did have a good point that there was a great deal to consider. It wasn’t worth the risk of displeasing Lady Regina over something as trivial as clothing.
‘Try it,’ she insisted. ‘I will hire a tailor, and you need only buy one set of clothes. Consider it an investment.’
He set down the papers and regarded Miss Goodson with all seriousness. ‘It may be an investment, but once I have wedded Lady Regina, she must accept my family’s traditions. I wear the tartan to show my clan that I will support them until the day I die. She must ken that and accept it.’
Miss Goodson smiled. ‘Of course. But know that when you go to London, you are also supporting your clan. You are winning a wealthy heiress as your wife and bringing back twenty thousand pounds to them.’ She took a step closer and pleaded, ‘Set aside your pride for a few weeks, and Lady Regina will not mind if you wear the tartan when you return home.’
The laird drew closer, and Frances tried to calm the stutter of her heartbeat. His masculine scent reminded her of pine trees and rain. Careful, she warned herself. She was on borrowed time as the laird’s governess, and she could not let her admiration lead her down the wrong path. Even so, her heartbeat only quickened at his nearness.
‘Was there something else you wanted, Locharr?’
‘Aye.’ He took another step closer, causing her to lean back to look at him. ‘There was indeed something I wanted.’
Her brain turned into cotton while her pulse pounded beneath her skin. ‘W-what was it?’ Her face was burning as her imagination conjured up the vision of him pressing her against the bookshelves, kissing her until she could no longer stand. And she had no doubt that his husky innuendo had been spoken on purpose, simply to ruffle her feathers.
A slow smile curved across his mouth. ‘I’m wanting more food.’
Oh, he was enjoying this, wasn’t he? She knew he had teased her to get under her skin. And yet, for a moment, his eyes had stared at her as if he desired her. The very thought unravelled her composure, and she struggled to shore up her weakening defences.
As a distraction, Frances chose a slice of bread, delicately smearing it with raspberry jam. ‘H-here you are.’ She held it out to him, well aware that for a man of his size, there wasn’t nearly enough food on the tray. He could have devoured everything by himself.
The laird broke off a piece and ate it. Frances tried not to stare, but as she watched him, she grew transfixed by the sight of his mouth.
Stop it, she warned herself. Right now, she ought to knock her head against the wall if that would bring back common sense. She already knew what would happen if she let a handsome man turn her head. It would only result in heartache.
Locharr reached for another slice of bread and this time broke off a small piece before he buttered it. ‘What would you have chosen as your forfeit, if you’d won the game?’
‘Dancing,’ she confessed. ‘It is a necessary skill that you must learn, whether you want to or not.’
He suppressed a grimace. ‘I ken how to dance. I’ve no need for instruction.’
She wondered if he felt clumsy or awkward. Or worse, if anyone had ever teased him. ‘If you are engaged to Lady Regina, dancing will be expected of you.’
‘I dinna care what they expect.’
‘No, but it will make it easier on her if you behave as other gentlemen do.’ Frances took a sip of the tea she didn’t want and studied him, her mood softening. ‘In time, she may even fall in love with you.’
‘Love isna necessary,’ he pointed out.
‘No, but it will convince her to marry you. If a woman loves a man, she is glad to follow him anywhere.’ Once, she had been willing to do just that. A bitter pain caught her heart, and she locked it away.
The expression on his face was knowing, but he didn’t ask. She had come to Scotland to forget the past, and there was no sense in talking over matters that were over and done with. The price had been paid ten times over for her folly, and she found it easier to bury the devastating memories.
‘Did you ever love someone?’ he asked quietly.
The air in the room seemed to grow stifling, and she felt a tightness expand in her chest. Yes, she had loved someone, more than life itself. Emotion gathered up inside her, threatening to spill into tears. But she held it back and answered, ‘A long time ago I did. But it’s over now.’ She had no desire to even think of the past, much less converse about it. Instead, she rang for Alban to take the tray away.
‘Locharr, if you don’t mind, I’d like to take a walk around the grounds. By myself, that is.’
‘Are you wanting an escort?’
‘No, I will remain in the gardens for a time, that’s all. I don’t think any of your servants will harm me, and I will be visible from the windows, should I need help.’ She had met his staff and thus far, she felt quite safe.
‘I must caution you about London, though. Do not ever be alone with a young lady at a gathering without a suitable chaperon,’ she warned. ‘You would be forced to wed her.’ He might know that already, but she felt compelled to warn him.
‘And what of Lady Regina?’ he suggested. ‘Is that no’ the point? Her father wishes us to marry.’
‘True, but she would be ruined in the sight of her friends and would resent you for it.’ Frances knew from personal experience, exactly what that was like. Even now, years later, it still stung to realise that her friends had turned their backs on her. Which meant they had never truly been her friends.
She stood as Alban entered the study. The footman cleared away the tray, and the laird waited until the man had gone before he spoke.
‘You may go, Miss Goodson.’ He escorted her from the study and closed the door behind them. Frances was quite happy to leave the papers behind. ‘Thank you for your help this afternoon.’
‘You’re welcome.’ She added, ‘And…if I am being overbearing, please forgive me. I mean only to help you win the heart of Lady Regina.’
The laird accompanied her as they walked down the hallway. ‘Good day, Miss Goodson. Be sure to pack your belongings. The coach will be here in the morning.’
Not likely, if Alban managed to delay it.
But she shrugged as if it were inevitable. ‘There are still some etiquette rules we can discuss tonight at supper.’
‘Because if I don’t use the right fork, Lady Regina willna marry me, is that it?’ His dry sarcasm and roguish expression made her knees turn liquid. It made her imagine his handsome face leaning in closer to steal a kiss.
Have you no shame? she warned herself. Your imagination has gone wanton.
‘Or the proper spoon,’ she shot back with her own insolence. ‘One never knows the importance of cutlery.’
She flushed
