Kissing the Lass (Scot to the Heart #2)

by Charles, Jane

  A chill ran down Gideon’s spine, but it wasn’t like he had to worry about the man murdering him in his sleep, just forcing a marriage that neither Gideon nor Arabella may want.

  “I’ll be careful.” Gideon tossed back the whisky and stood. “And I appreciate your concern.”

  When the three entered the parlor, Gideon’s eyes strayed directly to Arabella, who sat on the settee beside Mrs. MacGregor, auburn curls falling over her shoulder as she bent over a piece of needlework. An instant later she winced and brought the tip of her finger to her lips.

  Gideon bit back a smile and wandered in her direction.

  Arabella didn’t even glance up, so intent on her task, and he peeked over her shoulder.

  What the blazes was she stitching? Gideon could discern no recognizable shape, but it was certainly colorful, whatever it was.

  “Arabella,” Macgregor nearly barked. In turn, she jumped, and stabbed her finger again. She brought the offended digit to her lips and sucked on its tip.

  Gideon bit back a groan and willed himself not to react, in any manner, as if that were even possible. Those perfect lips, wrapped around the finger…He shut those thoughts down immediately.

  Arabella turned to her uncle, only to glance up at Gideon.

  Unbidden, a smile came to her lips, then she looked around him. “Yes, Uncle Aiden.”

  “Why don’t ye take Lord Gideon for a stroll in the gardens? It’s a pleasant night.”

  Crimson spread from the center of each cheek until it engulfed her face. “Of course.” She set the stitching aside and stood. Unfortunately, the material came with her as it was somehow attached to her skirt. At that, Miss Arabella’s face grew even redder. “A moment please.” She whispered before sitting back down and pulling at the thread until she was free. Then she set the needlework aside once again.

  “I’ll just tuck this away for later.” Mrs. MacGregor winked at Arabella.

  This entire family, save Bentley and John, were playing matchmaker and Gideon couldn’t decide if this was worse than being in London with his sister or not. At least he could escape there. Here, Gideon was surrounded by MacGregors and Trents and most of them wanted him to make a match with Arabella. The only refuge he might find when in need of escape would be the cottage.

  He may have kissed her yesterday, but he’d also just met the family. They knew nothing about him, which made Gideon wonder at their desperation to see her married off.

  Gideon offered his arm and then escorted Arabella into the moonlight. So far, she’d said nothing and she focused more on the ground with each step she took, as if she’d turned into a demure miss. This was not the same Arabella he’d met yesterday or spent the day hunting with.

  Had she been coached on how to behave? If so, why was she going along? She told her uncle she did not want a match with any Englishman.

  Unfortunately, he could only guess what she was thinking, and instead of asking, Gideon glanced up at the sky, amazed at the wonder of the vast night and twinkling stars. This is what he missed about being at Trent Manor. There however, he also had the crashing of the waves in the distance and he could get lost in the wonderful power of nature.

  “Are you lookin’ forward to golfin’?” she finally asked, returning to an earlier conversation at the dinner table.

  “I suppose, but I think it would be more enjoyable with you.”

  Again she smiled and demurred. “They’ll be better teachers than I.”

  “So, you were just having fun when I came across ye this morning,” Gideon teased.

  Her eyes widened. “Nay. I take golfin’ verra seriously, but Uncle Aiden insists on dresses.”

  “You weren’t in a dress this morning,” he reminded her with a wink. The sight of her perfectly rounded bum encased in the trousers as she bent was forever branded in his memory.

  “Nay, but if I thought anyone would have been around, I woulda been in a skirt.” An instant later she frowned. “Nay, I wouldna been golfin’ because it’s impossible in a skirt, somethin’ my uncle and brothers doona understand as they’ve never had to wear one.”

  “I suppose a kilt isn’t as confining as a skirt as it doesn’t fall to the ground.”

  “The men in my family doona wear kilts. We all have plaid, but rarely is it donned,” she answered.

  “Why is that?” Gideon found himself asking out of curiosity.

  Arabella blinked up at him as if trying to think of a reason. Perhaps she didn’t know. “They’ve complained that it gets in the way when they are working in the fields. They prefer trousers or breeches, especially when the wind is high.”

  Gideon couldn’t help himself and broke into laughter. “Perhaps once I do learn to golf I’ll understand. But, like the males in your family, I’ve never been in a skirt so I cannot understand what difficulties you might run into.”

  “It’s not just golfin’, I assure ye,” she laughed in return. “Apparently they get in the way of needlework.”

  Even though she was making fun of herself, Gideon could still see the blush spread across her cheeks beneath the moonlight.

  In all honesty, he hadn’t been around any woman when she was doing needlework, but he assumed that not many stitched their projects to their own clothing in the process.

  “Ever since Rose arrived, Uncle Aiden has been after us to learn a more genteel pastime,” she admitted. “I’m afraid I’ve not been successful.”

  “Is it necessary that you are successful?” Oh, how he wished his sisters had been around more so he could understand better. Though, he did recall his mother stitching, but only on rare occasions. Gideon was almost certain that it was something she did out of boredom.

  “According to Uncle Aiden.” She shrugged.

  “I’m a firm believer that nobody should be anything other than who they truly are.” And he liked Arabella very much. The falcon hunting, whisky sipping, golfing Arabella.

  Gideon bit back a smile. He even liked the sewing her stitching to her skirt Arabella because it was so endearing, honest and imperfect. It was the imperfection in anything that made a person the most interesting. Perhaps that was one of the things that irritated him about Society—everyone was striving for perfection.

  “It is easier for a gentleman.”

  In that she was correct. Men could do or be anything they wanted, especially if they had no care for the opinion of Society. Ladies, misses, or any woman on the other hand, had the single purpose of catching a husband as any other options were extremely limited. In fact, there were only a few respectable professions that came to mind: teaching or being a governess, if one did not marry and did not wish to remain under the care of an older, male family member.

  Gideon glanced back and realized they were far enough away from the manor so that they couldn’t be seen or heard. Turning toward Arabella, he pulled her into his arms. “Don’t change yourself because your uncle thinks you should.”

  “He fears no man will have me.”

  Once again Arabella’s head dropped.

  Gideon placed a finger beneath her chin and gently pressed so that she was looking at him again. “If no man can see your worth, or appreciate the miss I’m coming to know, then they are not worthy of your time.”

  Just as the grateful smile began to form on her lips, he lowered his mouth to hers.

  Chapter 12

  Heavenly! That is what Lord Gideon’s kiss was. Lips that were warm and firm, molding against hers, teasing and taking, and she allowed his plunder. Tentatively Arabella followed his lead, as she’d attempted to do in the mews. As before, her world tilted as if she were no longer on solid ground, and her body heated as if she’d moved too close to the fire. A shiver snaked down her spine, even as her body warmed.

  Aye, perhaps she was becoming ill.

  Lord Gideon pulled back and looked down at her. She wished she could see his face better, but any expression was shadowed by the darkness of the night.

  “I shouldn’t have kiss you again,” he
admitted.

  Disappointment shot through Arabella. Was it so bad?

  “But I could not help myself.”

  Nor could she push him away. It never occurred to her to do so.

  “I’m just glad one of your brother’s didn’t come across us.”

  His lips tilted and Arabella caught the glimpse of a smile. Of course he wouldn’t wish to get caught. Her family had over-reacted last time and she couldn’t imagine what they’d do if they were caught a second time.

  “We should return before I’m tempted to kiss you again.”

  Arabella bit her lip to keep from smiling. It couldn’t have been so bad if he wished to do it again, but she’d no wish to be caught kissing. “Aye, we should return.”

  As soon as they joined the others in the parlor, Lord Gideon excused himself to retire for the evening. It was a shame he was forced to make his way to the cottage when there were several perfectly accommodating rooms within the manor.

  Arabella glanced at her uncle once their guest had left. Would she ever understand the workings of his mind? Did she even want to?

  A moment later Niel came in from the terrace. Where had he been? When she and Lord Gideon stepped outside, Niel had been accepting a cup of tea. Had he followed them? Spied on them?

  Nay, if he had, he would have caught Lord Gideon kissing her again. Though, of all her brothers, Niel would be the one who would say nothing. Or, he wouldn’t have the first time, not necessarily a second. With those thoughts, and knowing that Niel was the most reasonable in her family, Arabella let go of the fear that he’d spied on them. It was merely a coincidence that he’d been outside as well.

  “Would you like your needlework back?” Rose asked, holding it out to Arabella.

  She stared at the unrecognizable stitches, fresh blood stains against the white material and shook her head. “I’ll attempt it again tomorrow.” As the men would be gone golfing, she’d have plenty of time to learn how to stitch properly.

  Gideon settled at the table beneath the window and looked out at the darkness before he moved the lamp to illuminate the space.

  Miss Arabella was a distraction. A wonderful interlude in his uninspired existence. But, could she be more?

  Gideon shook his head. He shouldn’t even be having such thoughts of a miss he’d known for such a short time, but how could he not. It was as if she’d breathed life into him the moment they had kissed.

  Delightful, stunning, charming, sweet…perfection.

  Unlike any miss he’d ever met and Gideon had no desire to leave Anagburn before it was time.

  But, to what purpose? Even if they could be a match, she wouldn’t leave Scotland. His home was in Cornwall.

  This time he frowned. His family home was in Cornwall, not a place of his own. That could be anywhere. Even here.

  Except, that didn’t solve the problem of what he was to do with himself. He’d attempted two professions and failed at both. Then he wrote, because the stories had always been inside of him. But of late, he’d not even been able to do that. In fact, it had been weeks since he’d been inspired to write and feared that part of his life was over. Only emptiness filled a once vivid imagination.

  It also didn’t help that The Gentleman’s Journal no longer wished to publish the work of G. T. Oliver because it was too feminine and romantic and the prose better suited for a ladies’ magazine. The rejection had made Gideon take a step back and really look at his work. Did he wish to pursue a ladies’ magazine? Could he just write novels and no longer write serials?

  However, being at Anagburn had begun to stir his imagination. Settings and scenes had come today while he walked silently with Arabella and watched the falcon fly.

  Perhaps being here had somehow freed whatever had clogged his creativity. As he picked up his pencil, visions of a gothic castle, similar to the ones he’d passed on his travels north, formed in his mind, a dark background with a sinister lord, and a damsel, unlike any woman he’d ever read, with long, auburn tresses came to his mind. Her pet, a golden hawk, trained to hunt and kill, and how the sinister lord will meet his end.

  This wasn’t the only story that formed, but others as well. With each scratch of the pencil against the parchment, it was as if his brain opened to new ideas and thoughts. He wrote out notes for fear of forgetting, and thus worked long into the night, only falling into bed because his eyes were too tired. This only convinced Gideon further that as soon as he returned to Cornwall, he’d find the perfect location for his bachelor home along the coast.

  That is, if he returned to Cornwall at all. It was too soon to consider remaining here beyond a fortnight, but he’d finally come to accept what he truly needed. The question remained, what would become of him and Miss Arabella.

  The sun had barely crested the horizon before Gideon was once again awake, and refreshed, even though he’d gotten little sleep.

  After searching the cupboards, he found nothing in which he could partake so while the day was not yet bright, he set off for the manor. A footman allowed him entrance and Gideon made his way to the breakfast room, which was quite empty of food or people. He shouldn’t be surprised as it was quite early. Instead of waiting, Gideon made his way to the kitchens for a simple request.

  “How migh’ we help ye, Lord Gideon?” a startled maid asked.

  “I was wondering if you had any tea.”

  “We’ll have breakfast out righ’ away,” she assured him anxiously, casting a glance at an older woman standing by the fire. “The household is usually not awake at this hour.”

  “I don’t mean to bother you,” he assured her. “I simply wish for some tea, if any is to be had, and will return to the cottage. I’m not ready to break my fast.”

  She visibly relaxed, as did the servant kneading bread, and the older woman pulled a kettle from the hook over the fire.

  One cup wouldn’t be enough as Gideon intended to spend his morning writing. “Would it be possible to take a spare kettle, if you have one, and tea, cup and a pot back to the cottage?”

  Their eyes widened as if he’d asked to cook breakfast himself.

  “We can see that tea is delivered to the cottage, daily if ye wish,” an older woman, who he assumed was the cook, answered.

  “That is not necessary, I assure you.” He smiled. “I rise very early on most occasions and am perfectly capable of brewing my own tea if I have the supplies. After all, there is a small kitchen, and I truly do not mind.”

  The maid bit her lip and looked to the cook.

  “It isna righ’ for ye to be brewin’ yer own tea,” Cook said. “We can take care of it for ye.”

  The servants in Anagburn were no different from the ones in Cornwall or London, with very strict ideas of what a lord could and couldn’t do, as if he were incapable of brewing tea, or even dressing himself on occasion, which he’d found when Sophia hired him a valet in London. Gideon had let the man go, with an apology and a glowing reference. Few things irritated him more than people fussing over him.

  “I assure you, I don’t mind, and actually would prefer to see to my own comfort.” Would he need to travel into Bonnybridge to obtain the tea and items he needed? “Sometimes I rise even before this and Cook, back in home at Trent Manor, finally became used to me making my own pot of tea before she even woke.” He didn’t add that it irritated the woman, as well as the kitchen staff, but they eventually gave in because it was better than someone always waiting in the kitchen in anticipation that he’d rise before the sun.

  There were gasps from a few of the kitchen staff.

  “Consider me an eccentric guest.” He grinned.

  The cook looked to another maid then back at Gideon. “Verra well, but I doona like it,” she finally said. “We’ll see that a fresh pot is delivered shortly, and the fixin’s to make yer own in the future.”

  “Thank you.” Gideon nodded his head. “It is very much appreciated.”

  With that, he left and returned to the cottage, anxious to return to work
on his manuscript and within half an hour, everything he’d ask for was delivered to his door.

  The maid and the footman stepped inside and as the footman went to the small kitchen space to place the kettle, tea, cups, pots, sugar and spoons, the maid crossed the floor to make his bed, then requested any clothing that may need laundered.

  “That really isn’t necessary,” Gideon said.

  “We are to come by once a day to straighten, clean and replace dishes,” she answered. “Is there anythin’ else ye be needin’?”

  “Perhaps another lamp.” If was going to write long into the night, the oil would soon be gone. “Or two.”

  “Verra well,” she bobbed another curtsey.

  Gideon shook his head and then poured himself a cup of tea and settled at the table after the two servants left.

  The two definitely thought him odd, but Gideon rarely cared what others thought of him. However, he did care if Miss Arabella considered him a milksop.

  The thought caused him to frown. His work was too feminine for a gentleman’s magazine and what had she said? He was too kind and had a gentle soul?”

  Gideon nearly growled.

  There wasn’t a man of his acquaintance, Gideon included, who wished to be viewed as such. But, how did he convince Miss Arabella to view him as, well, a man.

  If there were danger, he’d be able to prove to her that he was a man, masculine and well able to protect her. But, why did he feel that if there were danger, she’d be under the impression that she’d need to protect him?

  He’d prove to her, somehow, that he wasn’t a weak man. Perhaps if he’d have stood up to her uncle, she’d believe he possessed a backbone. That first day in the library, Gideon had held his tongue out of self-preservation. No, respect, and didn’t want to make a bad situation worse. Plus, her cousin had blackened his eye, and Gideon hadn’t struck him back.

  Of course Arabella thought he’d need to be protected, and somehow, some way, he’d prove to her that it was the other way around.

  But, as nothing could be done about her opinion of him at the moment, Gideon turned his thoughts to the manuscript he had begun last night, with thoughts of making certain that the hero was well able to protect the damsel, even if she thought to protect herself.