Page 29 of Somewhere Along The Way (Mackinnon #3)

“Cross-stitch and tent stitch,” she went on to say. “We copied verses from Psalms with black silk thread on the coarsest old tammy cloth.”

He lifted a curl, feeling its cool, silky touch. “What were you like as a little girl?” he asked.

“Skinny and terribly quiet. I was afraid of my father when I was quite small. His voice was so gruff.”

“And now? Are you still afraid?”

“I respect him very much, but I’m no longer afraid of him.

” She laughed. “Of course, I learned at a very early age what I had to do to please my father, so he wouldn’t shout and upset Mama or call down the governess.

I practiced very hard at becoming the best, most obedient daughter that I could possibly be, so Papa would be pleased with me. ”

“What were you afraid of if you didn’t please him? That he’d send you back?” He gave her a lazy smile and stretched his legs out.

She had a sudden vision of that and in spite of herself, she laughed.

“No, of course not. It’s just that when I was very young, I was always daydreaming.

It used to infuriate my father, and he would scream at the governess that she wasn’t giving me enough to occupy my mind.

Then the governess would cry and threaten to quit, then Mama would start to cry and tell Papa how difficult it was to find a good governess, and my sisters would all cry and say everything was all my fault because I was so spoiled and selfish. ”

“So you learned to be very, very good and to please everyone?”

“Of course I did.” She scowled at him. “Lord Ross, I may be a trifle too good-natured and a wee bit na?ve, but I’m far from stupid.

” Her frown deepened as she seemed to hear a voice inside Oh?

Don’t you think it’s pretty stupid to stay out here talking to a man like this when you are betrothed to another?

She ignored the voice. “I learned at a very early age just what I had to do to keep the peace and maintain my family’s goodwill. ”

“And that was to please everyone.”

“Yes, although you make it sound like something horrible, when it wasn’t. I’m far from miserable or mistreated, and I would suspect that there are a lot of people like me out there.”

“If there are, I’ve never met any of them,” he said softly.

“But your way may be right. I wasn’t born into the same kind of family you were.

We were farmers…honest, hardworking, God-fearing farmers—dirt poor, but happy.

My parents both died when I was just a lad, but I remember them both, and I remember there never was a time that I was afraid of either one of them.

I’ve never worried about pleasing anyone, save myself.

But then, Texas is a far cry from England, isn’t it? ”

“Oh, very different indeed, if all the things I hear are true, that is.”

He laughed. “Oh, they’re probably true,” he said.

“I would like to visit this Texas of yours,” she said, her mind filled with imaginings of what it would be like there.

A well-tutored and well-read young woman, she recalled many of the things she’d been taught about that fascinating, yet frightening place called America.

Nervous with anxiety, she studied him, imagining him thundering across the vast prairie, pursued by a marauding horde of murderous Indians, or facing some nameless gunslinger on a dusty, deserted street, his gun belt low, his fingers itching just above the trigger.

But the image that distressed her most was the one of him standing in a pub—or whatever its Texas counterpart was called—his arm around the waist of a woman wearing a lot of spangles and feathers and little else.

“I should like to take you to Texas with me,” he said at last, his eyes never leaving her face.

“I shouldn’t like to go with you,” she said.

“Why not?” His gaze wandered over her face, the wintergreen eyes, the mouth. “Lady Annabella,” he said at last, taking her face in both of his hands, “you aren’t going to make this easy for me, are you?”

She turned her head away, not knowing what to say.

Before she had any inkling of what he was about, he put his hands on her shoulders and turned her toward him, one hand tilting her face upward to meet his kiss, his arms going around her, enclosing her in a warmth and comfort she had never known existed.

For a moment she was too shocked to do more than submit, then, against every reason of sanity and honor, her arms went around him to hold him in much the same manner as he was holding her.

When he broke the kiss and lifted his head, he looked down at her, not letting her go completely, but loosening his hold upon her. She felt uncomfortable beneath his scrutinizing gaze and wondered about the odd expression upon his face.

“Are you sure you’re betrothed?” he said with a degree of humor that she found quite irksome lacing his voice.

“I’d never joke about that,” she said sharply, feeling the edge of her anger disappearing.

Annabella wasn’t certain as to why, but somehow she could not resist that smile of his.

Unable to help herself, she smiled back, feeling the stiffness ease out of her body.

“I’ve never met anyone like you before,” she said.

“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me,” he said.

“You’re very brazen, and quite the most forward man.”

“Only when I want something.”

“And do you? Want something, that is?”

“You aren’t that backward,” he said with a laugh.

She was of half a mind to tell him to mind his own business when he looked at her, and there it came again, that smile of his, curling comfortably and without effort.

That was all it took—just one soft look, one melting smile, and her heart raced.

She wondered if she would ever again see anything as warm and inviting as that smile.

It was a pity he couldn’t bottle it as the Mackinnon clan did their Drambuie.

A smile like that—it was worth a king’s ransom.

Her thoughts were so centered upon smiles and bottles and ransoms that his next question caught her a bit off guard, especially when she felt his fingers softly stroke the tender skin just below her ear.

“Do you kiss every man the way you just kissed me?”

She knew as certain as there were hedgehogs in England that that was a loaded question, but she was just a little too curious and a little too-vexed to let it ride. “Why?”

He shrugged and looked back toward the castle as if he were growing bored. “I was just wondering.”

His casual gesture was simply too much. Really piqued now, she clenched her hands at her sides. “Were you thinking there was something wrong with it, then?”

“No, I just had to keep reminding myself I was kissing a woman and not a marble statue. Who taught you to kiss?”

She knew it was a dangerous game she was playing with this man.

She was woefully inept and he had probably kissed enough women to be awarded a medal for it.

It was more than obvious that this man had not been in England or Scotland long enough to become civilized, for his behavior was more in line with what she had heard about the scandalous times of Lord Byron, when the ton, and indeed the whole of England, seemed bent upon outraging society—a time when morals and manners were at their lowest ebb.

If she hadn’t known better, she would have sworn this man was a holdover from those times.

But he wasn’t an Englishman, or even a true Scot, since he had been born in America, and that probably explained it.

She was inclined to agree with what she had been told about Americans—that they were an ill-bred lot, for in truth, this oversized brute with his smoldering eyes and heart-thundering grin had displayed nothing but unconventional ways and the roughest of manners since the moment she met him.

Truly, he must have a bit of the barbarian in him.

Yet, in spite of all this insight, regardless of all the danger signs, her anger had been sparked, and for a brief moment she wavered.

But Annabella had been painstakingly reared by conscience-minded parents who taught her to behave at all times with the innocence of a babe and the purity of a bride’s blush.

From an early age, she had been taught that passion and sensuality had no place in a young woman’s life.

Wild as a Gypsy heathen as a young child, Annabella had had to spend many long hours sitting rigidly upon a hard stool and even more hungry nights after being sent to bed with no supper before her rebellious nature had been curbed.

But once it was curbed, it had stayed curbed.

Ever mindful of her manners and her breeding, she took a firm hold of herself and gave Ross a look that said she was more than insulted.

Then she tried to look away. But he took her chin in his hand and forced her to look at him.

“You shame me with such talk,” she said.

“I told you I am unaccustomed to being alone with a man. I have never even kissed my betrothed.”

Although the thought of that pleased him, Ross could only stare at her for a moment.

Stone-cold innocent? He looked her over slowly.

Her hair was damp from the mist and her skin looked as pure as fresh cream.

Impossible. How could any woman with the body of a dance-hall queen and the face of a goddess be wrapped in chaste purity and remain untouched?

Impossible. With a tone of obvious skepticism that he made no attempt to hide, he said, “Are you telling me the truth? Ever?”

“Of course—not that it’s any of your business.”

She started around him, but his hand detained her. “How old are you?”

“Old enough to know better than to allow you to kiss me. I’m sorry I did.”

“Yes, well, I hadn’t meant to kiss you, if it’s any consolation, but a man who does everything with planning and forethought has very few memories worth keeping.”