Hit Me With Your Best Scot (Wild Wicked Highlanders #3) - Suzanne Enoch Page 0,44

Amelia-Rose caught sight of Niall’s profile, he was still smiling. “Stop it,” she breathed.

“I’m gauche and barbaric,” he returned in the same low tone she’d used. “Even so, by yer own rules, Sassenach, I outrank yer ma. If I didnae, I’ve nae doubt she would have tossed my posies on the floor and stomped on them. But I have the power the lot of ye gave me, and so she cannae.”

Her breath caught. “Your posies?” she pushed, ignoring the rest of his anarchy. He had brought her flowers. He’d done it. And not on anyone else’s behest.

His mouth twitched. “Coll’s posies,” he amended.

She didn’t believe him. The flowers had been his idea, and she imagined that bothering to track her down at a recital, of all things, had been his idea as well. It didn’t have to mean anything, of course; some flowers were a small-enough price to pay to keep his brother in her and her mother’s good graces.

But it did mean something to her. Or rather, she wanted it to mean something. What, she didn’t dare decipher. “Are you going to stay?” she asked under her breath.

“Are ye going up there again?”

“Yes. I’ll play again just before the end of the recital.”

He sank back on the narrow chair and crossed his ankles in front of him, long, lanky, and indescribably compelling. “Then I reckon I’ll stay. Coll likes music, ye ken.”

“Bagpipe music, yes? Not pianoforte music.”

“We’ve nae listened to much pianoforte music. Pipes have an old, mournful sound to ’em, even in a reel. The pianoforte is gentler, like a conversation and nae a lament. I like it.”

That was surprisingly thoughtful. “I’m impressed,” she whispered.

“Actually it made me want to dance with ye, but since ye were playing the tune, I reckoned that would be a poor idea.”

Amelia-Rose was more than half certain he was bamming her again, but it didn’t seem worth taking the risk of assuming he was jesting. “No one dances at a recital, no matter who is playing,” she cautioned, forcing herself to move past the image in her mind of her holding hands with Niall as they stepped through the country dance. Her fingers twitched, the image was so vivid. Stop it, she ordered herself.

“Good thing ye told me,” he returned, shifting a breath closer to her. “Have ye considered what I said at the picnic?” he said almost soundlessly. “That ye may not want to be what Coll wants ye to be?”

“I thought you were here on his behalf.”

“I am. Mostly.”

Amelia-Rose could hear the other young ladies—and their mamas—around her, discussing in murmured tones how very handsome this Highlander was, even if his manners were atrocious. She could hear them passing on the tale of how while his brother was very nearly promised to Miss Baxter, both of the younger MacTaggerts were unattached.

“Ye’ve naught to say about that?” he went on, his voice flatter. “I suppose that’s an answer, too, then.”

“You’re only teasing me.”

“Am I?”

“My parents and your mother signed an agreement. I would very much like not to be a part of it, but I am. Don’t make things more difficult.” She took a breath. There she went, being too outspoken again, when mostly she just wanted … No. That wouldn’t help anything. “Tell me something else pleasant about your brother. Be his advocate again.”

“Nae. I reckon I’m nae in the mood. I reckon I’ll sit here in silence and look solemn and brooding.”

He wasn’t going to march off and embarrass her. Perhaps that wasn’t what she was supposed to take away from his statement, but that was what took hold in her heart and didn’t let go. Niall MacTaggert liked her, enjoyed her company, and while she felt precisely the same, she’d told him to stop it. And he still remained beside her, when he could easily hurt her fragile reputation.

Oh, this was confusing. It didn’t help that the man seated and attempting to brood beside her—three inches above six feet, lean and hard-muscled, very like the ancient pagan god she’d imagined him to be when she’d first set eyes on him—simply couldn’t be ignored. That undertone of wildness to him made her wonder whether he meant to behave, or if he might just stand up and dance after all. Or suddenly decide to kiss her. She took a slow breath. Thank goodness she couldn’t be chastised for thinking improper things, or she would be in a great deal of trouble.

“Tell me, Niall,” she whispered, not satisfied with gazing at