The next moment, Ian didn’t care. His wife was here, with her blue eyes, her warm voice, her half smile. The noise beyond, the nervous throat-clearing of Ackerley—all faded before the joy that was Beth.
“Beg pardon, Beth. I didn’t mean to be rude.” Ackerley glanced at Ian, then he flushed. “Well, I’d best be getting back downstairs. Thank you, Beth, for allowing me the privilege of attending your gathering. Quite a regal crowd.”
Beth shook her head. “Family and friends only. Hart insisted.”
“Even so, I am quite the nobody, but I am enjoying myself immensely. Lord Ian, thank you for indulging me.”
Ackerley was in front of Ian again, holding out his hand. He so enjoyed handshakes.
Ian stared at Ackerley’s open palm. Ackerley, as the silence stretched, began to withdraw, but Ian shot his own hand forward and clasped Ackerley’s in a firm grip. For the first time in Ian’s life he wanted to shake another’s hand, understood why it meant respect.
“Thank you,” Ian said sincerely, “for all you’ve done.”
“Oh, well, I . . .” Ackerley looked pleased. “I haven’t done anything, really. I . . .” He cleared his throat as Ian released him. “I’ll just go back downstairs now.”
Ackerley gave Beth a bow and a wide smile, then he left the two alone, whistling a little tune as he went.
* * *
Beth watched Ian as he remained in the middle of the room, gazing down at his bare hand. To this day, Beth had not learned exactly what went through Ian’s mind when he stood, unmoving, and went away. At the moment, she had no idea whether Ian pondered the nature of the universe or was simply fascinated by the lines on his own palm.
She’d concluded that the only way to find out was to ask him.
“Ian,” she said. “Do you want to go back downstairs? We will soon all trudge to the ballroom for waltzing.”
Ian continued to study his hand, making no acknowledgment that he heard her. He did this sometimes, became so fascinated with the world inside his head that an hour could pass before he’d return.
“If you prefer to remain here, it is your choice,” Beth continued. “I will make your excuses. Or perhaps I will not say anything—it is no one’s business what you do.”
When Ian didn’t respond, Beth gathered her skirts and turned away. She’d go downstairs, continue helping Eleanor and her sisters-in-law hostess, and return to Ian later.
“Stay.”
The one word brought Beth swiftly back. “Ian?”
Ian didn’t answer. Beth halted beside him, the necklace he’d bought her cool and heavy on her chest.
Ian glanced at Beth from the corner of his eyes. “Love you, m’ Beth.”
Beth’s heart swelled, overflowing with what she felt for this man. “I love you too, Ian.” She slid her hand onto his large one, which had so captured his attention. “All of you, my darling. Just as you are.”
Ian studied her satin glove, her fingers small against his, then lifted his gaze to fully meet Beth’s. “Then that’s what I’ll be.”
Beth tightened her hand around his. “It’s all you ever need to be.”
Ian’s answering smile lit every fire inside her, banishing every fear, every trouble of the last terrible days. Her Ian had come back to her, stronger than ever.
And devastatingly handsome. The wicked look he turned on Beth burned her.
“My Beth.” Ian traced the pattern of the necklace, then he leaned down and pressed a fiery kiss right over her heart.
“My Ian,” Beth whispered.
His arms went around her, and Beth’s hard, handsome Highlander scooped her against him for a long kiss.
The kiss opened her, heated her. Ian drew her close, folds of his kilt melding with those of her skirts. His hands skimmed up her back, and Beth felt her bodice loosening, cool air touching her skin.
“I don’t want to go down to the ballroom,” Ian said quietly. “I want t’ stay here. With you.”
“Yes.” Beth’s answer was breathless. “I think that situation will be perfect.”
Ian Mackenzie turned in place with her as the music of a waltz began below. Her gown loosened more as they moved in their own dance, fabric sliding from her body, though the necklace remained.
Ian spun slowly around with Beth, supporting her in his strong arms, his golden eyes entirely on hers. Then they were falling to the carpet, Ian catching her, the lights and colors of the room whirling like the green and crimson glory of the auroras.
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About the Author
Jennifer Ashley is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the Mackenzie novels, and winner of a RITA Award. She's penned more than forty-five novels and a dozen or so novellas in historical romance, paranormal romance, and urban fantasy. She now lives in the Southwest with her husband and cats, spends most of her time in the wonderful world of her stories, and also enjoys hiking, music, and building dollhouses and dollhouse miniatures.
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A Mackenzie Clan Christmas Page 27