hand over his mouth and jaw as though missing his beard. “By God, you are the most vexing woman.”
“Mrs. MacBean is auld, English. Half of her doesnae work right, and the rest doesnae work at all.”
Mrs. MacBean, having watched their conversation with interest, nodded her agreement. “’Tis true.”
“I’ll not ask her to come all the way to Glendasheen Castle on a dreich day like today without a bluidy good reason. Ye demanded I have a chaperone.” Annie gestured to the old woman in question. “She’s here. Now, do yer part.”
His jaw flexed in familiar fashion. Like a dram of whisky, it sent a shot of heat blooming through her.
“Very well. We’ll have our lesson.” His low voice sounded more threatening than conciliatory. Still, she’d take the victory.
She slid her arm through Mrs. MacBean’s and tugged her toward the castle.
“Where are you going?” he inquired as they passed.
She stopped. “The drawing room.”
He drew up beside her and lowered his head. “Oh, but our lesson won’t take place inside the castle.”
Uneasy about his triumphant tone, she slanted him a sideways glance. “Where, then?”
A small smile curled one corner of his mouth. He smiled so infrequently, she had to blink to be sure.
But, aye. There it was. Like a wink from a star.
“We’re going shopping,” he said, that wee smile growing as he observed her reaction.
Which, naturally, involved dread and nausea. “No,” she breathed.
“Oh, yes. Today, you will learn what all ladies must.” He actually licked his lips—licked them like a cat that had a mouse right where he wanted her. “How to properly spend a gentleman’s money.”
TlU
At long last, John had the maddening Annie Tulloch right where he wanted her. Well, perhaps not right where he wanted. His bed was back at the castle.
But from a battle-of-wills standpoint, he’d won. And that was even more satisfying.
Well, perhaps not more satisfying.
“Dreadfully quiet back there, Miss Tulloch,” he commented, glancing over his shoulder at the hoyden fuming in the bed of his long cart. “Are you certain you don’t wish to postpone our lesson? Next week, perhaps.”
God, it felt good to be the one doing the taunting. He shouldn’t relish it. But he did.
She hugged her knees to her chest and leveled him with a venomous glare.
He grinned. He couldn’t help himself. “If you’d prefer, I could take you home instead. It would be no trouble, I assure you.” They’d just entered the village. He’d expected her to cry off as they passed MacPherson House, but she was stubborn. They’d stopped only long enough to return her donkey to the MacPherson stable and leave a note for Angus.
“’Tis most solicitous of ye, Mr. Huxley,” said Mrs. MacBean. “Which clan did ye say ye were from?”
The half-blind old woman sat beside him on the cart’s driving bench. Annie had insisted. For all her griping about the woman being daft, he’d noticed how much care she gave her “chaperone.”
“The Huxleys are my family,” he replied gently. It was the fifth time she’d asked. “We’re from Nottinghamshire.”
“Have ye a tartan, then?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Well, why didnae ye say so?” She resumed digging inside the leather pack she carried in her lap. “I’ve nothin’ appropriate in here. Now, if ye were a Brodie, that would be somethin’.”
He started to answer when Annie interrupted with, “Just smile and nod, English. Correcting her will do ye no good at all.”
By the time he pulled the horses to a halt outside Cleghorn’s Haberdashery, Mrs. MacBean was calling him Mr. Brodie and reminiscing about his “braw” uncle, with whom she’d apparently had a liaison.
“Ah, he had a silver tongue, that John Brodie. Separated me from my virtue more than once, I can tell ye that.”
How a woman could surrender her virtue more than once, he didn’t know—and didn’t want to.
“’Twas when he brought out the butter and the honey jar, I said, ‘Och, no, ye scoundrel. The sixteenth time will be the last, by heaven.’”
Ignoring Mrs. MacBean’s alarming recollections, he climbed down from the bench and secured the horses before assisting the old woman down from her perch. He moved to help Annie, but the stubborn female had already helped herself. She leaned against the side of the cart, arms crossed.
“I hate shoppin’, English. I already told ye.”
He grinned. “Is that so?”
“Ye ken it is.”