Ainsley made to dress for dinner. At first she grabbed a beautiful gown made of lace and silk but she realized she’d be overdressed for the occasion. Which was annoying, really. Because yesterday she likely wouldn’t have cared.

But in all honesty, it did seem silly to overdress tonight. Lord Rotheport was not all that interesting, after all, and the other one, well, she’d have to remember his name before she declared her intent.

Instead, she chose a lovely pale green gown made from a fine silk. It was still beautiful but far less adorned than the other dress had been.

She chose a simple style for her hair too, though she quite liked it. It was loosely tied at the nape so that it was still free to trail down over her shoulder and come loose at the face. It was soft and though it hadn’t taken hours, she felt rather pretty.

Making her way downstairs, she could hear most everyone already assembled in the salon as she approached the double doors. Out of habit, she found herself waiting until there was a lull in the conversation before she entered.

Everyone turned to look at her, and triumph made her chest swell. Most held indulgent if not complimentary smiles. With the exception of Lord Rotheport. His gaze had returned to one of smug judgment. The kind that made her bristle with irritation. All her joy at her grand entrance lost.

“You look lovely,” Agnes beamed at her, coming to take her hand. “I was just telling Lord Blackwood that we’ve only known each other a year. Can you believe that?”

Lord Blackwood. Ainsley attempted to commit the name to memory, her eyes moving to the man himself. He wore a kind smile, the kind that set her at ease when his friend’s gaze was so completely different. Lord Rotheport’s smirk made her insides quake with a hectic sort of irritation. “It’s nearly impossible to fathom. You’re like a sister to me.” She meant it. Truly, Agnes marrying Keiran and staying in Scotland was more wonderful than Ainsley could have imagined. Not only were they the same age, they even looked like one another. They could pass as sisters.

Lord Blackwood stepped over to them, giving a gracious bow. “Good evening,”

“Good evening.” She returned a curtsey.

“Now that everyone has arrived, shall we make our way to dinner?” Ewan gestured toward the door and Ainsley gave a start.

“Did I keep you waiting?” A blush stained her cheeks. While she had paused for a moment outside the door, she hadn’t deliberately been late.

“Yes,” Lord Rotheport’s low unmistakable growl silenced everyone for a moment before Clarissa stepped forward.

“Not at all,” she said as she looked at Rotheport, her mouth turning down. “You were with Ava while the rest of us got ready. It was to be expected. And we’ll delay dinner just a touch longer to allow Ainsley time to settle in.”

“Don’t mind Lord Rotheport,” Ainsley also gave him a glare. “He seems to be under the mistaken impression I need his guidance.”

Then she turned pointedly to his friend. “Lord Blackwood,” she drew it out slightly, both to make a point that she was now ignoring the other man and to commit the name to memory. “Tell us how an earl finds himself a sailor.” She linked her arm through his as they made their way to an empty settee and he politely held her hand as she sat then he took the seat next to her. It was delightfully civilized. Though she attempted not to notice, she was aware that Lord Rotheport followed.

Blackwood laughed low and deep. It was a pleasant sound, like the man himself. She forced her thoughts back to him, attempting to once again ignore Rotheport. “I am not truly a sailor and I intend to go home soon. I simply needed time after the war to find myself again before returning to my former life. My lands and holdings remain well tended in my absence.”

Ainsley nodded sympathetically as she glanced at Keiran and Ewan. They’d both needed time to acclimate back to normal life. She’d seen it firsthand. “I am glad to hear your property has done well enough to afford ye some time.”

She heard Lord Rotheport mutter. It was under his breath, but loud enough to be heard by her and Lord Blackwood. “I’m sure you’re very glad his property has done well.”

She was tempted to call him an arse in front of the entire assembly but she chose to ignore him instead. Turning so she better faced Blackwood and couldn’t see Rotheport, she gave him her best smile. “It’s a luxury not everyone has. I know Ewan could have used more time, but his duties here called him back far too soon. I’m glad fer ye, is all I’m trying to say.”

His eyes were fixed on Rotheport and Ainsley was pleased to note, full of disapproval. But he finally turned back to her. “Thank ye fer yer kind words.”

“Now are there any adventures you can share with me?” She didn’t have to pretend with this smile, she truly wanted to know.

“You wish for me to tell you of our travels?” His return smile was warm, friendly. She liked it immensely.

“I had hoped this trip was my grand adventure. It’s the first time I’ve traveled without my father. But alas, we’ve spent most of our time closed up in the house.”

“A peacock does need an audience,” Rotheport started again. “Have you ever seen a peacock, Lady Ainsley?”

“James,” Blackwood bit out sharply. “That is enough.”

James, she noted. The name suited him perfectly. It was as arrogant as its owner.

“They are beautiful birds with large plums of long feathers that open and display. Strutting around, begging for other’s notice.”

Ainsley’s temper flared. Her sister, Fiona, was the fieriest of the McDougals but Ainsley was no saint and he’d gone too far. She stood then and, in the middle of the salon, shoved him, her hands pushing against his chest.

She clearly caught him off guard because she wouldn’t normally move a man his size but he stumbled back a few steps. “I am the peacock? Strutting around?” Her voice was growing louder with each word. “You, with your long hair and your cocksure swagger, are calling me a peacock? Do you know what I think? I think you can’t stand that I am not paying attention to you.” She took a step closer then, her fist balling at her sides. “Why else would you follow me around like a little schoolboy, insulting me until I pay attention to you?”

“That is—” he started.

She didn’t allow him to finish. “Let me make this clear. I would never be interested in the likes of you. So take your barbs and opinions, formed in the span of an afternoon, I might add, and stuff them up your arse.”

She had moved closer with each word until she was nearly pressed up against him, her chest heaving with anger. Her face tilted up to his, her breath coming out in short gasps.

He looked down at her, not blinking, just staring. His expression was tight and his eyes grew more intense by the second so that their caramel color near singed her with heat. Then, without a word, he turned and walked to the door.

She blinked twice. Who did he think he was? She turned back to Blackwood for a moment, her mouth open though no words came out.

“Good fer ye, lass,” he gave her a wink. “He’s not normally like this. I don’t ken what’s gotten into him.”

That didn’t make her feel any better, rather worse. And, with a quick glance at Ewan, knowing he would disapprove, she darted for the door to follow James Rotheport.

“Ainsley McDougal,” her mother called after her, but Ainsley ignored it.

Dashing down the hall, and lifting her skirts as she went, she made to catch up with the infuriatingly handsome man who just insulted her multiple times. It wasn’t enough that she’d told him what she’d thought of him. She wanted an explanation for his behavior. Truth be told, she wanted an apology.

For a moment, she’d worried she’d gone the wrong way. She hadn’t seen him as he’d left the salon, merely assumed he’d headed for the main section of the house. As the she reached the entryway, she saw him making his way to the front door.

Picking up speed, she followed him out into the moonlight. At the sound of the door closing behind her, he turned. Their eyes met and for a split second, she didn’t move, couldn’t breathe, his look pinned her to the spot where she stood. The heat, the hectic feelings he aroused redoubled inside her, threatening to light a blaze. It suddenly occurred to her it wasn’t just irritation she felt around him but a need. But then he opened his infernal mouth again. “Go back inside where you belong.”

“I will not.” That got her feet moving. “You owe me an explanation.” She picked up her dress again as she chased after him.

But he turned and kept walking, quickening his own pace and the distance between them grew.

“Lord Rotheport,” she called, but he ignored her. He kept walking, his path illuminated by the moon as he moved further away. This man would drive her mad. “James,” she tried again.

He stopped and, quicker than a snake, turned and started toward her, eating the ground between them. Her heart beat wildly in her chest at the sight of him striding toward her so.

* * *

His name on her lips sent a shudder through his body, the likes of which he’d never experienced in his twenty-nine years of living. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. One other time, he’d felt the earth shift under his feet the way it just had. But the reason had been so completely different, it was hard to compare the two.

It was the day his father had died. He’d only been nine years old but he’d felt the shudderings of change.

He swallowed hard as he approached her. How could this even be close to the same? He didn’t understand at all. But as he came nearer, her eyes searched his face as her chest heaved. That same feeling he’d just run from in the salon returned even stronger. The desire to sweep her up in his arms and kiss her senseless. Bloody hell, she was glorious when angry. Far more enticing than when she was delivering artfully perfected smiles.

Her hands still held her bunched-up skirts. She hadn’t let go after chasing him and he could see delicate ankles encased in silk stockings. They made him heat, just as the rest of her was doing.

He was past reason now, and rather than stop a safe distance away, he charged close enough to feel her heat, sweeping her into his arms.

She gave a startled cry, her hands going to his shoulders to steady herself.

“I’m going to kiss you,” he murmured. “If you don’t want me to, best say it now.”

“Kiss me,” was her whispered response. He could hear so much emotion in her voice. Her anger, her passion, and just a touch of fear. The urge to tell her she had nothing to be afraid of stuck in his throat as his eyes devoured the beautiful planes of her face. He lowered his lips to hers. When he’d almost reached them, he stopped, suspending them in that moment before their first touch.

“Say my name,” he murmured. “Say, kiss me, James.” He didn’t know why he had to hear it again. But he did. Desperately. No one had called him James since he was a child. It was a sweet beautiful torture to hear it now. It was pulling at something deep inside of him.

“What?” She pulled back a little then and he swallowed, wanting to curse. Wanting to beg.

“Kiss me, James. I want to hear my name on your lips again.” He took a jagged breath. “Please.”

“Kiss me, James,” she whispered and the quiet of her voice was even more devastating than the first time she’d said it. He tilted, as though the very earth shook underneath him. Unable to stand another second, he pressed his lips to hers, hard and demanding. She gasped underneath his touch and pulled away a little.

He lifted his head to see her eyes wide, staring at him with a mixture of bewilderment and…desire. “Bloody hell,” he nearly choked on the next words. “Have you never been kissed before?”

She gave the tiniest shake of her head to say that she hadn’t and he near fell to his knees. How could he be getting this so completely wrong? Gently, he set her back on the ground, his arms loosening about her waist. “I didn’t mean to do that,” he grated out. “If I had known you had never—”

“You did mean to do it.” Her hands unthread from around his neck then and slid to his chest to rest there. He wasn’t sure if she’d clutch him close or push him again, but he assumed once she’d decided he’d know. Her scowl told him little as she looked up to him. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. You asked my permission and then demanded I repeat my answer.”

He gave a chuckle that came from deep in his chest. “You’ve got me there.” He leaned his head down to press his forehead to hers. It was somehow important they be close. And that she understand. She’d given him a gift tonight, a connection to his past that wasn’t entirely welcome but somehow necessary. He wished for his kiss to also be a gift. “I only meant, if I’d known it was your first, I would have done it differently. Sweetly and softly, and with the gentleness the occasion deserves.”

She gave a little humph then, and her sweet breath fanned across his face. His arms tightened. “First of all, I hope you’re ready to admit that you have misjudged a great many things about me.”

Like every interaction with her this evening, her caught him completely off guard. Bloody hell, Ainsley grew more delightful with each passing moment. “I admit it and apologize.”

“Good.” She relaxed in his embrace again, and it was divine, the feel of her softness. He wanted to kiss her again, the way he’d described. Slowly, softly until she melted completely. “Then, I don’t mind telling you that while I don’t have any other first kisses with which to compare it to, I thought it to be quite perfect.”

“Will you say my name again? One more time?” It was foolish to ask. It made him do wild things and he was a man who lived freely anyhow.

“James,” she said it softly, with a touch of sweetness that made him ache deep down in the pit of his stomach. Not of desire, though he did desire her. He wasn’t sure how he’d missed that earlier. It made him ache for pieces of life that hadn’t been his since his parents had gone. Because while his father had parted this world, him mother had left him too. The original peacock.

Moving closer, he was a breath away from kissing her again when the front door crashed against its hinges.

“Ainsley McDougal,” Ewan bellowed from the doorway. “Get back in this house before I have to send ye home tae yer father.”

He could see barely see Ewan’s outline in the darkness and he said a silent prayer of thanks that Ewan couldn’t see them either. If he were caught kissing her, he’d be married before he could blink.

She gave the tiniest giggle before she backed away, leaving the circle of his arms, leaving him cold. “I had better go.” And then she turned and began walking.

He could see the outline of her figure in the moonlight, the tiny waist, the flare of her hips. He’d follow. There was no letting her out of his sight now.