“Had you asked nicely for some peace, darlin’, you might have got some, but that wasna the case, now was it?” he drawled rather smugly.
She gasped. He actually dared to place the blame for his behavior on her shoulders. But that was no better than one could expect of a…Kimberly nipped that thought in the bud as she realized what she was doing, letting her father’s prejudice affect her own thinking. She knew better. And besides, she needed no prejudice whatsoever to dislike this particular Scot. He managed to instill that emotion in her all on his own.
His comment didn’t deserve a reply. To continue in this vein was letting him bring her down to his level of rudeness. Yet she still couldn’t resist saying, “Is it necessary to remind you that had the disturbance you were making last night been of a tolerable level, it wouldn’t have been necessary to speak to you a’tall. And you may address me as Lady Kimberly. I amnotyour ‘darlin’.’”
“And ’tis glad I am of that,” he retorted.
She had an urge to stand up and slap him soundly. But she recalled where she was and with whom, and made an effort to keep the heat out of her cheeks instead.
“So we are agreed, MacGregor,” she gritted out, then added in a mild mimic of his lyrical brogue, “And ’tis glad I am that I will not have to suffer your company again after this meal is over.”
That got her a chuckle and a cheeky grin. “You’re leaving Sherring Cross then, are you?”
“No, you are.”
He shook his head. “I hate tae disappoint you, lass, surely I do, but I’m no’ leaving.”
She frowned at him. “You’re lying. I distinctly heard His Grace—”
“His Grace has had himself a change of heart,” he cut in and was frowning himself now. “And ’afore I take offense at being called a liar, I’ll be having an apology from you.”
“No, you won’t. I’ll allow that changed circumstances do not make you a liar in regards to this, but considering your profession, MacGregor, I have little doubt that lying comes as naturally to you as stealing. And since you will, unfortunately, be staying on here, I will be sure to put my belongings under lock and key.”
She could not have insulted him worse if she’d tried to. But in fact, she hadn’t been trying to. She was simply so flustered and chagrined to be having this conversation with him at all that she was answering him without giving her responses full consideration.
But he was insulted, gravely. It was one thing to be called a liar when he was lying, but something else again to be called a liar when he wasn’t.
“The only thing I’d be stealing from you, lass, is that vicious tongue of yours. You’d be wise tae put that under lock and key as well.”
She gasped for the second time, then in a tone as stiff as dried leather, said, “This habit you have of threatening women speaks for itself. You might have gotten away with intimidating me last night, but you may be sure that you won’t manage it quite so easily again. So might I suggest that you refrain from speaking to me at all, and I will in turn be glad to spare you my ‘vicious tongue.’”
“’Tis what I deserve for trying tae apologize tae a shrew,” he mumbled to himself.
She heard him, of course. He meant for her to hear him. But the silence—finally—that his remark produced had him feeling somewhat ashamed. Trading insults with a lady was unique for him. Not that he minded so much, not withthislady in any case. But it was his habit to charm and tease, not to provoke hostility, and he wasn’t even sure why he was doing it.
This morning, in her frill-less, serviceable brown morning dress that hung loosely on her frame, her hair in an unbecoming, plain style that merely emphasized the redness of her nose, Lady Kimberly was infinitely ignorable, and yet—Lachlan couldn’t seem to ignore her. She rubbed him wrong, she truly did. Every word out of her mouth pricked at his ire and had him hot to retaliate in kind.
She had managed to disturb his sleep a number of times throughout the night. This morning he had awakened as tired as he was when he’d finally gotten to sleep. That hadn’t annoyed him, had amused him actually, that an Englishwoman could be that vindictive. He’d merely accepted that as his due and came down to breakfast hopeful, after a servant had delivered the message that he would be welcome at Sherring Cross indefinitely. Yet he’d been tired, and even the sight of his beautiful Megan hadn’t perked him up as it should have. But damned if he wasn’t wide awake now, after exchanging barbs with the spiky lady next to him.
Refrain from speaking to her at all? The devil he would. The MacGregor wouldn’t back down from a challenge like that. But he’d won this round. So he could desist for the moment.
Guts she had aplenty, although she was bolstered by the presence of others, he didn’t doubt. She’d likely sing a different tune if they’d been alone, one not so grating on the ears. Then again, maybe not. But he’d find out. He wasn’t leaving, had all the time he needed now in win his heart’s desire. And in the meantime, he had little doubt that he and Lady Kimberly would cross swords again.
10
Kimberly spent a good portion of the day sleeping. It wasn’t very sociable, it being only her second day at Sherring Cross, but she’d had no choice. And even the duchess agreed she should do so when Kimberly had nodded off just as Megan was beginning to discuss the “plan” that would see her on her way to matrimony.
Megan had herded both Lucinda, Devlin’s grandmother, and Kimberly to her sitting room directly after that—how should she put it?—torturous breakfast. The “plan,” as Megan called it, was a strategy that they could all agree on, in other words, how to expose Kimberly to the widest assortment of bachelors at the soonest opportunity to assure her a wide range of possibles that she could then have ample time to consider.
It was mentioned that a number of social events were already scheduled in the coming weeks at Sherring Cross. And a slew of invitations to entertainments elsewhere also needed to be sorted through and decided on, including several imminent balls.
Kimberly had fallen asleep just as Lucinda, or Duchy, as her family fondly called her, mentioned that one of those balls was in London and a mere four days hence. Kimberly had been about to confess that there was no way she could prepare for an event of that formal magnitude in that short of time, having not a single ball gown to her name, when her eyes had closed for the umpteenth time and stayed closed.
The next thing she knew, Megan was shaking her awake, laughing softly, and telling her to go to bed.
It was, of course, the height of bad manners to fall asleep on one’s hostess, and Kimberly was truly embarrassed. She made her excuses, blamed her cold and the journey. And she wasn’t sure why she didn’t put the blame where it belonged, on the guest in the room next to hers, but she didn’t.
Now, as she dressed for dinner, she also wondered why she hadn’t requested another room today. Having that Scot sleeping nearby was going to disturb her peace of mind, she knew it was. Knowing that she might run into him in the halls, coming to and from her room. Knowing that she was bound to hear him, whether he decided to have a little more consideration for the sort of noise he made or not. She had decisions to make that were going to affect the rest of her life. She didn’t need distractions.
