“Good God!” His booted foot hit the floor in tandem with his outburst. “Ye’re no’ just a wallflower; ye’re abluestocking.”
There was such horror in his tone that Barbara couldn’t help it; she began to chuckle again. A snap of her fan hid her mouth, allowing her to grin at his clear discomfort. “Indeed, Sir Kenneth. I am educated, intelligent, and opinionated. Please go away, lest you be subject to such horrors.”
“On the contrary, lass…” How did he manage to lean even closer as he murmured? “I find myself even more intrigued.”
If Barbara could have gotten away with aharumph, she would have tried it. The Scotsman was outmaneuvering her at every turn!
Her eyes narrowed again. Time to call him out. He mightclaimhe was intrigued, but he wouldn’t be able to stand idly by as she proved herself to him.
“More, I am a student of antiquities, sir,” she informed him proudly, the fan fluttering too quickly. “My father introduced me to the subject many years ago and Egypt is my field of focus. My cousin, the Earl?—”
“Errol the Earl,” Sir Kenneth offered helpfully.
Her lips twitched. “Yes, that one. He has quite the collection from the New Kingdom, including a recent acquisition—a set of matching faienceushabtifigurines from the Nineteenth Dynasty, as well as some beautiful canopic jars. I was just on my way to visit them.”
There. An excuse, an escape, and a chance for him to back away, acknowledging he had no interest in chancing interacting with an intellectual female about her academic business.
Which was why she was ridiculously surprised when Sir Kenneth jumped to his feet, offering her his hand. “My word, I wouldnae miss that—I would be honored to escort you to the Earl’s study, Miss Fokette.”
Perplexed, Barbara found herself mutely placing her hand in his. How had he known where Standish’s collection was? And why wasn’t he taking the offered excuse to leave her be? She couldn’t very well disappear into Cousin Errol’s study alone with him.
Could she?
But then Barbara forgot all objections because Sir Kenneth was tugging her to her feet. Standing there before him, her head tipped back just slightly to stare into his warm eyes, she completely forgot whatever the concern was. Yes, disappearing into a quiet dark place with this man seemed like a wonderful idea—and if canopic jars were involved, even better.
“Miss Fokette,” he murmured, turning them toward the door and tucking her hand in the crook of his arm. “Allow me.”
She likely agreed with a sound like a hungry sheep.Mrrapp, perhaps. Goodness, it certainly had become warm in the last fifteen minutes, hadn’t it? Had the servants lit the fires?
Kenneth—because really, when she was tucked into his side, limping around the perimeter of the ballroom, her skirts swaying against his boots and her gloved hand pressed to hisridiculously corded forearm, it was impossible to think of him as the formalSir Kenneth—glanced down at her.
“So, thedinnae dancething wasnae an excuse?”
It took a moment to figure out what he meant, and to her astonishment, Barbara found herself blushing. After all these years, the pain had mostly faded—except when the seasons or barometric pressure changed, and she could feel it in the twisted bones—but the special boot she wore on her left foot still impeded her movements.
“Och, nay, lass, I’m sorry for embarrassing ye.” To her surprise, he sounded genuinely aggrieved as his wince offered another apology. “I thought it was just one of those things ladies said to chase a man away.”
“Really? I cannot imagine why anyone would want to chaseyouaway,” she sniffed.
And his smile bloomed again. “Aye, I agree. But yer limp tells me it wasnae just an excuse.”
How had he asked for her name and connections, but hadn’t heard about theUnfortunate Circumstance? “My left foot is malformed, sir. An accident as a child which healed improperly.” There. A trite, simple phrase she’d perfected over the years. “It has limited me somewhat.”
She would never ride a camel or explore a tomb or have any of the adventures she’d always dreamed. And Kenneth—Sir Kenneth—would make an amusing quip about how nowondershe lived her life between the pages of a book, like so many idiotic men had done before him, and they would both chuckle in amusement, and Barbara would die a little bit more inside.
But to her surprise her escort, who had slowed his steps as soon as he’d recognized her gait, merely shook his head. “There’s nae need to allow something so small to limit ye.” He winked, and it wasn’t lewd. More…kind, perhaps? “There’s still plenty of fun and adventure to be had without running or dancing.”
This time when he winked it most definitelywaslewd, and left no question what kind of fun he meant.
Oh dear. Barbara should probably hit him with her fan and shoutlawks, orfie sir, or similar.
Instead she found herself growing all warm and tingly again, hyper aware of the muscles beneath her hand.
What would those muscles look like without the cover of his jacket and shirt? What would theyfeellike, were she to strip off her glove?
Sir Kenneth Fraser was a flirt, a charmer, a gentle scoundrel, and she was beginning to fear, arake. But he hadn’t dismissed her intellect or her disability. He’d sat with her and spoke to her as an equal about her interests.
Perhaps it was all part of his practiced charm, but Barbara found herself captivated. If it took a rake to show her such courtesies, then perhaps rakes weren’t that bad. After all, hadn’t she just been thinking how it would be nice, just once, to learn more about the pleasure she’d missed out on in her life?
