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.”

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.”

He frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Marina arched her eyebrows. “You know exactly what I mean.”

To his regret, he did. Elspeth was as far removed from his usual inamoratas as gold from iron pyrites. “She likes Diarmid,” he said gloomily.

Marina scanned down the line to where Diarmid swung Elspeth. “Si, she does. Cielo, he’s such a handsome devil.”

Ladies had a weakness for the dark, brooding type. It was a pose Brody, too, had adopted with notable success.

The dance’s energetic movements put pink in Elspeth’s cheeks. She didn’t look at all the shy wee wren he’d always thought her. She laughed at something that slimy bugger Diarmid said. She never bloody laughed at anything Brody said to her.

Jealousy stabbed him, more powerful because it was an unfamiliar emotion. “You’re not making me feel any better,” he said sourly.

He mightn’t make Elspeth laugh, but no question, he amused Marina. He wished that counted. “Cheer up. Perhaps she’ll start to notice your good qualities.”

“I’m not sure I have any,” he said before he could stop himself.

Brilliant black eyes shot him a critical glance. “Per pietà, you’ll have to dig some up, if you want to woo that lovely girl. Your wicked Edinburgh ways aren’t going to win you any battles in this fight.”

What was the point of arguing? She was right. As they took their place at the head of the line, he shot her a straight look. “What were ye and Elspeth talking about on the sofa?”

“When you couldn’t take your eyes off her?”

He ignored that. “Were ye talking about me?”

Marina rolled her eyes. “No, we weren’t. We were talking about dresses.”

“Oh,” he said, unable to hide his disappointment.

“Chin up, Brody. If you’ve grown up enough to notice Elspeth, you’ve grown up enough to work out how to catch her.”

Before he could object to a remark which annoyed him on so many levels he didn’t know where to start, they changed partners again, and he was back facing Charity.