Page 42 of A Scot Is Not Enough

“I can wait.”

A shaft of sunlight blessed a blond wisp snaking down her cheek. He traced that fragile line from cheek to jaw and tried to forget that he wanted to swive the daylights out of her.

She didn’t stop him. “Did you get the tickets to Swynford House?”

“Not yet.”

“Then why should I share what I know today? That was the purpose of our meeting, was it not?”

His exploratory finger stopped. “Our business arrangement.”

“That is why we’re here.”

Was touching her part of their unwritten contract? It might’ve been false comfort to think they could easily pick up last night’s thread. Hidden in his pocket was a list, the fruit of his labor from reading the Pell rolls at Westminster. His bridge of trust with Miss MacDonald might fold under the weight of what was on it.

His arm dropped to his side. “I was unfortunately detained.”

Miss MacDonald’s attention drifted to revelers in the street behind him. “Then I see no reason to continue this conversation.”

She was dismissing him?Resolve steeled his voice.

“Of the two of us, you have more to lose.”

Her gaze snapped back and nailed him.

“You think me weak, do you?”

“Not weak. Vulnerable.”

“Because I am a woman?”

“Because you are in a less tenable position.”

“Why is that?” she asked softly, menacingly. “Because I am the defeated Jacobite? Your one-time enemy?”

Red lips taut, she put him on edge. How had he missed the detail of an oarsman with a carmine painted mouth when he’d watched the race? Everything about the Scotswoman was in plain sight, yet one could easily overlook the obvious because she was a woman and a commoner of no particular status.

“We are partners of equal standing, Mr. Sloane, or we are not partners at all.”

He smarted at subtle truth brought to light. He had assumed the lion’s share of power—and protective responsibilities which came with it—but this was something Miss MacDonald would not tolerate.

“You don’t want a man’s protection... which begs the question, what do you want?”

Pretty lips parted, and her startled attention fell like a warm blanket on a cold day. Her face was a shifting tableau he happily studied. Wide-eyed bafflement faded to mild alarm as if her wants were unexplored waters.

“Stop it.” Hers was a kindly voice.

“Stop what exactly?”

“Trying to look after me. I’ve lived too many years taking care of myself. No need to change that now.”

The brick and flint stone wall was cold and hard. A woman denying his natural protective instincts—what was a gentleman to do?

“We’re already on our way to a delightful friendship,” she said. “Isn’t that enough?”

It wasn’t, but he was hard-pressed to put his finger on what would be enough. Friendship and partnership could be one and the same for her. A contract. For now, it would do.

“I am trying to divert Fielding’s attention away from you.”