Page 71 of What a Highlander’s Got to Do

She studied the chair at his side as though it held a trap. “What are you drinking?” she finally asked.

He lifted his glass. “Whisky. Would you like some?” He was not a man who felt the need to make a woman tipsy to steal a kiss—which was definitely his plan—but she was Scottish. No doubt she’d been weaned on the stuff.

Indeed, she took his glass and sniffed, then nodded and poured herself a draught and settled in the other king’s chair.

He had not expected how difficult it would be, to sit in the library sipping whisky with Isobel Lochlannach—sheer nightdress and all—by his side. But he was determined to be civil and not manhandle her immediately. He needed to be somewhat suave and engage her in a conversation first. There were things they needed to discuss, after all.

If, indeed, she was annoyed with him, which he suspected, he wanted to know. He wanted to fix things.

He just wasn’t sure how.

“I was happy to find you in London,” he said, by way of a peace offering.

She took a sip of her drink and snorted.

“Were you not happy to run into me again?”

She glared.

Egads. Annoyed indeed.

“I’d hoped to see you.”

She fixed him with a glare. “Yet when I told you I was heading for London, you dinna bother to mention you were as well.”

“I would have. If you’d come back that day.”

Her response was a scowl. She was good at scowling, he’d noticed.

“I couldna come back. My parents arrived that day and we left straightaway. I dinna have a chance to ride out again. Which in no way absolves you from lying to me.”

“Lying?” He bristled with indignation. He never lied.

She straightened her spine. “A lie of omission is the same as an intentional lie.”

“You never asked me who I was.”

“So you let me believe you were a servant.”

He had. Heat rose on his cheeks. “It was . . . flattering.”

She gaped at him. “Flattering? What bollocks is that?”

Oh, lord. How to explain? He raked his fingers through his hair. “Isobel, I’m the son of a duke. I’ve never had a moment of true privacy in my life. I’ve been surrounded by people who always knew precisely who I was, every detail of my lineage, every farthing I stood to inherit. I’ve never had a friend who didn’t know my position in society. I must admit, it was tantalizing to have a beautiful woman—who had no idea who I was—find me attractive.” He glanced at her from beneath his lashes. “You did find me attractive, didn’t you?”

She sighed. “I did.”

His gut clenched. “You did?”

Her softness melted away and the scowl returned. “I do. For Christ’s sake, Nicholas. You know what a handsome man you are. Doona pretend otherwise.”

“Good looks are not everything,” he said solemnly. “There’s more to it than that, don’t you find?” God, he hoped she agreed. Because it wasn’t just her beauty that entranced him. It was her laugh, her smile, her stubbornness.

“You are right. There is much more. For example, how a man treats a woman.”

“Exactly.”

“Two people should share interests.”