A Scot to the Heart (Desperately Seeking Duke #2) - Caroline Linden Page 0,8

Carlyle, nor at Fort George. Colonel Fitzwilliam, the old prig, disapproved of his officers attending social gatherings.

He was so caught up in the dance that it gave him a genuine start when the next woman turned to take his hand, and he recognized the alluring beauty from the other table. The one who had smiled at him.

Hand in hand they spun around each other, then separated. Each time the dance brought them back together, Drew stared. Up close she was more than mesmerizing. Her dark hair was coming out of its pins, trailing down her back and flying around her as she circled the other dancers. Like the other ladies, she picked up her skirts and tapped her feet with energy. Her color was high and her face fierce with joy. And when she caught him staring at her, she only gave him that infectious flirtatious smile again.

The dance came to an abrupt end when someone tripped and sprawled on the floor. The piper stopped playing just as the fallen man began vomiting. With cries of alarm, the dancers scrambled away from him.

By sheer chance, Drew and the mystery woman were crowded together into a back corner, pushed almost behind the piper by the crush of people hurrying for the stairs. Someone shoved him in the back, and then the woman stumbled against him. Instinctively he put up an arm to shield her, and her eyes flashed toward him in gratitude.

He could only think of one thing.

“Who are you?” he asked, lowering his head to hers and stubbornly blocking the stream of people from this quiet corner. She smelled like the sea and oranges and woman.

She gave him a gleaming glance and said something he couldn’t quite make out over the roar of the crowd. He leaned down more. “What? What’s your name?”

Her hands came up on both sides of his face. For one breathless heartbeat, she pressed her lips to his in a sudden, searing kiss. He felt it to the soles of his feet and the roots of his hair; every nerve seemed to snap with the shock and beauty of it, as if she’d struck him with lightning. On pure instinct he cupped one hand around her nape and kissed her back.

Before he could manage to put an arm around her, though, she released him and ducked under his elbow into the crowd surging up the stairs. Even with his height advantage, he lost all sight of her in an instant.

His mouth still tingling, he waited out the worst of the exodus behind the stairs, then pushed his way through the room to retrieve his coat. Duncan was lying on a table, tapping his toes and laughing at Ross, who turned out to be the fellow who had lost his dinner all over the floor. Ross leaned weakly against a table leg, his arms thrown around it for support and his face white. Monteith was arguing with the landlord, who had fought his way downstairs and was scowling at the spray of sick all over his floor.

With a lurch Duncan rolled off the table. “Let’s go,” he said. “Monteith! Bring what’s left of Ross.” He tossed a pair of guineas toward the landlord, whose aggrieved expression didn’t change even as he snatched the coins from the air.

Out in the street, they heaved Ross between them, Drew and Monteith both trying to make sure the man’s face was angled away from them. Chairmen in Highland garb trotted past carrying sedan chairs, their boots thumping on the cobblestones. A dog barked somewhere nearby. Lopsided, winded, and more than a little drunk, they staggered through the streets, Duncan singing something bawdy in Scots and Ross moaning at him to be quiet.

“Monteith,” Drew said over Ross’s head lolling on his shoulder. “Who was the woman in blue?”

“Eh?” Monteith squinted at him. “Which one? Half the females there wore blue, St. James.” The last words came out slurred.

He gave up. Monteith was even drunker than Duncan, who was frightening away the stray cats that prowled the streets. Someone flung open a window and yelled at him to be silent, which made him begin another verse, louder than ever.

Tomorrow. Once Duncan sobered up, Drew would find out who she was. He could still taste her mouth on his, and he yearned to taste it again.

Chapter Three

It took forever to get the easel in just the right position. The morning light was excellent, but the windows were narrow and admitted little of it. Opening