Arran stilled. His gaze turned hotter than the fires beside them.
Her stomach sank.
“Please tell me ah dinnae say that?” she whispered.
“Say what?” His dark eyebrow kicked up in a quizzical arch. “You have metrulycurious about these thoughts you’re keeping all to yourself.”
Thank the guid Lord.
“Verra well,” she drawled. “Yer a peculiar man, Arran McQuoid.”
“Peculiar?” Wry amusement darkened his tone. “That is the first time a lady’s dared to tell methat.”
“Atruth?”
His hard lips twitched, resisting a natural smile.
That hint of ease carved through his usual hardness, and she ached to keep him in that rare, unguarded place.
She waggled her eyebrows. “I’m nae a lady who’ll go about inflating a gentleman’s pride.”
He leaned in close enough her breath caught. “And you.” His words, warm with spiced cider, brushed her mouth. “Assume all the praise I’ve earned—”
Lucy leaned closer. “Earn a lot of it, do ye, ye arrogant mon? Och, it’s a wonder ye squeezed yer head through the door.”
He stilled a beat and then released a deep, rolling laugh, and it washed over her.
Only when his amusement abated did she wink. “But aye, since I’ve arrived, ye’ve taken up a place in my mind. Yer…different than the rest of yer kin.” The husky quality to her voice, however, let Arran see too much.
His expression instantly shuttered.
“Nay, McQuoid.” She shook a finger playfully at him. “Ye dinnae get to go all broody and secretive. I’ve shared some about myself and answered any questions ye asked me.”
She’d given him leave to probe her. She’d already told herself a lie of omission was different from a lie, but if he put queries to her…
Lucy’s fingers shook. Cider sloshed over the rim of her mug and sprinkled over her hand.
Ducking her head to avoid his piercing stare, Lucy licked the sticky residue from the web of her palm, sucking at the little birthmark she’d come into the world wearing.
When she looked up, Arran’s gaze was fixed fast to the top of her powder-dusted hand, more specifically—
Embarrassment set her cheeks aflame. “My apologies.” Lucy, reminded anew how coarse she was compared to this gentleman and his noble family, curled her toes beneath the soles of her feet sharp enough that a knot formed. “I ken ladies don’t go about licking sugar from their fingers.”
Arran answered without hesitation. “Nay.”
Unable to face him, she stared at the drops she’d splattered in her clumsiness.
“Lucy?”
It took the Lord’s effort to make herself look at him.
His eyes glinted like the spark flint managed to make from a stone. “English ladies aren’t so honest in their actions or in their words.”
Lucy’s features crumpled.
Her body reflexively recoiled.
“I did not mean that as an insult.”
