"Och! Ye're a fine one to talk, Angus MacLellan! I've seen ye chase the pugs all o'er the front lawn, I have."

"Only when her grace asked me to. Other than tha', I dinna take a step toward 'em unless they welcome it."

"Why, ye lyin'-" Freya caught herself and, with an apologetic glance back at Dahlia, straightened her narrow shoulders and faced the cheeky footman. "We'll discuss this another time." She curtsied. "Thank ye fer bringin' the missive."

"Ye're wel-"

She slammed the door. A m.u.f.fled word came from the hallway, but she ignored it and brought the note to Dahlia, who instantly recognized Kirk's familiar back-slanted handwriting.

The maid had the grace to look shamefaced. "I'm verrah sorry fer slammin' the door, miss. I shouldna' ha' done tha', but tha' mon is a lazy bit o' bone and blood, he is. E'er since the d.u.c.h.ess asked him t' be the one t' carry puir ol' Randolph oop an' down the stairs when he refused t' do it hisself-"

"Pardon me, but who is this Randolph?"

"Och, Randolph is the oldest o' the Roxburghe pugs, miss. He's ancient, he is, bu' full o' life. MacDougal thinks 'tis all a trick and tha' Randolph can manage the stairs fer all tha' her grace thinks he canno'. Angus, meanwhile, has been lordin' it o'er everyone belowstairs, actin' as if he'd been crowned king."

"King of the pugs, is he? Men can be so infuriating."

The note was pleasantly heavy in her hand, as if it held something of great value. So you've made arrangements for us to meet privately, have you? She'd wondered when and how he'd manage it. A faint shiver rushed over her, a wave of invisible heat.

Aware of the maid's eyes upon her, Dahlia tossed the unopened missive onto the dressing table and said, "I believe I'll wear the blue slippers."

"Aye, miss. They'll look fetchin' wit' tha' gown. I'll fetch them fro' the dressin' room."

"Thank you." Dahlia waited for the maid to leave before she picked up the missive. Yesterday, when Kirk had suggested that they practice their skills so as not to embarra.s.s themselves again, she'd found herself in complete agreement, swayed by both his reasoning and his presence. But the cool logic of a night spent thinking away the hours had brought to light several flaws with this plan, not the least of which was the impropriety of it. Beyond that, there could be unexpected outcomes from their continued contact.

As it was, she was having a difficult enough time forgetting their kiss. Those first seconds had been beyond anything she'd ever dreamed, which was why she'd reacted so strongly. So how would she be able to forget a kiss from Kirk that was exceptional from beginning to end? Could she forget it? Would she want to?

She picked up her silver comb and, just as she'd done to Dalhousie's missive, she slid it under the flap and broke the seal. She replaced her comb on the dresser and then unfolded the stiff paper.

The paper was remarkably fine. Only the best for the master of Fordyce Castle. She smiled as she opened the vellum.

The library at ten. Do not be late.

Kirk She frowned. Short and to the point, with no time taken for pleasantries. Worse, he doesn't even ask, but announces it as if I'd have nothing to say about it. As could be expected from Kirk, the missive was vastly unsatisfying.

She scowled at the letter. Why had she agreed to his request to hone her kissing skills with him, of all men? It was ludicrous. She'd come to the d.u.c.h.ess's to find love and romance, something Kirk couldn't understand, nor did he wish to. Why, even common courtesy seemed to stretch his resources.

A rational woman would have avoided him, and would certainly have never agreed to his proposition. But yesterday, she hadn't been able to do either.

Something had happened when Kirk had lunged for her bonnet and she'd found herself in his arms. Even now, if she closed her eyes, she could feel the split second of heat caused by that innocuous embrace and smell the faint hint of cologne that had lingered on his coat.

Of course, now that time had pa.s.sed, she realized that his seeming embrace had merely been a way to steady himself. Equally disheartening, she also realized that his scheme to advance their kissing skills-something she would have suspected as an attempt at flirtation had another man proposed it-was exactly as he'd declared it: he wished to avoid another embarra.s.sing moment and he was woefully without practice.

Perhaps it was kind that he thought to include her, but it still confirmed that there was nothing the least bit romantic about his efforts.

As always, Kirk's request had been based on cold, hard practicality and his own needs, and she deeply regretted agreeing to partic.i.p.ate. And yet somehow she had.

But perhaps she shouldn't be so hard on herself. She'd been raw from their horrid encounter; then after he'd held her, she'd fallen under some sort of spell cast by his dark gaze and the feel of his strong arms about her.

Well, her reason had returned. She would meet with him at ten o'clock and explain why she was no longer interested in "perfecting" her skills.

She tossed the letter on the dresser where it came to rest beside Dalhousie's longer, more eloquent missive. The viscount had requested the honor of her presence, not rudely a.s.sumed that he would have it. There were many other things to recommend Dalhousie's letter over Kirk's, as well-his warm tone, the politeness of his request, the time he'd taken to plan an amus.e.m.e.nt for them both-all of it pointed to a deepness of thought and consideration that was completely lacking in Kirk's abrupt, demanding missive.

A cold, wet nose touched her elbow.

"Oh!" Dahlia looked down at the pug, who was wagging her curly tail with abandon. "Your nose is like ice."

Freya stuck her head out of the dressing room. "Och, is she botherin' ye, miss? I can try to catch her and-"

"No, no. She's fine."

"Verrah weel. I mus' say tha' I'm glad, fer she dinna take kindly to bein' chased."

"None of us do."

Freya twinkled. "Unless 'tis by the right mon, miss. I've found yer shoes bu' they needed a mite o' polish. I'm jus' finishin' them oop now."

"Thank you, Freya."

"Ye're quite welcome, miss." The maid disappeared back into the dressing room.

Dahlia regarded the dog sitting at her feet. "I wish you could go to the library for me. If there's one thing I'm certain of, it's that Lord Kirk is going to be angry when I tell him no."

Meenie c.o.c.ked her head to one side.

"Oh, I know, he stomps about and snaps like a dragon. He meets almost everything with irritation-a change in the weather, a book that has had the corners of the pages folded, a cravat with too much starch-the list is endless. Which is why, when he huffs and puffs, I shan't pay him the slightest heed."

Meenie wagged her tail.

Dahlia was heartened by this positive reaction. "Yes. I will simply tell him I don't need to hone my skills. I need to hone my reaction." She reached down to pat the pug. Its hair was velveteen soft and made her smile. "You are a sweet one. Come sit on my lap."

The dog barked once, and then ran away as fast as its legs would carry it, making wider and wider circles around the room until, once again, she collapsed in a panting, grinning heap before the fireplace.

Freya came out of the dressing room carrying the shoes. "Ye canno' pick tha' one oop, miss. No' unless she decides she wishes ye to do so." She placed the shoes on the floor before Dahlia. "So Lord Dalhousie sounds as if he might be interested in ye, miss. Do ye like him?"

"I don't know." Dahlia opened her jewelry box and selected her favorite garnet earrings. "He's fun and lively and he flirts outrageously, but . . . we shall see." Compared to Kirk, who didn't like to do many things at all, Dalhousie was the most attractive of companions.

Still, for no reason at all, she couldn't help but wonder what a real kiss from Lord Kirk might be like. A kiss born and sustained by pa.s.sion, one uninterrupted by her own inexperience.

But Lord Kirk has no pa.s.sion. As he pointed out yesterday, we knew each other before, so naturally we're comfortable when we're together and enjoy a feeling of familiarity. Yet there had been that decided flare when he'd held her. That was stronger than mere familiarity.

"Why are ye scowlin' so, miss?"

Dahlia realized that her maid was watching her in the mirror. "I was just thinking of how difficult it is to know one's own feelings."

"Aye. I've been thinkin' aboot tha' meself of late." The maid hesitated, and then asked, "Miss, I hope ye dinna mind me askin', but wha' do ye think aboot an older mon?"

Goodness, how did Freya know Kirk was- She caught the maid's gaze and gave a relieved laugh. "You have an older suitor!"

The maid's face pinkened. "I was jus' askin', miss. Sometimes I think it might be well on to have a mon who is experienced in the ways o' the world, and no' a young foo' who's more interested in makin' himself happy. Young men know pa.s.sion, but an older mon knows how to woo a girl proper."

That wasn't true about Kirk. He didn't know how to woo anyone. "Who is this older man?"

"He's a valet. And verrah nice and-" The maid shook her head and, with a smile, fetched a shawl from the wardrobe. "It dinna matter. Ye'd best be on yer way or ye'll miss yer meetin' wit' Lord Dalhousie."

Dahlia allowed Freya to settle the shawl over her elbows.

"Off wit' ye, miss. And let me know wha' sort o' nonsense Lord Dalhousie tells ye aboot the Roxburghe family. It might make fer guid tellin' at the servant's dinner table."

"I shall. And remember, I'm to play battledore at two, so I shall need a looser gown."

"I'll be waitin' fer ye at one, miss."

Dahlia left, pausing to pat the pug one more time. Whatever was going to happen with Kirk would happen, and she'd be ready for it. Straightening her shoulders, she turned and left-ready for come what may.

Ten.

From the Diary of the d.u.c.h.ess of Roxburghe

I expect certain things from my guests: good manners, a pleasant demeanor, a willingness to be entertained-odd as it may seem, these simple skills are not always found where one expects them to be. While I'm certain Kirk would not appreciate my interference, I refuse to allow two spoiled misses to mock a man on such a n.o.ble mission. I was prepared to take a stand and bring up the issue, but Lady Charlotte feels it would be best to allow Miss Balfour's plan to play itself out before I act.

If, as Charlotte hopes, Dahlia succeeds in pointing out the folly of such rudeness, I'll leave well enough alone. But if I find myself dissatisfied with the outcome, I shall speak-and speak loudly.

It is during these moments that I miss Roxburghe the most, and wish he were here and not out doing the prime minister's bidding. Roxburghe always knows how to remind people of their obligations with the lightest of words. Meanwhile, try as I might, my words fall like sledgehammers upon railway spikes-loud, forceful, and perhaps, at times, a bit firmer than necessary.

Although Dahlia would have relished a quiet breakfast before meeting Kirk, she arrived in the breakfast room to discover that far more than the usual dozen early morning guests were gathered about the table. She thought she might slip in and sit off by herself a bit and avoid discussion, but within moments of arriving, Mr. Ballanoch-a gossipy old man much inclined to present himself as an admirer of Lady Charlotte's, although she never seemed to notice him-brought up the afternoon's battledore tournament and (with an impertinently arch look) announced Dahlia's challenge to Lady Mary and Miss Stewart.

All conversation from that point on centered upon the coming game and battledore in general. Battledore was all the rage ever since soldiers returning home from adventures in India had brought the game with them. The Duke of Beaufort had confirmed the game's prominence by orchestrating tournaments for his guests.

The game had been a marvelous way for Dahlia and her sisters to pa.s.s desultory hours. As they were three girls with no other playmates within reach, they'd played two against one. At first they'd traded teams, but when it quickly became evident that Dahlia was far more talented than her sisters, she was consigned to her own team more and more often, which was how she liked it, anyway.

Judging by Lady Mary's and Miss Stewart's smug expressions yesterday, they thought they were quite talented, too. But Dahlia knew a few tricks, and because of the circ.u.mstances of their match, she was more than willing to use them. Of course, her determination had nothing to do with the fact that disparaging comments had been made about Lord Kirk, but rather because Miss Stewart and Lady Mary had dared mock someone from Dahlia's beloved Aberdeenshire.

All too soon, the clock in the breakfast room chimed a quarter of ten, and Dahlia finished her tea and excused herself, slowed by the rounds of hearty good wishes for a successful game. It was odd how enthusiastic the other guests seemed to be. As she hurried down the wide hallway to the library, she mentally rehea.r.s.ed a very chilly and flat statement about why she no longer wished to partic.i.p.ate in Lord Kirk's flawed plan.

She slowed when she arrived at the library. Two footmen flanked the doors, both standing at attention as if they were palace guards. She eyed the one closest to her. "Pardon me, Angus?"

Surprised she'd remembered his name, Angus sent her a startled glance. "Aye, miss?" He couldn't have spoken more cautiously if she'd been a Bow Street runner and he a smuggler.

"Lord Kirk asked me to meet him in the library."

"Aye, miss. He's waitin' on ye now. We're to let ye in."

"I see. And then what are you supposed to do?"

Angus and Stuart, the other footman, exchanged warning looks. Angus offered a tentative smile. "We're merely doin' our duty, miss."

Stuart nodded vigorously.

"So is guarding the library doors a part of your regular duties? Shall I ask Lady Charlotte how-"

"Och, no! There's no need, miss. Indeed, I-" Angus gulped and then fell silent. He'd known from the first moment he clapped his peepers on Miss Balfour that she was a sharp one. I should ha' asked Lord Kirk fer mo' than a guinea once't he said we was waitin' on Miss Balfour. She had her arms crossed now, too, and he could see her slippered foot tapping away as if it was itching to kick his shins. Worse, her expression reminded him far too much of his oldest sister, who was a wee thing, but as mean as a stirred badger.

He straightened his shoulders. "Miss, as ye ha' surmised, Lord Kirk paid us to stand guard."

"I see. And once I've entered, what are you to do?"

"We're to keep oot anyone as may wish to interrupt ye."

"Aye," Stuart agreed. "Like guards, we are."

"I see. Do guests often pay you to do such things?"

"All of the time." Stuart blushed when her brows rose. "Oy mean, er, no miss. Ne'er."

"Stuart, dinna tell the miss such a tale." Angus had no doubt she'd see right through any pretense, so it was best to simply speak the truth up front. "It happens all o' the time, miss. Although no one has ever paid as much as his lor'ship."

"How nice of him to be so generous. Sadly, I must inform you that you are no longer needed."

Angus was suddenly glad Lord Kirk had paid them in advance. He had plans for that money, he did. There was a certain pert maid he wished to prove something to, a Miss Freya of the Smart Mouth That Needed to Be Kissed. Or, if she didn't offer him a few kinder words, he might just spend it all on himself.

He turned to Stuart. "Tha' is it, then. Miss Balfour says we're no' needed, and so we're no'."

"Bu' his lordship-"

"His lordship will understand how 'tis. Now open the door fer Miss Balfour and leave it open, and then we'll be off. I've a notion, anyways, tha' I will be needed to carry the auld pug oop the stairs soon, fer Lady Charlotte was takin' it wit' her fer a walk."

"Verrah weel." Looking unhappy, Stuart opened the door wide and then stood to one side.

Dahlia took a steadying breath and, trying to still her racing mind, she entered the library. Now was the time to stand firm. She only wished her heart didn't ache so, as if she were hurting it herself.

She stepped onto the ornate rug and paused. It was a cloudy morning, leaving the pale swath of light that entered the terrace doors gray and wan. No lamps had been lit, so the only other light in the dark room came from the fire, which snapped and crackled cheerfully, as if aware it had to put forth more effort.

And yet the air remained gloomy, and Lord Kirk was nowhere to be seen. Dahlia took a few more steps into the room, her shoes silent on the thick rug. All about her, shelves of books-normally the most welcome of all sights-loomed. The library was an impressive part of Floors Castle She was just about to call Kirk's name when the large wing-backed chair before the fireplace creaked and she caught sight of his left hand as he gripped his cane and rose. He saw her, and then glanced at the pocket watch he held in his other hand. "You're late."