Page 13 of Kiss Me, Macrae
Though his instinct called out for him to protect the woman standing so proud before him and punish anyone who’d dare to hurt her, the fierceness of her gaze and the strength underlying her words confirmed the truth of her statement.
He gave a short nod. “Tae have yer back as ye fight yer own, then.”
Something deep and intense flickered in her gaze, making Baird’s stomach tighten as he experienced a nearly overwhelming desire to spirit her away to someplace dark and quiet.
He wasn’t sure what she would have said or if she would have said anything because the moment was harshly interrupted by the announcement of dinner.
Her thick lashes swept down over her gaze.
Baird offered his arm as escort and after only a slight hesitation, she settled her hand on his sleeve. In silence, they joined the flow of guests making their way to the dining room.
As he held her chair for her to take a seat, the back of her shoulder brushed against his knuckles. She inhaled sharply at the contact but refused to look at him as he took his place at the table.
It was some time before she glanced his way again. When she did, he detected a quiet question buried deep in her gaze. He couldn’t tell if she was questioning him, or herself.
Chapter 7
The compulsion to seek him out was impossible to resist so she stopped trying.
The gentlemen had just rejoined the ladies in the drawing room after enjoying their after-dinner port and tobacco. Macrae stood between two older gentlemen, regaling them with some tale that claimed their rapt attention.
In truth, Allegra’s were not the only female eyes drawn to the brawny Scot when his face lit with a mischievous grin. He was the type of man who could claim a bevy of admirers with no more than a wink and the flash of his teeth. Typically, such men—with their abundance of confidence and masculinity—irritated her. If a woman ever felt free enough to be so lively and open in her manner, she’d be thoroughly shamed back into a proper level of delicate decorum.
Macrae laughed out loud—a full, rich sound that rolled warmly over her nerves—and Allegra had to admit that he didn’t irritate her at all.
Just the opposite, in fact.
Earlier, when she’d first stepped into the drawing room to see him standing across the room, she’d been stunned. And not just because she hadn’t expected him to be there.
She’d already accepted that she found his rugged, oversized male appearance inordinately attractive. But nothing could have prepared her for the sight of the man in black evening wear with a dark emerald waistcoat and a crisp white cravat beneath a neatly trimmed beard. Handsome and elegant, only his red-blond hair retained the careless, tousled look of having just come from outdoors.
He’d quite effectively stolen her breath.
By the time she and Susanna had made their way around the room, Allegra had gotten her wayward response under control only to have it slip from her grasp once she and Macrae were left alone and he grinned at her. The sparkle of intimacy in his gaze should have made her wary; instead, it caused a tingling ache low in her belly.
And when he’d offered to avenge her…
Her heart had come to a full stop.
There had been no hesitation. No need for details. He’d suspected she’d been wronged and immediately offered to right it. No one had ever done that for her before.
Not even her father.
When word of her indiscretion had gotten out, people she’d long called friends murmured amongst themselves that she’d always been a bit too bold for her own good, that her modern manner and independent nature had finally seen to her downfall.
Not a single condemnatory word was spoken of Lucas.
In fact, the deceitful cad had gotten everything he’d wanted.
While she’d had her entire future stolen away.
Anger rose up through her belly, flushing her skin with heat. Her fingers curled tight into her palms with the urge to fight back against something that was long said and done. The pressure of buried ire filled her chest, making it difficult to breathe.
She needed air.
Muttering a quick excuse to the small group of ladies she was sitting with, she rose to her feet and kept to a sedate pace as she strode from the drawing room. Across the empty hall was a small sitting room lit by a few candles. It was blessedly unoccupied. Reaching the windows, she released the latch and pushed the casement open just enough to feel the rush of winter air over her face.
It bothered her that she could still get so upset. That the thought of Lucas standing beside her father as they eyed her with disappointment—her father’s genuine, Lucas’s as false as everything else about him—could so easily stir up the flame of indignation and disbelief.