The man dismounted in a smooth, even move. He swept off his rain-soaked hat and bowed.
“My apologies. I saw the breeches and assumed. I must have been blind. Of course, you’re no boy, but yet another female jewel in this crown of Scotland.”
“Are ye the man sent by the new Duke of Dunmore?”
He was only a few yards away. He straightened from his bow.
Her chest began to hurt.
Tall with broad shoulders. Dark blond hair. Light brown eyes flashing above perfect cheekbones. White teeth gleaming in his grin. A square jaw covered in barely visible stubble.
Handsome. Devastatingly, crushingly handsome. And very, very secure in his knowledge of his own beauty. How could he not be?
There was rain dripping from sculpted lips now that his hat was in his hand. She’d like to lick the rain off those lips.
The lips moved. “In a manner of speaking. My name is Jack Pike. Who are you?”
She was embarrassed to find her own tongue just slightly protruding from her lips. She hastily tucked it away and used it to answer him. “My name is Helen Boyd.”
He put his hat back on. “Helen, the lovely shepherdess of Kinmarloch. Fair Helen.”
His eyes roved over her body. For the first time ever, she regretted wearing breeches while out with the sheep. Oh, to be in a dress and not to have the shape of her legs and her bottom exposed to this man. Because she knew whatever this beautiful man wanted, it would not be her and her meager hips.
And in addition to her chest ache, his eyes were making her feel warm in quite an unaccustomed way. In a way she didn’t like. It made her want to kick him in the face and dislodge one of those white teeth. But sadly, a hole in his smile would not make him any less handsome.
He grinned even more broadly. His voice was silky, warm. “Scotland isn’t quite what I expected. I came up here thinking to find big men in skirts and instead I find a beautiful woman in breeches. I’m not complaining, mind you, I’m just surprised.”
She snorted. Beautiful woman, indeed. He had the lying, smooth tongue of an Englishman. No one had called her beautiful since her grandfather had died five years ago. She knew what she looked like.
“They are kilts, nae skirts.”
“Fascinating,” he said and walked closer and leaned down. His body was so near hers. A thrill coursed from her head to her toes as her breath hitched in her throat.
The man purred, “I would love to take you somewhere dry and warm where we might speak more on this subject.”
“And I would love to—”believe ye, ye tempting piece of masculine perfection“—nae starve next winter. My sheep still need me. So, I will bid ye farewell.”
She turned. She would wait until she was clean and rested to speak to him again. When she might be better prepared to deflect his lying, sweet words. And better prepared to look at his face.A face that launched a thousand ships.
She heard him sigh.
“Fair Helen, Miss Helen Boyd, will you tell me where I can find the countess, Lady Kinmarloch? Perhaps, if you are headed back with her sheep toward her lands, I could walk with you and you could point out the way to her castle?”
She turned around. “Ye are on her lands right now.”
The man scrutinized the landscape, looked at the mountains. “Surely not.”
“Aye. The duchy ends a furlong back the way ye came.” She pointed.
He looked behind him. “Mmm. I’ll have to look at the maps more closely.”
“And ye have found the countess,” she said heavily.
His head whipped around. “The countess?”
She drew herself up. “I am the Countess of Kinmarloch.”
“You? But you’re herding sheep—”
