The Laird’s Christmas Kiss (The Lairds Most Likely 2)

The tension flowed out of Diarmid as if it had never existed, while Brody remained sickly aware that the fellow hadn’t answered the question about his interest in Elspeth. He was also aware that beneath the jealousy he had no right to feel, he was hurt that Diarmid harbored such a low opinion of him. He’d always liked and respected the other man, but it seemed the esteem wasn’t mutual.

“Just a wee philosophical disagreement,” Diarmid said, and Brody envied how fast his friend regained his customary composure. He still felt ready to explode like gunpowder at the first provocation.

“Take it outside.”

“It’s bloody snowing,” Brody protested.

“I know.” Evil dripped from Fergus’s smile. “It might cool ye both off.”

Marina came up and slid her arm through Fergus’s. Brody wondered if he was right to suspect that she and Elspeth had been talking about him. He hoped so. “Tesoro, shall we have some dancing? Charles has offered to play, to make equal numbers of men and women.”

Fergus smiled down at his wife, a headstrong, independent woman who was the complete opposite of every other lassie he’d ever chased in his thirty-odd years. The warmth in his gray eyes made Brody’s notoriety seem cheaper than ever. “As long as I get to dance with ye, mo chridhe, I thoroughly approve.”

“Good. We might have a couple of waltzes and quadrilles, and perhaps a reel or two.”

She clapped her hands and soon had everyone lined up facing each other. Charles launched into a jaunty tune, and the dancing began. Brody ended up opposite Charity. He didn’t mind. One of the pleasures of these country dances was that a man got to partner all the ladies in turn. Elspeth was three couples down, with Hamish. If she’d been dancing with that condescending bastard Diarmid, Brody might have been less sanguine.

It still seemed to take forever for the ladies to work down the line, but at last he reached out to catch Elspeth’s hand as they and the next couple formed a star and circled. When his large hand closed over hers, her coffee-dark eyes flashed in his direction. Perhaps she reacted to the contact like he did. Her touch set his heart crashing like a great drum and shot sizzling heat up his arm.

Did she feel the same attraction? The flare of awareness had been too brief for him to be sure it even existed. Those sumptuous eyelashes fluttered down, and she retreated into mystery once more.

Because of the odd number of pairs, he and Elspeth stood out for a turn, while the others continued with the dance. He kept hold of her hand, although there was no strict requirement that he should. Her fingers fluttered in his, but she didn’t pull away.

“I believe we’re meant to make conversation while we wait,” he prompted with gentle mockery.

Another flicker of those remarkable eyes in his direction. Every time she focused on him, he had the uncomfortable sensation that she saw past his polished outer self to his soul. Did she, like Diarmid, consider him a worthless fribble? Or did she find some redeeming qualities? He fervently hoped she did.

“Where are you going when you leave Achnasheen?” she asked.

Wherever you are.

But he couldn’t say that. Not yet, anyway. “Back to Invermackie. I’m overdue to visit.”

When she licked those full lips, another bolt of heat jolted him. “Not…not Edinburgh?”

He shook his head and avoided Diarmid’s glare as the other man swung Hamish’s mother around in the dance. “I’m a wee bit weary of Edinburgh.”

Elspeth was watching him again with that serious expression. He was unused to girls who didn’t try to flirt with him. He wasn’t quite sure how he should act.

“Perhaps London might offer better entertainment.”

“I doubt it.” His lips tightened. “It’s all more of the same, isn’t it?”

She shook her head. “I wouldn’t know. You must be so very jaded. Edinburgh and London sound exciting to me. I lead a quiet life with my mother and Hamish.”

The hint of wistfulness in her voice touched him. He squeezed her hand and only just stopped himself kissing her. And wouldn’t that put Diarmid’s kilt in a twist? “I’d love to show ye those places one day, Elspeth.”

She cast him a startled glance, but he was saved from having to explain his remark because it was their turn to rejoin the dancers. As was the way, another partner swept her off. Brody found himself facing Marina, the woman who had sparked his seething discontent.

What a pity he liked her so much.

As he swung her around in the center of the square then promenaded down the line, she smiled. “You like her.”

Despite his years of debauchery in Edinburgh’s salons, Brody found himself blushing like a schoolboy. Of course he bloody liked Elspeth. Still, a man had his pride to keep up.

“Who?” he said with a disingenuousness that failed to convince his cousin’s wife. It didn’t even convince him.

“The cook’s cat, of course,” Marina said with asperity. “Who do you think I mean? I begin to think that I’ve been wrong to underestimate your good taste.”