A bowl of soup appeared before her, and her heart lifted. “Cock-a-leekie,” she said, lifting a spoonful to her mouth.
“It’s mostly simple fare we eat here,” said Kilmuir.
“I look forward to my trips to Scotland just for the soup.”
They each tucked into the meal before Juliet supposed she should be a good guest and make conversation with the lord—or in this caselaird—of the manor. It was odd to think of him in that way. It seemed so…adult…which could be a strange thing when they’d known each other since youth. And yet… “In the year that you’ve been here, you seem to have settled into the running of Baile Ìm,” she observed.
She wouldn’t observe—at least not aloud—that it imbued him with a new seriousness and capability that only enhanced his manly attractiveness.
She cleared her throat. “Do you enjoy it?”
“Aye,” he said, taking a draw of his ale. “You know Archie is like a brother to me.”
She nodded.
“But around the time I turned thirty, I’d grown tired of playing the spoiled lord about Town.”
She felt her brow lift. “You and Archie were very popular. Particularly amongst the ladies.”
He snorted. “Lords are always popular amongst ladies.”
“You’re referring to title huntresses,” she said. “But you and Archie aren’t exactly toads.” He had to have an inkling what supremely dashing figures he and Archie had cut in those Mayfair drawing rooms.
He shrugged the observation away. “Well, it was boring.”
And there it was—that ability of his she so admired. To take a complicated matter and make it simple. Because the simple truth was Mayfair drawing roomswereboring.
The idea occurred to her that she hoped never to return to one.
Ridiculous idea.
Of course, she would. She was an unmarried lady who made her home in London. Those drawing rooms were an integral part of her life there.
“And are you ever bored here?” she prompted. She wanted to know more about his life in Scotland.
“Never. I might even be somewhat useful.” He sat back and let a servant take his empty bowl. “Or at least, that’s my goal. My tenants and workers might not think so yet, but I’m determined they will.”
Before she knew it, honest words were spilling from her mouth. “I think you can do anything you put your mind to.”Too honest.
A note of surprise flashed behind his eyes before a mischievous light replaced it. “Even write poetry like you?”
“Perhaps not that.” She wouldn’t let him change the subject. “But that doesn’t mean much. Simply our talents lie in different directions.”
“Diplomatic of you to say.”
“I never say anything I don’t mean, Kilmuir.”
His head cocked to the side. “Is that true?”
“Yes,” she said, feeling less certain of the statement than she had a moment ago. He had the look of a man about to use it to his advantage.
“I have a question for you then.”
She hesitated. “And that is?”
“Out of all your family, you’re the only one who never called me Rory.”
Her mouth snapped shut.
