“A cold?” Megan said, her tone on the hopeful side. “That expla—ahisa shame. But expected, with the dreadful weather we’ve been having.”
Kimberly did wonder about that smile now, and the tone accompanying it, which belied any sympathy implied in her hostess’s words. In fact she stiffened, somewhat offended. Then she decided that before she said something she would undoubtedly regret, she ought to give herself a few moments to consider that she just might be so exhausted from her trip that she was imagining things.
To that end, she said, “I’ll be right back, Your Grace. I seem to have left something in my carriage.”
Without further explanation and giving the duchess no opportunity to stop her, she turned to open the door that had been closed behind her. The carriage would still be there, since Mary was overseeing the unloading of their baggage. And that was all that Kimberly expected to find when she opened the door. That wasn’t the case, however.
Standing there, about to knock with a very large fist that was drawn back just before it reached her forehead, since she’d taken the place of the door, was a very fascinating man. He was tall, as in very tall, as in approaching seven feet tall. And if that wasn’t enough to hold Kimberly momentarily spellbound, he was also extremely handsome.
He had dark auburn hair, clubbed back to keep the rowdy wind from playing havoc with it. A brief ray of sunshine, come and gone in a flash, showed mere hints of red in those thick locks. There had been laughter in his light green eyes that didn’t last long as she continued to stare. And he wasn’t just tall, but brawny huge, with legs like tree stumps, and a barrel-wide chest, all tightly wrought in muscle rather than excess flesh.
“Instead of gawking, lass, why dinna you step aside tae let me in?”
His voice was deep, rumbling, and surprisingly lyrical in its lightly accented Scottish brogue, but at the moment, the tone was quite curt. He was a man who didn’t like being gawked at apparently. But how could anyone help doing so? Kimberly had never seen anyone that tall, let alone that handsome—well, with the possible exception of the Duke of Wrothston—and she doubted anyone else had either.
She was so flustered she didn’t speak or move, and when she felt the tickle on her upper lip that suggested her nose wasn’t going to wait for that handkerchief she’d been after, she automatically lifted her arm to wipe her sleeve across the area. It was a no-no of the worst kind, a mistake a child would make, not a grown woman, and she didn’t even realize she’d done it until she heard him snort.
Her embarrassment was made a hundred times worse by that sound. And it was followed by his hands attaching to her waist and physically setting her out of his way.
But her hot cheeks, now as bright as her nose, went entirely unnoticed, due to the Duchess of Wrothston and the newcomer finally seeing each other, now that his path was cleared. Kimberly, still gawking at him, immediately noted his delight at seeing the duchess. Pleasure and joy fairly oozed out of him, his smile brilliant, the laughter back in his light green eyes. She expected him to dance a jig at any moment.
Megan St. James, on the other hand, was not. “Good God, the Scots reaver!” she said with a hand drawn up to her chest. “You haven’t come to rob us, have you?”
His smile turned abruptly sensual, and it had the oddest effect on Kimberly, sort of like a mild punch in the gut, just enough to make her lose her breath, but not enough to hurt. And it wasn’t even directed at her.
“If you’ll be letting me steal your heart, darlin’, aye, that I have,” he replied, then, “Faith—the bonniest lass in all of England living under the same roof wi’ my Aunt Margaret? I canna be that lucky.”
Megan was shaking her head in denial after hearing that. “You’reMargaret’s nephew? Impossible. We can’t be that unlucky. The relatives Margaret gained through her marriage are MacGregors, not Mac”—she paused to try and remember the name he had told her so long ago—“Duell, wasn’t it? Yes, Lachlan MacDuell, you said you were.”
“Och, now, you dinna expect a reaver tae hand o’er his real name, d’you, when he’s in the process of reaving?” He asked that with an unremitting grin. “Nay, I’m a MacGregor,theMacGregor, actually, present laird of my clan—and the Lachlan was correct. ’Tis pleased I am that you remember.”
That was still blatantly obvious. He couldn’t stop grinning. Also obvious now was Megan’s displeasure at this unexpected turn of events.
“This won’t do a’tall, MacGregor,” she warned him. “Devlin will never permit you to stay in his home. He didn’t like you one little bit, if you’ll recall.”
“Devlin Jefferys? What’s he got to do with Sherring Cross?”
“Perhaps the fact that he owns it?” she said a bit dryly, before she explained. “And Devlin isn’t a Jefferys. Like you, he also had a fondness back then for using names that weren’t his own.”
The man suddenly looked appalled. “Wait a moment, you dinna mean tae say your blasted Englishmon is my aunt’s grandnephew, Ambrose St. James?”
“Shush, he really hates that first name of his, and yes, he most certainly is.”
Now he groaned. “Och, please, darlin’, say you didna marry the mon.”
“I most certainly did,” Megan huffed.
His groan turned into a growl, which abruptly ended with another smile and a shrug. “No matter. I’ve surmounted worse obstacles, that I have.”
Megan’s eyes narrowed on him. “If that means what I think it means, you can forget it this instant. Iammarried, andveryhappily so,” she stressed. “Furthermore, I can almost guarantee you won’t be staying at Sherring Cross as you’d planned. And besides, I could have sworn Margaret said you were in the market for a wife.”
The look he gave Megan said clearly that he’d found the only wife he could ever want. It caused the duchess to blush. Kimberly, seeing that look, was annoyed for some reason, although it was no business of hers. She tried clearing her throat as a reminder that there was a witness to this very personal conversation that she definitely wanted to end, but she still went unnoticed.
“Whether I stay here or near here, I’ll be pursuing my heart’s desire. I’d be a fool not tae.”
“You’d be a fool if you do,” Megan replied, then added with a sigh, “Dense, that’s what you are,” and a shake of her head, as if she simply couldn’t understand it. “Just as dense as you were a year ago, when I told you I was spoken for, but you refused to listen.”
“Determined,” he corrected with still another grin. “And what’s one wee husband matter when two hearts were meant for each other?”
