It near broke my heart to treat such a good piece of meat in such a way."
"Aye," Red said with feeling. "I watched ye do it, and it near made me cry,too."
Sophia laughed and hugged her father. "When this is over,Mary will cook you an entire leg of mutton, perfectly roasted and seasoned."
His eyes brightened. "With mint sauce?"
"Aye," Mary said, beaming.
Yes,I was thinking about a nap,then..." He shrugged and glanced away. He didn't have to wait long.
"Oh,dear! The mattress was too lumpy, wasn't it?" Her rich voice lowered with false compassion. "I'm so sorry about that. Red refuses to purchase new mattress ticking when-"
"You misunderstood," Dougal said. "I didn't intend to take a nap, just to rest. However, the bed was so comfortable that I fell asleep anyway."
Sophia opened her mouth,then closed it. She'd spent hours stuffing his feather mattress with straw, wood chips, stones,and sticks. How could he posibly have slept? "How...how fortunate for you.My bed is as hard as a rock."
He leaned forward, so close that his lapel brushed her cheek, the scent of sandalwood engulfing her as he whispered in her ear, "Perhaps you need another opinion...about your bed.
I suppose you heard him yelling as the doctor set his leg."
"I never knew there were so many rude words in the English language. Or French, German, Italian, Latin,or....there was another language I didn't quite recognize."
"Greek.
I daresay he is not happy that his daughter is now unchaperoned. A gentleman would bid his adieu."
"You can't leave!"
The words hung in the air.Sophia hid a wince and said again, in a more measured tone, "I'm sorry. I'm distraught over my father."
MacLean gave her a devastatingly sexy half-smile. "You misunderstood me; I said, a gentleman would bid his adieu." His voice, low and soft, rolled over her senses like liguid silk. "Fortunately for us both, I am not a gentleman."
"No?" She flicked a finger at the lace on his wrist. "You dress like one."
"I dress like a dandy. Or,as my oldest brother, Alexander, often says, like a 'damned dandy.'"
Her lips quirked. "Your brother sounds a bit harsh."
"You have no idea." He smiled. "As I was saying, dressing fashionably does not make me a gentleman."
"Fine.You are not a gentleman, and I am far from a child," she returned with a lofty wave of her hand. "I don't need my father's presence for protection."
"But perhaps I do."
She had to smile. "You don't need protection from me, Lord MacLean. I don't bite-though if I don't get something to eat soon, I may change my mind."
His eyes sparkled with laughter. "By all means, then, let us eat." He led the way to the dining room, standing aside to allow her to enter.
As she brushed past him, a hot sensation told her that his gaze was lingering on her posterior. She glanced back and found that she was correct. "Lord MacLean!"
He reluctantly lifted hia gaze. "Yes?"
"Is something wrong with my gown?"
"No.There's absolutely nothing wrong with your gown. Or what's in it."
She should have been shocked by his impropriety but instead was pleased he'd noticed. "Thank you. I must say..." She allowed her gaze to travel across him. "You fill your clothes well, too.
Do you prefer burned or raw?"
"I'll have the burned portion, thank you."
"Excellent choice. The turnips will complement them perfectly." He winked at her and filled their plates with such amused spirits that Sophia found herself watching him through her lashes.
What was wrong with this man? Surely he wasn't used to such horrid meals? Yet to watch him eat with such enthusiasm, you'd think he was starving.
She watched beneath her lashes as his chair rocked with his weight. MacLean scowled and grabbed the edge of the table. Angus had cut varying lengths from each chair so that some rocked, while others were at a distinct forward slant so that you had to press back to keep from sliding into the floor.
"Is something wrong, Lord MacLean?"
"This chair." He scooted forward and slipped a little. With a scowl, he stood and pushed his chair to one side, selecting another.
"Lord MacLean-"
"Dougal," he said firmly, sitting down in the new chair. This one rocked backward, and he lurched, as if afraid it would topple over completely.
Sophia coughed to cover her amusement. From the dark scowl turned her way, she hadn't succeeded.
"That's it." Dougal shoved back the chair and stood,glancing about the room. "Ah!" He strode forward and picked out a thin book of sermons from a set on a side table. He lifted the back of his chair, placed a book beneath one leg, and sat down. "Much better."
Sophia wished he weren't quite so enterprising. She and Angus ha worked for hours to make every chair a uniquely uncomfortable experience.
Gor," she breathed when she picked up the nearly empty tureen. "Someone done eat the soup!"
"Never!" Angus said, his eyes as wide as saucers.
"All of it," she said, holding the tureen toward Angus.
He peered into it as if expecting to see a hole in the bottom. "Well, I'll be."
"It was excellent," Dougal said.
Angus sent Dougal a look of respect. "Ye must have an iron stomach."
"Indeed," Mary said, a worried look on her face. "I beg yer pardon, me lord, but do ye feel well? There was a bit of pepper in that soup."
Dougal shrugged. "I'm fine. And I must get that recipe to give to my own chef."
"Gor!" Mary blinked at him, unable to look away.
Angus did the same.
Dougal smiled inquiringly at Sophia. "I feel as if I've become an exhibit at the British Museum.
Did you bring money with you, or shall we play for markers?" She flipped the stack of cards to the table with a professional twist of her wrist. "I don't play for less than a guinea a hand."
His lips twitched. "The question is not if I have money. The question is, do you?"
"I don't need funds, as I don't plan on losing," she said, her gaze mocking.
For a moment, he thought he'd heard her incorrectly. Slowly, he said, "I beg your pardon, but are you saying you could beat me at a game of chance?"
A dismissive smile rested on her lips. "Please, Dougal, let's speak frankly," she drawled softly. "Naturally, I expect to win; I was taught by a master."
Dougal was entranced. He'd been challenged to many things before, but no one had so blatantly dismissed his chances of winning. "A giunea a hand?"
"At least."
"I didn't realize I'd need a note from my banker, or I'd have brought one with me."
Her eyes sparkled with pure mischief, which inflamed him more. "If you've no money with you, then perhaps there are other things we can play for."
The words hung in the room, as thick as the smoke that seeped from the fireplace. Like a blinding bolt of light from a storm-black sky, everything fell into place. This was why she and her minions had worked so hard to convince him that the house was worthless. If he thought it of low value, he'd be eager to wager the deed.
Of all the devious plots!
Yet Dougal found himself fighting a grin. He'd been feted and petted, fawned upon and sought out, but until now, no one had gone to such lengths to fleece him.
Dugal couldn't look away from Sophia. He knew his own worth; women had paid attention to him for so long that he took it for granted. He'd dallied and toyed, taken and enjoyed. But never, in all of his years, had he so desired any woman as he did this one. The irony of it was that she desired him,too-but only for the contents of his pocket.
Dougal didn't know whether to laugh or fume. He should be insulted, but instead he found himself watching her with new appreciation.
Dougal lifted his spoon and slit it into his mouth. Immediately, a frozen look came over his face.
Sophia tensed.
He removed the spoon from his mouth.
Sophia gripped her own spoon tighter.
A slow red crept up his face, his eyes watering slightly.
Ha! Mary's soup was working its magic. Pleased, Sophia pretended to eat some soup.
Dougal slapped a hand on the table.
The dishes and Sophia jumped. "What's wrong?"
He pointed to his bowl with his spoon. "That."
"The soup? Why, whatever's wrong with it?"
"Nothing.That is the best soup I've ever had."
Sophia blinked. Surely he hadn't just said-
He dipped his spoon back into his bowl and took another large bite. Though his eyes watered and his face turned a deeper red, he continued to eat, murmuring, "Excellent!" every third bite or so.
Sophia looked at her own soup, which reeked of garlic and pepper and onion. Mary had added a large amount of salt, as well. But watching MacLean eat with gusto made her question her perceptions.
What if Mary's natural ability to cook had overcome her attempts to provide an inedible meal?
Sophia dipped her spoon into herbowl and gingerly sniffed the contents, grimacing at the strong odor. Casting a puzzled look at MacLean, who was about finished with his soup, she put the spoon into her mouth.
The burning sensation of pepper mingled with the rancid taste of uncooked garlic and what could only have been salted dishwater. She jerked the spoon from her mouth and grabbed her water goblet, pouring it into her mouth to wash down the horrid taste.
Gasping, she glared with watery, accusing eyes at MacLean.
He seemed not to have noticed anything, too busy scraping the bottom of his bowl, as if afraid some succulent tidbit might have escaped him. Finding nothing more, he placed his spoon on the table and sat back, wiping his mouth with his napkin. "That was the best soup I've ever been served. I believe I'll have more."
"More? Are you...are you certain?"
"I'm positive.
To make matters worse, he added in a deep voice that made her shiver, "I love turnips."
It was indecent that the man could make a sentence as abhorrent as "I love turnips" sound like an improper proposition.
But Dougal MacLean managed it.
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