“How old were you?”
“Eight or nine, I reckon. I cast the whisky up again all over Aden, so we reckoned we were even. Didnae tell Da for a fortnight, and when he did find out he took a look at it, declared that we’d done as we should, then cuffed Aden and told us nae to go about stabbing each other again.”
“It sounds like you had a very dangerous childhood, Niall.” She looked up, to find him gazing down at her while she still stupidly stroked his bare arm.
“We were wild, aye. Nae a lass about to tell us to mind our manners or nae pummel each other. I reckon our da wanted us to be like the MacTaggerts of old, the ones who defied a king and helped rebel against him, who stood bloody and proud on the battlefield and bellowed their defiance to the sky.” He put his hand over hers. “I’m nae quite that uncivilized, but I’m nae some dandy with high shirt points and a snuff box, either.”
Would he compromise? Is that what he was trying to tell her? That he might be amenable to spending part of the year in London? Of course she could merely be trying to interpret everything he said as a way they could manage this. Generally she recognized her flights of fancy for exactly what they were—wishes too lofty to be called daydreams. She required a bit of proof before she tossed her heart completely into this battle. But just hearing him say that, vague or not, gave her something she hadn’t felt in a while: hope.
Chapter Eleven
“I thought Henry the Eighth was rounder than this,” Niall commented as they strolled down the line of wooden horses mounted by figures who sat adorned in the armor of the various the kings of England. Most of them were wee lads barely the height of Amelia-Rose. The armor was pretty, improving from the chain mail of William the Conqueror to the steel plate mail of Henry to the obviously ceremonial armor of George III. Henry’s was the most lavish, the edges done in gold and with a hell of a generous codpiece jutting out over the saddle of his faux horse.
“Henry was a fine king, and very well respected,” she said, her tone absent.
Niall sent her a sideways look. “Ask half his wives about that, lass. Do ye reckon everyone deserves a compliment?”
Her gaze sharpened, as if she’d returned from wherever her mind had been. “No. He got fatter as he got older, I believe,” Amelia-Rose returned.
“I can see why he needed all those women, at least,” he noted.
Her gaze flicked from the codpiece to the front of Niall’s kilt and back to the horse again. “Fanciful thinking, I imagine.”
He stifled a grin. She followed the rules of propriety as best as she could, but his lass did have a wicked streak. He looked forward to exploring that. Very thoroughly.
Jane Bansil had seated herself on a bench by the door, and from the tilt of her head and the soft snoring sound emanating from her, she was fast asleep. “We seem to be the only people here,” he said, keeping his voice pitched low to minimize the echo.
“I think most people come to see the animals in the Menagerie, or the jewels,” Amelia-Rose returned. “We could go see those as well, if you’d like. It will cost you another three shillings, though.”
“Nae. I reckon I like it right here.” With another glance toward the door he put his hands around her waist and lifted her to sit on the fourth step of a wooden stepladder some worker had left beside the row of kings. “Are ye going to warn me about scandal now?” he murmured, gripping the ladder on either side of her head and leaning toward her. “It’s just ye and me, adae, and the snoring lass in the corner.”
She looked past his shoulder at where Jane sat. “She’s a light sleeper,” Amelia-Rose whispered, reaching out to run her palm along his cheek. “And someone could come along at any moment.”
“Aye. I reckon so.” He studied her face, the brief wrinkle between her brows as she frowned at him. “What now?”
“Do ye like to read?”
That made him blink. “Aye, I like to read. Are we discussing literature now?”
“Literature’s not scandalous, at least.”
“That depends on the literature, I reckon.” Niall grinned. “I cannae pretend to know what it’s been like to live yer life, lass, but I imagine it’s been frustrating.”
Her fingers soft on his cheek sent a shiver up his spine. “Why do you think that?”
“I see ye as a lass who’s generally smarter than anyone else, man or woman, in the room. It’s nae polite to correct a gentleman when he says someaught foolish, so ye just have to listen to the nonsense and smile. When ye cannae stand it any longer and ye speak yer mind, they call ye forward, or mannerless. Am I wrong?”
“No, you’re not wrong.”
God, he could drown in those blue eyes of hers. “I have to tell ye someaught.”
Those eyes narrowed a little. “What do you have to tell me?”
“I’ve been calling ye adae. But it doesnae mean ‘rose.’”
“It doesn’t? I warned you that if you were calling me a turnip or something, I would not be happy, Niall.”
Putting his fingers over her mouth before she could wake damned Jane, he shook his head. “It doesnae mean ‘turnip.’ It means ‘trouble.’”
“Trouble?” she repeated in a muffled tone, not looking very flattered.
“Aye. From the first time I set eyes on ye I knew ye’d be my downfall.” He waited a heartbeat. Since she didn’t seem inclined to make another outburst, he removed his hand.
“Oh.” She sighed. “That’s rather nice. And I suppose ‘trouble’ is better than ‘prickly,’” she added with a slight smile. Abruptly she scowled again. “I told your brother Aden that you called me adae, and what you said it meant. He didn’t bother to correct me. He did step on my toe. So does everyone in your family thi—”
He closed the last few inches between them to kiss her.
Her mouth was so soft it made him ache. How she could conjure such sharp wits and still have a mouth like this seemed a marvel. Niall teased her lips open, sending his tongue dancing with hers.
Sliding her hands up his chest and around his shoulders, she leaned into him. Amelia-Rose moaned softly, and his cock reacted. When they kissed it didn’t matter that she was a Sassenach and he was a Scot. It didn’t matter that she loved dancing and soirees and picnics in London and he preferred hunting and fishing in the Highlands.
Niall moved in between her legs, deepening the kiss. A woman he’d known for just days, one he’d resented on principle before he’d ever set eyes on her, one who was nothing like the bride he’d thought to find and abandon, and now she was his first thought in the morning, his last thought at night, and the subject of all his dreams.
With another moan she twisted her fingers into his hair and pulled backward. He lifted his head a little, still nibbling at the corners of her mouth. “Ye’ve a sweet mouth on ye, lass,” he murmured.
“And you’ve a very naughty one,” she whispered back breathlessly. “We must stop.”
“Why must we?”
“Because I will not be ravished beside King George the Second’s armor, for one, and because someone will come in and see us, for two.”
“So ye’ve nae objection to me ravishing ye in a more private setting?” he returned, shifting a hand to cup her warm cheek and kissing her again.
“I have very many objections,” she breathed, leaning her forehead against his. “And I am not some wilting flower who swoons into your embrace.”
He chuckled. “Och, lass, that ye arenae. Ye’re sharp and prickly.”
She lifted her head away from his to frown. “That is not a compliment. You’re not so smooth and gentlemanly, anyway.”
“Seems to me we make a good pair, adae.”
Her scowl flipped into a grin. “‘Trouble’ again, eh? How do you say ‘scoundrel’ in Gaelic?”
“Ye’ll use it against me, willnae?”
Her smile deepened. “Aye. Very likely.”
“Skellum.”
She repeated it. “Skellum. It doesn’t actually mean ‘handsome’ or ‘vir
ile,’ does it?”
He snorted, remembering just in time to stay quiet. “Nae. Though I wish I’d thought of that, now.”
That made her laugh, and then Niall had to kiss her once more. Stopping his breath would have been easier than resisting that mouth of hers. He wondered if she knew just how charming she was when she wasn’t trying to be that other lass—the one she’d decided made her more acceptable and more marriageable. Here with him, now, she shone like the sun. Warm, affectionate, and witty, Amelia-Rose made all of London less inhospitable to a skellum like himself.
Across the room Jane Bansil let out a snort that would’ve made a boar jealous, and sat upright. In the same second Niall took Amelia-Rose around the waist and lowered her to the ground again. “When are ye free next, lass?” he asked, gripping her fingers in his.
“This is the Season. It’s very busy, you know.”
“Aye. When can I next see ye?”
“You are serious, aren’t you?” she asked, studying his face. “You’re not planning on stealing my virtue and then dancing away with another woman?”
“I’m serious as a Highlands winter, Amelia-Rose.” He brushed a lock of blond hair from her forehead. “I’m nae asking ye to run off to Gretna Green with me in the moonlight, lass, if the idea of something permanent still troubles ye. I’m suggesting that ye and I spend more time together. I reckon it’s worth it. Do ye?”
“Step away from her at once!” Jane demanded, launching herself forward and swatting at Niall with her reticule.
“What are ye, woman, a damned banshee?” he protested, protecting his head with one elbow and moving out of her path.
“You are a disreputable Highlander, sir. I will not have you ruining Amelia-Rose!” She hit at him again.
“Jane, stop pummeling him,” Amelia-Rose ordered, though she sounded more amused than worried. “We were just chatting.”
“You cannot chat with your mouths fastened together. I am not a fool, cousin.”
The companion had seen that, then. “So ye’re a witness,” he said, catching her rather formidable arm and drawing her closer. “What do ye mean to say about it, then?”
“Mrs. Baxter will want to know what—”
“I reckon ye fell asleep, and I took advantage to sweep in and kiss a lass. I’m a bit of a scoundrel. Dunnae make it Amelia-Rose’s fault,” he interrupted.
“But—”
“Which will cause the worse uproar?” he continued, noting that his lass no longer looked as amused. “Me surprising a lass with a kiss, or ye telling her mama that ye allowed it to happen?”
He’d never really known his own mother, but he was abruptly grateful that Francesca hadn’t yet proved to be as intrusive as Mrs. Baxter. Aye, she’d meddled, dragged them down to London and ordered them to find brides. She hadn’t made them feel worthless or attempted to change who they’d become in her absence. Not yet, anyway.
“Jane, please,” Amelia-Rose seconded, taking charge of the tall tree’s arm. “You know she’ll have an apoplexy, and we’ll all have to listen to it. And then she’ll likely lock me in my room for a week and marry me off to that horrid Lord Oglivy. And he smells like cats.”
Whoever this Lord Oglivy was, Niall meant to find him and suggest he go on holiday to the country for the next few weeks. He looked at Jane Bansil expectantly. He could threaten her, but that didn’t sit well with him. She was simply doing her job, even if it was one he didn’t much appreciate.
“Oh, very well.” Amelia-Rose’s companion sagged a little, pulling her reticule back up against her flat chest. “Don’t let me catch you again, for goodness’ sake.”
“That is a promise,” Amelia-Rose said, leaning up on her toes to kiss the woman on the cheek.
Jane eyed him as she straightened her gown. “And you, Mr. MacTaggert?”
“I’m nae going to kiss ye,” he informed her.
“I should hope not.”
“Now,” his lass went on, moving around her companion to secure his forearm beneath her hand, “let’s go see the jewels, shall we?”
“Aye. Jewels.”
Actually he didn’t give a damn where they went next, as long as they did it together. If he’d caught some fever, if his new obsession with Amelia-Rose was a signal that he’d been hit on the head one too many times, he needed to know. If by some chance he’d found the one lass in all of Britain that matched him, he by God needed to know that, too.
She leaned against his side. “Yes,” she breathed.
“Yes to what?” he whispered back, very aware of the menace stalking directly behind them.
“I reckon it’s worth the risk to spend more time with you, Niall. Skellum.”
Considering that he was presently escorting a lass and her chaperone to a jewel exhibit and then meant to take them driving in an open carriage through Hyde Park before carefully depositing them back at her parents’ house, it was entirely possibly that this was the farthest from a scoundrel he’d ever been. Perhaps the London smoke and soot had muddled his brain after all. The only other explanation was one he wasn’t quite willing to visit yet. Not when she’d barely begun to spread her wings. This lass could too easily fly from his grasp.
Clearly he needed to find a pair of wings for himself. Something that would make him acceptable to both her and her parents. And at the moment he hadn’t the faintest clue what that thing might be. All he knew was that he meant to try.
* * *
“We just ride about in circles, then?” Niall asked, twisting his head to watch Lord Alvin and a dozen of his very small dogs drive by in a modified phaeton. The marquis had decided that the dogs needed their own perches, so he’d attached what looked like a wooden, cushion-bottomed open casket at the front and another at the rear of the driver’s seat, with all the dogs popping up and down and yammering from within.
“Yes. And we stop and chat with acquaintances,” Amelia-Rose supplied. “It’s more crowded today because Parliament isn’t in session.”
He sat back beside her again. “I did just see that, aye? A portly man and coffin dogs?”
Pursing her lips to keep from laughing, she nodded. “Lord Alvin. He’s somewhat … eccentric.”
“We have one of those eccentrics up near Aldriss,” he returned, the Mercer twins and their large bonnets now catching his attention. No doubt he felt like he’d stepped—or ridden, rather—into some mad realm of oddities. London was magnificent, that way.
“Do you?” she prompted. “A man with too many dogs?”
“Old Sean Ross. He keeps a wee cottage overlooking Loch an Daimh. It was a Jacobite meetinghouse in the old days, with a tunnel leading from the cellar out to the nearest hillside and another down to the water’s edge for a quick getaway if need be. Old Sean, though, keeps the tunnels full of—”
“Let me guess,” Jane interrupted from the opposite seat. “Whisky?”
The fact that she knew a secret seemed to have emboldened Jane. This was actually the first time Amelia-Rose could recall that her second cousin had ever spoken directly to—or walloped—a man. Hm.
“Nae whisky,” Niall countered, without heat. “Cats.”
“Cats?” Amelia-Rose blurted.
“Aye. Every day he goes out trapping for mice and rats and voles, spends the rest of the day fishing and going by the neighbors asking for their vermin, and in the evening he opens the trapdoor to the cellar and tosses his catch down below. Then there’s an awful yowling for the next ten minutes or so, enough to make even a stout man’s hair stand on end.”
“Surely you’re jesting,” Jane protested.
“I amnae. I’ve seen ’em. Dozens and dozens of cats, Mollies and Toms down to wee kittens.”
“What does he do with them, though? Surely he doesn’t…” Amelia-Rose swallowed. “He doesn’t eat them, does he?”
“He says nae. Old Sean claims, though I’ve nae seen it so I cannae say if it’s true, but he claims he milks ’em. And he has some odd wee cheeses, so I reckon maybe he do
es.”
“No!”
“Aye. I swear it.”
Amelia-Rose burst out laughing. She couldn’t help it. “That is the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard. ‘Wee cheeses’? Oh, good heavens.”
“He brings his cheeses to the fair every year to sell, along with a selection of Toms and kittens if his tunnels are overflowing. He owns but one sheep, and she’s without a lamb, so she isnae giving him that quantity of milk.”
“How does one milk a cat?” Amelia-Rose managed, tears of laughter gathering in her eyes.
“I’ve nae idea, lass. Carefully, I imagine. They’re wee, but they do have claws. And teeth.”
“I don’t believe you,” Jane said flatly.
“After Amelia-Rose and I are wed, we’ll send ye some cat cheese from the Highlands and ye can see for yerself.”
Wed. He’s said the word. He hadn’t asked her yet, of course, but heaven help her, she’d begun to imagine it, in a faerie dream sort of way. Just the two of them, without her parents to frown and tell her to mind her tongue. Without smelly, old stupid men with whom she was supposed to smile and agree and flirt simply because they were men. They wouldn’t even dare approach her with Niall as her husband. Oh, she could imagine it.
“I don’t see how that could happen,” Jane was saying, “since Amelia-Rose detests the Highlands and means never to leave London.”
“Jane!” she snapped, her daydream popping like a delicate soap bubble.
“It’s true,” her companion muttered, hunching her shoulders and turning to look out over Hyde Park.
Oh, now she didn’t want to look at Niall, but she could practically feel him gazing at her. She couldn’t even accuse Jane of ruining everything, because the subject would have arisen sooner or later. She’d just begun to hope it was later. If they ended up parting ways because of the dozen other things that lay between them, it might not even have come up at all. Except now it had.
Amelia-Rose took a breath and shut her eyes for a moment. “I suppose it’s just as well you know,” she said, watching the sunlight sparkle across the surface of the Serpentine.
It's Getting Scot in Here Page 20