Setting her mug on a side table, Edith stood and slipped from the room without alerting anyone. She was halfway up the stairwell when heavy footsteps sounded in the foyer. She turned in time to find Mr. McTaggart reaching the bottom of the stairs, his hands clasped casually behind his back.
“Where are you going, lass? It is time to open gifts.” His eyes glimmered in the scant candlelight cast by the wall sconces.
Edith shrugged, a wave of warmth flooding through her as she thought of the shirt she’d sewn for him. This afternoon, she realized it was too intimate a gift for an unmarried woman to bestow on a bachelor. She didn’t know what she had been thinking when she chose the pristine white linen, but wisely, she had left the shirt in her chambers.
“I have no gifts to give, Mr. McTaggart. Besides, this is your family’s time to celebrate. I have a book in my chambers to keep me company.”
She smiled gamely, hoping he wouldn’t detect the slight tremor of her chin. Now she knew… being part of a large family again was her heart’s secret wish, but the McTaggarts were not her people and never would be.
“Dinnae move. I’m coming up.” He staggered over the first step, then stopped to aim a lopsided grin at her. “A sly one, that. Always trying to trip a man.”
He took more care with the next step, his footing steadier. Locking his smoldering green gaze on her, he climbed another. Her stomach quivered as he slowly closed the distance between them and stopped a step below her.
They were face to face. His blazing eyes seemed to shout for her to run, even as his tousled brown hair lent him an air of harmlessness. Fergus McTaggart was far from safe. When he was close, she was in danger of wanting something she couldn’t have. His heart.
He weaved toward her; his body heat called to her, but she gripped the railing behind her to hold her ground. “Have you no’ heard it is better to receive than to give, lass?” The sweet smell of whisky on his breath teased her senses.
“For the love of St. Peter,” she grumbled. “You’ve been tossing back that royal liqueur all evening, and now you don’t even know what you’re saying. Off to bed with you before you take a tumble down the stairs.”
His large palm spanned her waist, his touch searing. “Any tumbling in my future willna be down the stairs, Eddi.”
She rested her hands on his chest, pretending his nearness didn’t send her heart into a rampage. “N-no one has ever called me Eddi. I’ll thank you to address me properly.”
“Aye, Mistress Gallagher.” He leaned toward her, his lips almost brushing hers. Her breath caught, and her fingers curled into the fabric of his white shirt. Closing her eyes, she licked her lips in anticipation of his kiss, but his mouth only hovered above hers. “You didnae have to go,” he murmured.
She blinked, confused that he was capable of speaking when all she could focus on was the fullness of his mouth. “That—” She cleared her throat. “That is very kind, but Christmas is a family affair, and I’m not family.”
He drew back with a slight frown.
She suppressed an unladylike growl. If he didn’t kiss her soon, she might scream.
“I mean you dinnae have to go back to London, lass. You could stay here.”
“And do what?”
“Become my wife. We’ll have a few wee bairns and grow old together.”
She scoffed, an ache throbbing in her chest. At thirty, she was well beyond her prime, and the blasted Scot knew it. He wanted sons and daughters she couldn’t promise him. This time, she listened to her good sense and pushed against his solid chest to hold him at arm’s length.
“Have children, indeed. Keep dreaming, Mr. McTaggart.”
His thick brows lowered over his eyes. “You seem to like children well enough, so it must be me you cannot tolerate.”
“It’s your teasing I cannot tolerate. Now go back to your family. It’s Christmas, for pity’s sake.”
The muscles in his jaw shifted, and his eyes narrowed. “Not until you receive your Christmas present.” He covered her hand, trapping it against his chest when she tried to walk away. Before she could ask what he was doing, he broke into song. “Ae fon’ keess, and then we seva! Ae fareweell, and then foreva!”
“You are foxed, aren’t you? I knew it. All this—” She jerked her hand free and waved it in the air for emphasis. “The song, the ridiculous offer of marriage. You are three sheets to the wind.”
“I am not! What makes you think I’m foxed?”
“Because I couldn’t understand a word you just sang.”
He tossed his head back and let out a hearty laugh. “Dinnae blame me, lass. ’Tis Robbie Burns who deserves your ire. I didnae compose ‘Ae Fond Kiss.’”
“Ae? What is ae? Is that even a word?”
“It means one. One fond kiss, Eddi.” He retrieved a twig of mistletoe from behind his back and waved it overhead. “But I dinnae want to say farewell after one kiss. I’ll want another and another and another. Every day for the rest of our lives.”
