Dominic's face betrayed nothing. Not a twitch, not a flicker. Paisley's face, on the other hand, was turning a rich and admirable shade of tomato-red.
She cleared her throat, trying her best to appear cool and composed.
It was almost certainly not working.
"Nay," Dominic said eventually. "I am nae ignoring ye, lass. This may shock ye, but me entire day does nae revolve around ye and yer presence, aye?"
"Of course." Paisley muttered, feeling silly. "I didn't mean to imply..."
"Oh, come off it, lass. Enough with the pleasantries and politeness. I was nae meself earlier – I imagine we're both thinking of the same incident, aye? – and I was half-asleep. I saw ye reaching to me, and I thought... Oh, I daenae know what I thought. I acted before I thought anything at all, I suppose. To be fair, ye should nae have walked into me office without knocking, to say naything of tryin' to poke me face, or whatever it was ye were doin'. Still, I should nae have acted that way, and I apologize for puttin' ye in such an uncomfortable position. It'll nae happen again."
"Oh." Paisley said lamely. This was not what she'd wanted to hear at all. "Good. Well, notgoodexactly, but... um, that is fine."
"Good."
"Right."
"Aye. If that's all, then..."
"Wait!" Paisley said again, twisting her fingers together. She was starting to feel silly, and the ache was circling in her gut again. She wished it would just go away.
No, that wasn't right. She didn't wish that. She wished that the ache would resolve itself, but she had no idea how that might happen, to say nothing of the fact it all seemedveryunladylike.
He raised his eyebrows, waiting.
Paisley drew in a breath, steeling herself.
"What is a Ceilidh?"
There was a long silence, then Dominic rolled his eyes, turning on his heel and stamping away across the courtyard.
"Like I said, wear something nice!" he called back.
Paisley pursed her lips. Well, she supposed she'd find out what a Ceilidh was when she got there.
13
ACeilidh, Paisley discovered throughout the rest of the evening, was a dance. Or rather, a gathering at which there might be dancing, and music, and drinks.
The patrons ofTheSinnerwere all too happy to enlighten her, although Paisley was careful not to breathe a word about why she wanted to know.
One of the older, drunker patrons leaped to his feet and announced that he would show Paisley exactly what Ceilidh dancing was. Before she could protest, he swept her up in his arms and dragged her round and round the floor in what could only be described as a wild, drunken jig. The other patrons roared and clapped, laughing and shouting encouragement.
A group of overdressed ladies of the night began to clap in time, laughing between themselves, and Paisley found herself laughing, too. They rocketed through the crowd, bumping intopeople, and it was almost disappointing when the patron staggered to a halt.
Grinning, he made a deep bow and a flourish, and Paisley returned a deep, elegant curtsey, which was received with more laughter and vigorous applause.
"Give over, Rabbie!" Dominic said, shouldering his way through the crowd. "Leave the poor lass alone."
Rabbie laughed, holding up his hands. "Don't worry, lassie, I have granddaughters the same age as ye, so ye are safe from me. I hope ye know a wee bit more about Ceilidh dancing now."
Paisley stiffened a little, glancing nervously at Dominic. He gave no indication of having heard the comment aboutCeilidhdancing, and jerked his head to indicate that she should return to her work.
"Ye are too hard on the new lass, Dom." She heard Rabbie say, his voice lower.
"She needs the help. She's learnin', and I daenae wish to see harm come to her. Now, Rabbie, better peel yer son away from the bar. We all know he's a nasty drunk, and I'll have to cut him off soon."
She didn't hear the rest, since the crowd closed in around them. Paisley fought her way behind the bar, and started filling orders – endless tankards of ale, pots of frothy beer, and a few sparklingglasses of brandy or whiskey. Her hand was perfectly healed by now, thanks to Emma.
