His smile sobered. “I admire them. But such a state is dangerous for a laird of Dundrennan.”
“Dangerous! What an odd thing to say.”
“Not if you know our family history.” He looked at her for a long moment, so that she felt more heat rise in her face. “Your name should be Miss Burn, I think. You blush like fire, do you know?”
She put a hand to her warm cheek. “Oh!”
“Take it as a compliment. It is lovely, I must say.” His voice was graveled but gentle. “You may be a cool scholar on the outside, Miss Burn. But you have fire in your spirit.”
“Oh,” she said again, not sure how to answer. Should she return the compliment and tell him he was indeed steel and earth and she liked it far too much?
He straightened away from where he had relaxed against the bookcase. “I hear others entering the library. Likely Cousin Amy showing your brother around. Shall we join them?”
*
“Amy has expensivetaste, I will give her that,” Aedan said.
Dougal chuckled as he walked beside Aedan. “My sister is determined to drag Dundrennan into a more modern era. Tartan everywhere. And if she has her way, you will soon by paying for newfangled ovens and every gadget you can imagine.”
Aedan huffed as they walked along a garden path, crushed stones damp underfoot but rainy skies above clearing nicely. “I gave her approval to freshen some of the older features. But I told her I like old, threadbare rugs over acres of tartan wool carpeting. At the least, it may save a few shillings.”
“At the least, did you make it clear you are not looking for a bride? She is interested, you know.”
“I know. But the answer is easy. We are cousins. Friends.”
“And you have no interest in marriage.”
“Someday. Not now. And surely not even to distant family. The place needs more than freshening up. It needs—new blood in the next generation, if that is to happen.”
He could be honest with Dougal, a trusted childhood friend even more than a cousin. They had attended university together, along with their friend Evan Mackenzie, now Earl of Kildonan.All three had become engineers. Dougal, always a daredevil, had gravitated to the dangers of lighthouse construction, while Evan had applied his talents to bridge construction, nearly as risky as lighthouses. Aedan, a practical soul in an impractical household, chose highway design, reliable, straightforward, consistent. Roadbuilding had great risk at times too, and he never quailed from it. But it did not lure him.
Growing up with the curse of Dundrennan, he taught himself early to be cautious.
He thought back to his conversation with Christina Blackburn of the fiery cheeks and beautiful eyes. He did recognize true love between Dougal and Meg, and he felt a twinge of envy. But three years ago his fiancée had broken their engagement. Lesson learned. He did not talk about it, and tried not to think about it. But he learned not to look for love. Love could hurt. Friendship was safe. Love was a risk. He did not need it, and he had no business yearning after it.
Certainly no business kissing a delectable stranger, a guest in his house, late at night, giving in to a misguided yearning, he told himself.
“Aedan? You are far away. Business?” Dougal asked.
He cleared his throat. Business of keeping his heart clear of longing. “What? No. I am doing what I can to afford the work that my father wanted done in this house. But a good part of the fortune he accrued went to feeding Highlanders and Islanders ousted from their homes in the clearances. Grain shipments and the lot. The accounts were—sobering.”
“But it was good work he did. My wife did the same where she could. By the way, she told me she would like to help with the expenses of refurbishing Dundrennan.”
Aedan shook his head, aware of Meg’s impressive personal fortune as well as her generosity. “I am grateful for the thought. But I can bear the costs here.”
“At what personal cost? Funding your father’s whims will put you out of pocket.”
“I have the resources—a good income from road contracts, and my investments in jute and whisky have been profitable. Recently I invested in silver darlings.”
“Herrings, whisky, and jute—aye, Meg’s advisors urge her to invest there as well. It is good for Scotland. But you cannot funnel all into Dundrennan.”
“The will specifies that improvements in the house must be completed by year’s end, or there would be hell to pay.”
“What can he do? He was a whirlwind of a man, I grant, but he is gone.”
“The place must be completed to his wishes, or it goes to the museum.”
“Lord,” Dougal said. “I nearly forgot about that. And you bearing it alone.”
