of sandwiches in Giselle’s lap. “I see your guest is quite comfortable.”
The way she said “your guest” sounded awfully as if Giselle had been invited to the house party for reasons that were rather indelicate. However, she was too shocked to be insulted and found for once today that she was speechless. Jaime stuffed a sandwich in her mouth and made an elaborate “mmm” noise. Giselle’s eyes bugged at the horror on the countess’s face.
“Verra delicious. Do have your cook send mine the recipe,” Jaime said after swallowing.
“I am quite, thank ye, my lady.” Giselle used her most sweet voice—the one she’d practiced to placate the vipers at Edinburgh’s Assembly Rooms whenever she’d had the unfortunate privilege of attending a dance there—in hope of averting the older woman’s ire from Jaime, who had attempted to distract her.
