Highland Heiress - By Margaret Moore Page 0,53
Sir Robert’s.”
Before Gordon could correct him, Lady Moira said, “Sir Robert isn’t at home. He’s gone to Edinburgh.”
Gordon stared at her in surprise. Why had Robbie gone there? Had he decided to tell Mitford what had happened in person—or did he have another, more self-centered reason for going? A debt? A woman? Because he simply wanted to?
Gordon could believe any or all of those explanations might be the right one.
“Is that so?” Dr. Campbell said as he closed his black leather bag with a snap. “In that case, I would recommend that Mr. McHeath stay here another few days.”
“Not if my presence is an imposition,” Gordon said quickly, resolved not to be a burden for Lady Moira, or cause her any more trouble.
“You’re most welcome to stay,” she said, her voice calm and even, without enthusiasm—or reluctance, though, either.
Dr. Campbell’s glance went from one to the other before he said, “I’ll see myself out,” and started for the door.
“I’d like a word with you, Doctor, about what Mr. McHeath ought to be eating,” Mrs. McAlvey said, following him.
“Of course.”
After the doctor had gone out, the older woman paused and looked back from the doorway, her expression grave, but her eyes shining with sympathy, making her as beautiful as an angel of mercy as she addressed Lady Moira. “However Mr. McHeath may be acting, he’s still weak as a kitten so you should only stay for a little while, my lady. Nobody I’ve nursed has ever had a setback and I won’t have Mr. McHeath be the first.”
“I’ll only be a moment,” Lady Moira assured her.
Only a moment, but it was more time than he’d had alone with her since that exciting, memorable encounter in the lane.
Mrs. McAlvey nodded and went out, leaving the door open, as was only proper.
Unfortunately, once they were alone, Gordon found it difficult to think clearly, and not because of his injuries. He’d never been so nervous in a woman’s presence before. He owed Lady Moira so much, yet all he could think about was kissing her.
Fortunately, she kept a careful distance from the bed. “Is there anything you need?”
You. “No, thank you, my lady. You’ve already done enough—more than enough.”
He was afraid she might leave. He wanted her to stay, even if he could only look at her, to see her lovely, sweet face and the play of light and intelligence and vitality in her eyes.
She didn’t leave, and he grasped the opportunity while he had it.
“I’m so sorry I couldn’t prevent your school from being destroyed. I shouldn’t have investigated on my own. Next time, I’ll go back for reinforcements before I attempt any interventions.”
“Next time?” she asked, raising a brow as she came a little closer. “First you rescue me from that dog, then you try to stop those vandals single-handedly. Is it your habit to act like a hero?”
He laughed, then winced at the brief spasm of pain that elicited. “Not until I came to Dunbrachie,” he said, putting his hand to his side. “Perhaps it’s something in the air.”
“Or perhaps it’s me,” she said quietly, looking down at her hands. “I seem to have required a hero since you arrived.”
“I’m glad.” The words escaped before he thought and he cursed himself for an idiot.
“That is,” he amended, “I’m not glad for any trouble that befalls you, my lady, and I would happily prevent any further distress, if I could. I meant that, whatever the circumstances, I’m glad I met you, my lady.”
“I wish you wouldn’t call me my lady!” she said a little peevishly as she turned away and walked toward the window, incidentally giving him a fine view of her profile. She turned back almost at once. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to it, you see. I’m not used to a title, or this house, or…or much of anything here!
“I must sound like an ungrateful wretch,” she continued apologetically, “but so much has happened in so short a time.” With a sad smile, she started back toward him. “One moment, I was plain Miss MacMurdaugh, daughter of a Glasgow merchant, the next I’m Lady Moira, daughter of the Earl of Dunbrachie.”
He was quite sure she had never been plain anything. “I had heard that your father came into the title recently,” he replied, not mentioning who had told him.
“We had no idea he was even in line,” she admitted, walking toward the bed. “Papa was only distantly related to the previous earl—a third cousin.” She spread her hands. “You must