Her accent proclaimed her to be English and highly-born at that. A genteel traveler, most likely visiting a friend for the summer. She nearly thrummed with bewitching energy, her expression full of child-like wonder.
Malcolm’s blood thumped in his veins in response, sending prickles of awareness across his skin and heat coiling in his chest.
He recognized the sensations for what they were—physical attraction.
Malcolm hadn’t felt attracted to a woman other than Aileen since . . .
Since . . .
Never . . .he realized.
And he had never been smitten with a lady at first glance. Not once.
Even his affection for Aileen had crescendoed slowly from childhood friendship to desire to romantic love. And since his wife’s death, no woman had elicited a second look.
But this . . . this apparition, this sprite, this lady . . .
He couldn’t stop staring—at the sensual bow of her top lip, the sloping curve of her waist, the spark in her blue eyes. Wee details ensnared him. The indent of a small chicken pox scar beside her left ear. The high arch of her fine eyebrows.
Helpless. He was simply helpless against the onslaught.
No matter how stringently he ordered his eyes tostop staring likeglaikitfools!, they refused to obey.
How could a pixie of a woman scramble his wits so?
So . . . this must be infatuation,a bemused part of him realized.
It was a rather uncomfortable paradox of an emotion.
As wee boys, he and Ethan had lashed logs into a raft and sailed it down the River North Esk. The ride had been a heady mixture of exhilaration and terror and had ended with them both beingdookedin the frigid water. They had emerged dripping wet, shivering, and racing to do the whole again.
Watching the woman ruffle Beowoof’s jowls, Malcolm realized his current state was similar to that—jubilant, thunder-struck, breathless.
Naturally, Beowoof basked in her attention, the wretch.
Was it not enough for this woman to overwhelm himself? She had to go and capture his dog, too?
The lady, still grinning, buried her face in Beowoof’s fur, before raising her gaze to Malcolm’s once more.
“I can scarcely believe it.” She sounded amazed. “His fur doesn’t irritate my lungs. What is his name?”
The shameless beast shot Malcolm a smug look, as if to say,O’course, the lovely lass prefers me.
Malcolm grimaced.Traitor.
“Beowoof,” he answered the woman.
Her eyes glowed. “Beowulf? How charming.”
Och.
He hated having to correct her, but . . .
“Actually, it’s Beowoof.” Malcolm stressed the final syllable.
Her gaze dropped to his dog. “Beowulf?” she repeated.
Drat his thick accent.
