Lady Bess

“Ye object? But to what, m’lass? Going with me?” His eyes twinkled at her, and she knew she would in that moment go almost anywhere with him.

She felt the blush in her cheeks. “No, no, of course not, but we have not established that I am a zany. Calling me that doesn’t make me one.”

“Ah, but then, t’was yer own da who said it was so. I canna argue with that, now can I?”

Bess’s father laughed and waved them off. “Bess love, a zany you are, but a delightful one.”

She pulled a face at her father and allowed Dunkirk to lead her out of the library and down the dimly lit hall to a sitting room whose walls were covered with paintings of men and women Bess assumed to be his lordship’s ancestors.

“Aye then, here she is, Mary Margaret Searington. M’grandmother on m’mum’s side. I was lucky enough to have her for the first ten years of m’life, and every moment we spent together was filled with joy.”

“She cannot be the zany you want me to meet?” Bess laughed.

He grinned broadly. “Well, and she was, and that was part of what I loved about her. One never knew what Mary Margaret would be up to, and she was up to every rig in town.” He gave her a speculative glance. “There is something in the way ye laugh, in the way yer very green eyes gleam with pleasure when ye find something amusing, that reminds me of her.”

How horrible, she thought immediately. I remind him of his grandmother. Nothing very romantic in that. It was almost depressing. She said amiably though, “That seems a very odd thing to tell a woman. I think you are trifling with me.”

He put a hand to his heart. “Certes, but I doona know how ye can think such a thing. ’Tis the truth, believe me, lass …”

“Oh, do stop. I don’t know which is worse, trifling with me or comparing me to your grandmother!”

He evidently saw the humor in this, for he barked a laugh. Then he chucked her under the chin and said, “I have not told ye the story yet, so reserve yer judgment till then.”

“Story? What story? I love stories,” Bess said, giving him an arched look.

“She had many, a list of them, long and outrageous,” he started to say but frowned as she hugged herself, realizing she was cold. “Och, lass, ye are cold? Let me take ye back to the library and the warm fire.”

Bess shook her head. “No, no, tell me the story, for I see you have one in mind that looms above the rest.”

* * *

Lady Bess was more than he had bargained for when he set out to just have a bit of entertainment. He meant only to play a bit with the bonny lass. However, he knew he was beginning to like her far too much and that he was too soon going to have to extricate himself.

She was a woman of sense and heart, and it showed through in everything she said and did. In spite of her youth, he saw in her a sensual woman, and she seemed to glow. In fact, she was almost too much, certainly too much for his libido to ignore, he thought as he looked at her in that moment.

And yet, at other times it seemed a child looked back at him out of those green eyes, an innocent, full of mischief. Och, but he liked her.

She was obviously shivering from the cold in the sitting room, which had not had its fire lit by the servants, as this room was rarely used. He frowned and said, “I tell ye what then—have a good look at m’Mary Margaret, and we’ll duck into the study, just across here …” He took her hand and led her out of the cold, dampish room and across the hall. He opened the door to his left, displayed a cozy room with a fire still blazing in the grate, and smiled at her. “M’people always keep this room warm and ready for me, as I am often found here.”

“Oh, how lovely,” she said as she stepped inside and looked around. “This room looks like a man’s room, cozy and masculine,” she said as she moved inside and swept her hand over a large leather chair.

He left the door wide open, to ensure the proprieties were followed, and took her hand again. He wanted to touch her all the time. What was wrong with him? He usually had more control. He led her to the fire and there took up her other hand as well. He rubbed them between his own as he smiled at her and answered her, “Aye, I like to come here to read or look over the estate paperwork.” He held her hands still but had stopped rubbing to arch a look at her. “There … better?”

“Oh yes, much,” she said and withdrew her hands. He saw the hot pink make two attractive circles on her cheeks and smiled to himself. He had never trifled with a virgin. He had never wanted to do such a thing, but this one, this fine bonny lass, made him want to break that rule.

“The story!” she immediately demanded.

Her eyes of green pools twinkled at him, and he felt his entire being lean in closer as he answered, “In good time …” Would it hurt to steal a kiss? Just a kiss, one kiss?

She clapped her hands together. “Now, if you please.”

He let the burning need to taste her go as he chuckled and shook his head. “Do ye always get yer own way?”

Her happy expression vanished and was replaced with one of dismay. “Oh, my lord. I am sorry, I did not mean to plague you, but after all, ’twas you who wanted me to know the story and—”

His laugh cut her short, and he took her shoulders. “Enough! Absurd lass, ye have no plagued me. Right then, Mary Margaret. Her story then. ’Tis the one where she began her career as the Searington matriarch.”

Bess giggled and said, “Well, you make her sound formidable.”