‘Perhaps they’ll warm to one another eventually,’ Jennifer suggested ruefully.
‘Aye, when hell freezes ower accordin’ tae ma da.’
Jennifer sighed. ‘Do you think you’ll be able to persuade him to help us?’
‘Aye, he’ll dae the business. Even if ah hae tae drag him there.’ His grin did strange things to her stomach.
Abruptly, Jennifer realised they were actually alone in the library. ‘I think I’ve found something that might help us,’ she declared, pleased to note that her voice sounded firm and decisive.
He stared at her enquiringly as she held the book aloft. ‘There’s a story about an English rector who apparently hid a large cache of gold jewellery before being put to death as a traitor.’
Brendon raised his eyebrows. ‘Story be the right o’ it. Ah’ve heard tell o’ treasure in the bottom o’ the loch. But there also be stories aboot a monster or some such.’ He shrugged. ‘Ah reckon nane o’ the twa be true.’
‘They don’t have to be,’ Jennifer grinned, her shyness forgotten. ‘Grandpapa is excellent at shamming it – according to my mother and all my aunts anyway – I’m entirely certain he’ll be able to play the part of a treasure hunting rector with ease.’
‘Can ah see the tale ye read?’ Brendon asked, his interest clearly sparked. Nodding, Jennifer laid the book on the small desk she’d been using and opened it at the appropriate page. ‘It says here…’ she began, swivelling round to face him, only to stop with a small gasp as her nose almost touched his shirt. Swallowing, she instinctively looked upwards and stilled.
The blue of his eyes was deepened by the light streaming in through the window, but it was the intentness in them that had her heart pumping wildly. Indeed, she felt as if his eyes were about to devour her, such was their absorption. The warning signals in the back of her mind went unheeded as she felt his hand slide up between them, leaving a trail of white-hot sensation where his fingers skimmed her bodice. What seemed like a lifetime later, his fingers reached her cheek. Gently, he used two fingers to brush an errant lock of hair behind her ear while his thumb lightly rubbed against her soft skin. ‘A wee bit o’ dust,’ he whispered hoarsely making no move to lower his hand.
The feel of his fingers set Jennifer’s pulse to racing. An unnamed sensation flooded deep in her belly, so strong, she had to fight the urge to squirm. Unconsciously, she pressed herself forward, desperate to feel the length of him against her body. She felt, rather than heard his indrawn breath, then suddenly, shockingly, he stepped back – so quickly, she almost fell over. He put out his hands to steady her, and she stared up at him wordlessly.
At the feel of his strong hands on her arms, the tingling deep in her core intensified, and with an incoherent murmur, she closed the distance between them and rose onto her tiptoes, her lips wantonly seeking his.
‘Dinnae!’ Brendon’s groaning rebuff just before their mouth’stouched brought her crashing back to reality.
Fighting back a mortified sob, Jennifer stepped backwards as his hands dropped to his sides. For long seconds they stared at each other, chests heaving in unison. ‘I’m so sorry,’ Jennifer whispered. ‘I…I don’t know what came over me…’
Brendon shook his head violently. ‘Nae, ye did naethin,’ he muttered huskily ‘The fault be mine. Ah…’ he stopped and threaded his hand through his hair. ‘Forgive me, ma lady.’ He paused again before adding, his voice so low she almost missed it. ‘God help me, ye be the bonniest lass ah’ve e’er laid eyes on.’
Then abruptly, he turned on his heel and left.
Chapter Eleven
Reverend Shackleford couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so aggrieved. Indeed, had Percy been here, he’d have expounded at length to the curate on the subject of his mistreatment. But since his oldest friend was unfortunately not in the vicinity to listen, that only left the Almighty. And since the reason he was so far from home in the first place, could be fairly and squarely laid at His door, Augustus Shackleford was of the opinion that the least He could do was listen.
With a sigh, the Reverend took one of the many paths down the garden, Flossy gambolling happily in front of him. It took a good twenty minutes to explain the whole problem, chapter and verse but once he’d done so, the clergyman had to admit to feeling slightly better. Perhaps he’d been using Percy a little too often as a confidant when in fact he would have done better to have taken his problems upstairs.
Seating himself on a bench, Reverend Shackleford found himself musing on what possible reason the Almighty could have had for putting such a deuced mumbling cove in his path. Abruptly, he remembered Dougal Galbraith’s scathing comment aboutSassenachs. And his own subsequent remark aboutSawnys…
“Ye have heard that it hath been said, Thou shalt love thy neighbour, and hate thine enemy. “But I say unto you,Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you.”Matthew,Chapter five, Verses forty-three and forty-four. The Reverend could have quoted them in his sleep.
Augustus Shackleford looked up, just as the sun poked through the clouds bathing the arbour in which he was sitting with warmth and sunlight.
‘Tare an’ hounds,’ he muttered, giving a disgruntled shake of his head. ‘Alright, alright, you’ve made your point. I’ll give the rag-mannered, pudding headed, pig-widgeon one more chance.
‘Only one more, mind…’
∞∞∞
As she climbed into bed, Jennifer found herself going over the interlude in the library with Brendon Galbraith for the hundredth time. For the life of her, she couldn’t understand what had driven her to throw herself so wantonly at a man she’d only just met.
And even worse was the knowledge that if she had the time over, she’d likely do exactly the same thing again. Was there something wrong with her? No other man in her acquaintance had inspired so much as a flutter of the heart, let alone a desire to climb into his skin.
And that was it, she realised, that was exactly what she’d instinctively been trying to do. Or rather her body had. Her head hadn’t appeared to have much say at all.
Groaning, Jennifer turned onto her back. Picturing the Scot in her mind, the tingling she’d felt earlier now expanded to encompass her whole body. Her nipples inexplicably hardened to points, and with a frown, she lifted the coverlet to have a look.
Was this what had driven her aunts to collectively behave so shockingly loose in the haft? Jennifer herself had neverbefore experienced such … stirrings. Indeed she’d wondered on occasion whether she was lacking in many of the baser emotions so prevalent on her mother’s side – aside from her pigheadedness which admittedly had shown itself at a very early age.
