Still, it was up to her to lure her victim to the rocky shore of loss by appealing to his vanity and challenging his manly pride.She smiled at herself in the mirror. "It isn't perfect, but 'twill have to do."
"Och,miss! Ye look as pretty as a princess." Mary opened the door and stood to one side. "Careful going down the stairs; yer pa pried up a board in the third step."
"On the steps? Someone could get injured."
"So he's hopin'."
Sophia frowned. "I'll have Angus fix it. I want MacLean to hate the house, not die in it."
"Men never think,miss. 'Tis a sad fact 'o life."
"Tell me about it," Sophia muttered. "Wish me luck. I've heard a lot about MacLean,none of it good.
I must admit that I never expected to find such beauty here." His gaze raked her again. "It quite takes my breath away."
Sophia quirked a brow. He didn't look breathless. He looked calm and collected-a bit predatory, perhaps, but nothing to suggest that her appearance had been anything more than a pleasant surprise.
As we've practiced it, Angus! Let him in, fetch him a glass of that horrid port we purchased in the village. When you're done, send Mary upstairs right away with a bucket of water. I need to wash."
Angus paused, one large hand on the doorknob. "Now? But MacLean's already here."
She lifted her chin. "I waited for MacLean; now he can wait for me."
Angus grinned, "Very well, miss.
Had I known you were waiting, Miss MacFarlane, I would not have lingered,I assure you."
Flattery was something she knew how to deal with, and it was much better than this odd heat that simmered between them. "What a pretty compliment, Lord MacLean. I don't know what to say."
He bowed. "I merely speak the truth. I daresay you've heard such before."
"And I'm certain you've spoken such before."
Amusement twitched his lips, though he said gravely, "I am sorry if you were left waiting on my arrival. I hope you were not bored."
"Oh,I managed to keep busy."
"I'm certain you did," he replied, almost under his breath.
Then you must also spend the night. We are miles from an inn, and I can promise you that the sheets are fresh and clean." And the beds are lumpier than those at any posting house.
Karen HawkinsHe moved to the faded red chair she'd indicated. As he lowered himself into it, there was a loud crack. One of the wooden legs snapped and broke, just as Sophia and Angus had planned when they'd sawed it half-through.
A normal man would have been tossed to the floor, but with a little twist, MacLean shifted his weight forward and managed to remain upright, turning to regard the chair as it collapsed.
Sophia swept to her feet. "Goodness! How horrid!" She narrowed her gaze accusingly at the chair. There was nothing like a little humiliation to set a man against a location, and it was a pity MacLean hadn't been thrown to the floor as she'd planned.
MacLean bent and picked up a piece of the broken chair, his expression unfathomable. "Horrid, indead."
Her desire to smile fled. Did he suspect something? Could he see where Angus had cut the chair let partway through?
MacLean hefted the leg in his hand, his mouth thinned.
Sophia cleared her throat. "I'll call the butler to remove that."
His gaze locked with hers.The chair leg still in his hand,he walked toward her.
Sophia licked her suddenly dry lips. She didn't know this man, not really. What was he going to do?
She gripped the arms of her chair. Should she run for help? Surely not. Nothing she'd heard had indicated MacLean was a man of violence. Of course, everything she knew of him was mere heresay-
He stopped before her and stook looking down into her face with the faintest of smiles. He didn't look angry; he looked knowing. As if he understood exactly what she'd done and why.
A fear of another kind gripped her. Surely, he didn't. There was no way he could-
MacLean leaned forward. Sophia's heart jumped, her skin warming oddly when his arm brushed her shoulder as he leaned past her...and tossed the chair leg onto the unlit fireplace.
I'm sorry your chair collapsed, but the furnishings are in as poor repair as the roof."
He retrieved his abandoned glass of sherry.
"I assume the rook leaks."
"Only when it rains."
His eyes warmed with laughter as he watched her over the rim of his glass. "I'm surprised you countenance this place."
"I'm here for my father. Once he returns and you take the house, I will be on my way."
"May I ask where?"
"Italy,perhaps. Or France." She shrugged. "I haven't yet decided."
"I love Italy." His voice deepened the faintest bit. "I imagine Italy would love you,too.
Lord MacLean, pray have a seat. That chair is safe." And half the size of a regular seat. She dared him to be comfortable in it.
He eyed the chair and shook his head. "I believe I'll stand."
"As you wish." She smoothed her skirts, the movement of her slender hands drawing Dougal's gaze. She had the most kissable mouth and the most intriguing-and challenging-blue eues he'd ever seen.
I believe I will sit,but not on this chair. The settee is the most welcoming piece in the room,especially with you sitting on it."
"Yes,but-"
He sat,his hip brushing hers.
She scrambled to move to one side, but he'd deliberately sat on the edge of her skirt.
Her gaze narrowed, and she said stiffly, "I beg your pardon,but you are sitting on my skirt."
Dougal smiled and leaned back, resting his arms along the back of the settee so that she was closed in by him. He found himself charmed by the thought.
"Lord MacLean, I have asked you kindly to remove yourself from my skirt. Please do so, or I will be forced to take more drastic measures."
"Such as?"
"Calling for Angus," she said flatly. "In case you didn't notice, my butler is larger than the average servant. He could easily pick you up and break you in two."
Dougal quirked a brow. "While that behemoth you call a butler could easily pick me up, he'd have to get close to me first."
She smiled smugly, setting Dougal's pride on edge. "I wouldn't try him; he's faster than he looks." She cast a glancedown at Dougal's boot. "Plus, you'd have to race through the barnyard, which could prove fatal to your shine."
Damn this woman! She taunted with every phrase, teased with every look. He shifted so that his hip was even more firmly pressed to hers.
Sophia had been hard pressed not to laugh when MacLean had tripped over one of the floorboards she and Angus had pried loose. Better yet, MacLean had ripped his lace-edged sleeve on a broken nail in the doorframe of his bedchamber. She knew because she'd heard his loud curse from the hallway.
Sophia had expected him to roar at the servants and demand things be repaired, but all he did was ask Angus for a hammer to protect himself from the loose boards and stray nails that seemed to plague MacFarlane House.
To Sophia's delight, Angus had gloomily replied that there weren't enough hammers in the whole of Scotland to do that.
Since Angus had left MacLean in his bedchamber, they hadn't heard a word from him. Perhaps the man was sleeping, although how could anyone sleep in such a damp room and with such a lumpy mattress and smoky chimney?
More likely, he was awake and seething at being forced to endure such horrid conditions. She wished she had been there to witness his reaction to the threadbare furniture with broken springs and flat cushions, the inadequate bed coverings for the chilly chamber (it faced north, where the wind was fiercest), a window that was nailed slightly open, and more.
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