The Dog House (Harding's World of Romance)

by Nell Harding

  “Fine, then,” she said. “I’ll go right to the original source. How would you describe yourself?”

  He shook his head with a tut-tut sound. “Now, that’s too easy,” he objected. “Besides, you’d say that my views are quite biased, as I’m fairly partial to the person being studied. You’d have to ask what my peers think of me. They know me best.”

  “And they wouldn’t want to answer my questions,” she replied. “They’d think I was an investigator for one of those gossip rags you despise. So let’s start with your family. Are you their bonnie wee bairn, the apple of their eye?”

  He laughed. “If you ask my father, I’m an incorrigible lay-about and a great disappointment,” he told her lightly. “My mother defends me only so that she can argue with him, as bickering is their preferred lingua franca. In this respect I give them a lot to talk about. But as far as my old man is concerned, I spend most of my time in the dog house.”

  Fiona looked up sharply at his words, wondering if his choice of image was simply a coincidence or if he was testing her somehow. She hid behind her pint glass again.

  He was smiling at her. “Don’t look so shocked,” he reassured her. “It isn’t as if he’s cutting me off my inheritance or anything. He just feels that I should be more diligent and focused. More like you. I’m sure that you have made your parents more than proud.”

  Fiona avoided the invitation to speak of her own life, returning to his words. “And in what was he hoping to see you apply yourself so industriously?” she asked. “Do you work?” She had to admit to herself that she had assumed he was idle, having never heard a job mentioned in relation to his name.

  “You needn’t sound so surprised,’ he said, trying to sound offended. “I do have an occupation of sorts.”

  “Besides entertaining people?” she said in an accusatory tone.

  “Am I doing a good job?” he asked immediately.

  She found herself smiling. “I meant hosting most of English society to parties and country weekends.”

  “And I am more concerned about whether I’ve managed to keep your interest. But I see that you’re a celebrity rag reader after all,” he sighed. “But yes, apart from that important function, I run the Highland Trust, which helps to fund various projects of social significance.”

  Fiona was impressed. “That sounds like a worthwhile cause,” she said with a raise of her eyebrows. “Why doesn’t that please your father?”

  “It really isn’t that impressive,” he said dryly. “So don’t use my little resumé to change your opinion of me. My family started the fund and I just follow along with whatever they normally did. You know, rather like the Queen attending the same annual functions.”

  Fiona felt her rising esteem of Colin halt where it was. So it wasn’t a job he took too seriously, she decided, but at least he wasn’t trying to make himself sound grander than he was. “So that was why you were at the opening of Mackenzie House?” she asked, suddenly putting it together.

  “Guilty as charged,” he said, watching her face for a reaction. “And because there was nothing else going on that evening.”

  He was unrepentant but honest, and waited patiently for Fiona’s response while the waitress brought them baskets of steaming chips and plates of battered fish.

  Fiona waited until the waitress had left before dowsing her chips with vinegar and looking sharply at Colin. “Maybe your father is right,” she acknowledged grudgingly.

  “Bon appétit,” he said cheerfully, nodding at the fish. “It smells lovely. So my father was right about my profligate spending at my best mate’s wedding? Or is this about the unwise purchase of a vintage motorcycle?”

  She sent him an impatient look. “He was right that you seem to take everything lightly. Nothing upsets you or even irritates you, including my pre-formed judgement of you. Everything is just a joke to you.”

  He took a bite of his fish. “Delicious,” he said with appreciation. “You seem to see this as a character flaw.”

  “There you go again,” Fiona pointed out in exasperation, waving her fried potato at him with so much vigour that it flew off the fork and would have stained his expensive shirt had he not caught it deftly in the air.

  “You see, cricket may be seen as a posh sport but it leaves us prepared to handle fast food,” he quipped.

  Fiona tried to hide her embarrassment. “That’s what I mean,” she muttered. “Always a flippant response, like you never take anything seriously.”

  He put down his knife and fork and regarded her with a sigh. “Perhaps I’m just happy,” he suggested. “It makes one less likely to fly off the handle, if I may use that image. You aren’t trying to suggest that being happy makes me superficial, are you? Or do you really think that being irritated by petty details makes a person more profound?”

  Colin had an irritating way of making her opinions seem misguided. “You have to take some things seriously,” she insisted stubbornly.

  “You mean besides golf and tennis and skiing?” he asked with an innocent look, ready to duck if any other culinary items came winging his way.

  She glared at him. “Really, what do you take seriously? Anything? What can actually make you angry? And I want real-life examples.”

  Colin seemed to be thinking hard. “What has bothered me lately?” he repeated, frowning slightly while he munched thoughtfully on a potato wedge. “Well, I’m not too impressed by people who don’t own up to their mistakes. I accept that we are all human and all that, but it seems a bit cowardly not to assume responsibility for it. Scottish valour and whatnot. My lifestyle may not impress some people, but at least I own up to it.”

  Fiona’s heart sank, although she respected his words. “Are you thinking of something in particular?”

  He shrugged. “Oh, there’s just been a few problems with a dog lately, breaking and entering, if you will. And we have reason to think that the dog owner is aware of the damages caused but hasn’t bothered to show up or apologise.”

  Fiona twisted her napkin under the table. “So what are you going to do about it?” she asked, trying to sound casual.

  “Oh, it’s not important,” he said airily. “Just a growly-sounding note to remind them to behave a bit, a slap on the wrist. I was just trying to find the most recent example of an event that has caused me distress in my daily life. I acknowledge that I lead quite a protected life compared to many, sheltered from most of the small inconveniences.”

  There would never be a better moment to admit to her guilt in the dog case, but instead Fiona found herself reaching for her beer, unwilling to see Colin’s warm eyes turn cold and harsh against her. She should have done it when they first met, when she had less to lose.

  “I suppose if your happiness and protected lifestyle makes you good-natured, it isn’t all bad,” she said with a forced smile, drinking to wash away the bitter taste that his words left in her mouth.

  “Now back to you,” Colin said brightly, obviously not picking up on her uneasiness. “What do you take seriously? Or would it be shorter to ask what you don’t?” His voice was as teasing and light-hearted as ever.

  “Ah, you have preconceived notions of me as well,” she pointed out, glad to move the subject along. “Because I’m an academic, you think I must take everything seriously.”

  He laughed. “No, I worked that one out for myself. Let’s just say you show a certain intensity in most subjects.”

  “So I don’t know how to have fun?” she demanded hotly.

  “There you see,” he said mildly. “Taking this all very seriously, aren’t you?”

  Fiona frowned. “It’s because I care about things,” she justified herself.

  “So by that logic, I must be careless.” His blue eyes were trained on hers, challenging, curious.

  Fiona stared back. She could see how easily he might charm somebody, have them start to feel close and special, and then stroll away, not noticing. “Yes,” she ventured. “I’d say you probably are careless about
some things at least.”

  “Do you mean that I’m lacking passion?” he asked. “Apart from my pastimes, of course. And I could get quite passionate about this fish, I have to admit.”

  Fiona ignored his light asides. “Well, if you are passionate about things you tend to be sensitive about them, easily hurt or upset, or at the very least argumentative.”

  His eyes twinkled with humour. “Ah, then you are certainly passionate,” he told her. “Although I never doubted it.”

  “But does that have to exclude frivolity?” she continued, starting to wonder at how personally she was taking what was, in the end, merely a general discussion.

  “By definition, I think the answer would have to be yes,” he answered with no pity. “Frivolity means not serious. So you do lack frivolity in your life.”

  Fiona tried to keep her tone bantering as well, but it was hard to hide when she took offense. “I’m not frivolous about my work,” she said grudgingly. “But there is more to my life than my work. Although not so much right now, I admit.”

  “And in these other things you are able to be frivolous?” he persisted. “Able to take things lightly and to be spontaneous and laugh without analysing and arguing and writing theses about them?”

  “Of course,” she said crossly.

  His eyes took on a mischievous glint. “In that case,” he said with a certain relish, “Allow me.”

  In a fluid movement he stood up and leaned across the table, his eyes locked on hers as he took her cheeks in his hands and kissed her firmly on the lips. She was so taken aback that her jaw went slack, allowing him to deepen the kiss until she found herself responding.

  He broke away and sat back down, grinning broadly. “No need to analyse,” he warned her. “That was just something I’ve been itching to do for a while. So don’t look so serious. Wasn’t that enjoyable?”

  There was still something dangerous and tantalising in his eyes, in the proximity of that handsome face so close to hers.

  “I have to go to the loo,” she announced, blatantly fleeing the room.

  Chapter Six

  Fiona stared out into the gathering darkness as the taxi sped her up the lonely Glen Murray road. It was after eleven but the sky was still light enough to see the shapes of the hills and the silhouettes of the tossing trees along the roadside.

  There had been a logistical error in her planning. Because she didn’t want Colin to know where she lived, she couldn’t catch a ride back with him as far as the cottage, and she was in no shape to drive. So she had lied to him in Braeport, insisting that she walk home alone, and now had to pay her own cab fare all the way back to Glen Murray.

  Her thoughts were muddled. It wasn’t just the beer, and then the wine at the up-market wine bar he had taken her to after their dinner. Her mind kept returning to the kiss, trying to analyse what it had made her feel, despite Colin’s orders not to think about it.

  There had been no further discussion of the kiss. Flustered, she had retreated to the bathroom until she regained composure, surprised by her own reaction. Had it been truly unwelcome, she would easily have slapped him away, but she had enjoyed the kiss and found it strangely seductive in its unexpected, uninvited way. Of course he was just testing her and teasing, not serious, but it was a kiss that left her wanting more.

  It had simply been too long, she told herself firmly in the cab, and he was highly attractive. And by now it wasn’t as if he was a total stranger; over the evening he had grown easier to talk to and, although they weren’t exactly old chums, she was beginning to feel as if they had at least been fencing partners for a while.

  When she had returned to the table, he had ordered a bottle of red wine which was waiting. He watched her in his amused, friendly way. “I took the liberty of ordering the wine,” he informed her, as if nothing had happened. “I thought it was safest, in case you felt obliged to order the cheapest plonk on the menu or, even worse, in case you ordered the English wine. They do serve it here, you know.”

  And then he had launched into another conversation, with no awkwardness at all. Fiona was surprised and relieved by his ability to gloss over the kiss, making it easier for her to start to relax. Between the effect of the wine and Colin’s unwavering charm, she began to feel almost comfortable in his company, particularly by the time they had moved on to a wine bar down the road.

  Thinking back on it, she had to admit to herself that she had enjoyed the evening more than she had in ages. Colin made her laugh and feel present, finally remembering what it was to go out and have fun. He remained droll, easy company, sometimes gently provocative and sometimes charming, and always seemed focused on her, oblivious to anyone else present.

  At the end of the evening, as they left the wine bar, she had half-expected another kiss, but he acted the perfect gentleman, offering her a ride home and expressing concern when she insisted on walking, but respecting her wishes.

  “When can I see you again?” he had asked and Fiona had felt a rush of pleasure, glad that he had enjoyed his evening as much as she had.

  Still she found herself hesitating, not comfortable with the idea of letting him choose the next dinner date. She needed neutral ground.

  “Well, I need to go for a walk in a little valley that Campbell describes,” she said uncertainly. “I thought I might make an afternoon of it and bring a picnic. Does that hold any appeal to you or is it too rustic?”

  He had grinned at her and she was grateful that he hid any misgivings, if he had them. There was a lot to be said for upper-class manners.

  “I thought that I had proved myself worthy on your history walk,” he told her. “Of course I’d be delighted to join you. Should I prepare myself mentally for an afternoon with most of the Historical Society or can I expect some of your highly-directional attention?”

  She had smiled with relief, set up a meeting point and walked away quickly, her mind still spinning with the events of the evening. Even now, in the taxi, she took pleasure in reliving their hours together. She had mixed feelings about how the evening had ended, although it was the wisest course. She wasn’t sure that she actually could be frivolous enough to be a rich man’s fling or social experiment, but she was fairly sure that if he had tried again she wouldn’t have resisted, no matter how far he wanted to take it.

  Besides, her worries about his motives were disappearing. He seemed like a genuinely nice man, not the sort to be using her as some sort of joke or attempt at slumming it. She was surprised at her growing attraction to him, as she was not normally attracted to “nice”, which was the sort of adjective that usually condemned a guy to being your drinking buddy at best. She liked men with a dangerous edge and drive, but looking back now at Cormac and the few other relationships worth remembering, they may have been fighters but they had also turned out to be hard and cold in the end.

  Colin was the opposite, warm and friendly and genuine, not trying to hurt her or put her in her place. Charming, indeed.

  “Stop here,” she told the driver as the lights of the Glen Murray Inn appeared. She could see Sarah’s car in the car park and she suddenly felt the need for the uncomplicated affection of her dog and the comfort of his warm body sleeping against her feet.

  “Are you sure, Miss?” the cab driver asked solicitously. “We’ve passed closing time and you’re a long walk still from your destination.”

  “Positive,” she said firmly, emptying her wallet to pay the man before stepping out into the almost-empty parking lot.

  The front door was already locked but she could see her friend through the window, polishing the bar and putting bar stools up on tables. Fiona hammered on the window, saw Sarah jump and was let inside.

  “I thought you would be well on your way to silk sheets and a four-poster bed,” her friend said reproachfully. “Didn’t it go well? How is our man Colin when you’re one-on-one?”

  “Charming,” Fiona admitted, blushing slightly.

  “And sexy,” Sarah prodded.

&
nbsp; “Yes, that too,” Fiona grinned.

  “So?”

  “So he’s coming out for a walk with me this week. Now where’s my dog?”

  As they entered the bar, she could hear the happy thumping sound of Livingstone’s tail on the carpet and soon he was bounding up to her, his oversized head banging into her leg. She stooped to give him a hug, caressing his head and letting him nuzzle her. Sarah continued to move chairs, waiting patiently to hear more of the story.

  “A walk?” Sarah asked after a moment. “Isn’t that a step down from a dinner date? Or do you think he’s the sort to enjoy a roll in the heather?”

  “Sarah!” Fiona reprimanded her, laughing. Then the smile disappeared from her lips. “That means I won’t be able to take Livingstone,” she realised, thinking out loud. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “You know you can always leave him with me,” her friend reminded her. “That’s not a problem.”

  “It’s not fair to Livingstone,” Fiona mumbled, burying her face in his hair. “He absolutely loves those walks. Don’t worry, you overgrown puppy, you were in my life before Colin and you get priority. It’s just this one time, okay?”

  “That’s what you said before tonight,” Sarah pointed out. “So you didn’t run out of things to talk about?”

  “Not yet,” Fiona admitted. “In fact, the time just sped by. He’s fun company.”

  “You’re starting to like him,” the barmaid teased. “Overcoming your class consciousness?”

  “He’s different than I thought,” Fiona said, blushing as the memory of his audacious kiss sprang unbidden to mind.

  Sarah saw the emotion cross her face. “He kissed you, didn’t he?” she demanded, leaving the chairs and approaching Fiona. “Did he?”

  “Just quickly,” Fiona told her. “I think to provoke me, really. It wasn’t even a goodnight kiss, just to prove something about not taking things so seriously.”

  Sarah seemed as impervious as Fiona to Colin’s injunction of not analysing it. “It’s never just a kiss, no matter what Humphrey Bogart may say,” she said excitedly. “Obviously he likes you more than just as a historian. You have to bring him round so I can meet him too.”