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

Last night, something in her had changed. She’d relinquished futile childhood dreams and decided to grow up. Perhaps part of growing up meant making the best of her meager attractions.

“I’ve upset you.” Marina’s lips flattened in distress. “I’m sorry.”

Startled, Elspeth looked at this striking woman who was so frank—and so helpful. “Not at all. It’s embarrassing how right you are. I appreciate that you’re brave enough to tell me.”

Marina’s eyes brightened. “Brava, ragazza. If you’re serious about wanting to change your style, come upstairs with me tomorrow after breakfast, and we’ll see what we can do.”

Excitement filled Elspeth. With Marina’s help, perhaps she was on the way to a new version of herself. She’d long been unhappy with the original edition. “I’d love that. Thank you.”

Chapter 3

“Why the deuce are ye brooding over here on your own, laddie?” Diarmid asked, jolting Brody out of his weighty reverie. “Has some wench in Edinburgh turned you down? You’re like a damned lost dog this week.”

In truth, he wasn’t quite as moody as he’d been first thing this morning. Or at any time in the last year or so. Standing at the window, he could watch his sparrow girl without making her unduly uncomfortable. She always pokered up when she knew he was looking at her.

How on earth had he missed that Elspeth Douglas was so bonny? She dressed like a frump, and she was reluctant to put herself forward, but he was considered a

connoisseur of feminine beauty. He should have noticed her before this.

Nor was she in his usual style. But the sweetness in her expression drew him more powerfully than his previous lovers’ overt attractions ever had. In fact, he was becoming deuced sick of overt attractions. Perhaps it was time he sought something a little more subtle.

“Brody? Good God, man. It’s worse than I thought. You’re lost in your own world.”

“Very amusing.” Without any great interest, he turned to Diarmid. “I haven’t exactly noticed ye being the life of the party either.”

Diarmid shrugged, unoffended. Despite his dark, romantic looks, he was the most even-tempered man Brody knew. They’d been friends for years, since not long after Fergus, Diarmid and Hamish met as boys. But Hamish’s cousin remained in many ways a mystery. “Nobody expects me to dazzle the company. You, however, have a reputation as an unregenerate rascal to uphold.”

Brody bit back a grumpy reply. It was true. He was accounted a man with an eye for the ladies. Did that mean he was nothing more? Not long ago, he might have relished the idea that the world considered him a rakish fellow. Now he wondered if this meant he was too shallow to enjoy the long-term happiness his cousin had found with Marina.

“Oh, stow it, Diarmid. Can’t a laddie spend a wee bit of time in thought, without his friends making fun of him?”

Diarmid’s black brows arched in mockery. “Thought, is it? And here was I mistaken in believing that ye set your sights on Hamish’s sister.”

Damn, he’d hoped his sudden and uncharacteristic interest in Elspeth Douglas had gone unnoticed. That was the thing about Diarmid—you could never guess what the bastard was thinking. And the worst of it was he was always thinking.

“They’re both married,” he said, hoping to deflect attention from his sparrow.

Diarmid’s smile scorned the weak evasion. “Elspeth’s not, and you’ve been eyeing her off all night.”

He shrugged. “At least she’s no’ committed elsewhere.”

“She’s also far too good for a libertine like you.”

Shocked and resentful, far more than he could justify, given his history, he glared at the man he called a friend. “What the devil are ye trying to say?”

Diarmid remained unruffled. “She’s nice, and she doesnae deserve to have her heart broken by a careless philanderer.”

Brody drew himself up to his full height, which didn’t mean much, seeing both he and Diarmid were around six feet two. He narrowed his eyes and spoke in a low, dangerous voice. “Are ye saying you’ve got rights there, Mactavish?”

He couldn’t help remembering that Elspeth hadn’t been overly pleased to see him at breakfast, whereas she’d lit up like a bloody lighthouse when Diarmid appeared.

“Are ye saying you want rights of your own, Girvan?”

“You’re her blasted cousin,” he spat, even as he felt sick at the idea of that lovely girl in Diarmid’s arms, cousin or not. It was a surprise to realize that he didn’t want Elspeth Douglas in anyone’s arms but his.

“Aye, which is why I have to keep her out of the clutches of womanizing scoundrels,” snapped the usually good-natured Diarmid.

“What on earth is going on?” Fergus barked. Brody had been so involved in the spat, he hadn’t noticed that the game of cards had finished and his cousin approached them. “It’s supposed to be the season of good will, yet ye two look ready to kill one another.”