And she was walking now. Good glory. For a dozen hard beats of his heart he envisioned her with her blond hair tumbled past her shoulders, her expression wide-eyed and breathless, and all those buttons broken open and scattered to the floor. Beneath his proper trousers, his cock jumped again.
He shook himself. Every time he set eyes on her, she pulled at him. Aye, he could admire a bonny lass; he wasn’t dead, after all. But he shouldn’t be admiring this one. He damned well shouldn’t be lusting after her. Amelia-Rose was Coll’s lass. Niall was there merely keeping the agreement open until his oldest brother came to his senses. Nothing more.
Of course if Coll got a look at her this morning, he might just propose on the spot. She was a lithe, sensuous goddess. The thing that troubled Niall most was the idea that Coll could marry such a lass and then decide to leave her behind in London. No, that wasn’t the thought that troubled him the most. But he refused to acknowledge the other one. It would serve nothing but damned bloody trouble.
“Let’s be off, shall we?” she said pertly, apparently unaware she’d nearly made him split his seams. “We shouldn’t keep Lord Glendarril waiting.”
Lord Glendarril was most likely somewhere sleeping off a large dinner and a woman, but that wasn’t for her to know. “Aye.”
He let the groom boost her up into the sidesaddle; until his brain caught up with his cock he wouldn’t be touching her. If he hadn’t been tired, hungry, and boasting a headache so grand that even his hair hurt, he wouldn’t have been imagining doing anything naked and sweaty with Amelia-Rose Baxter. And still somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that was a lie, too.
When everyone else was mounted he swung up on Kelpie and led the parade south and east. Lines of connected townhouses, broken up by small parks filled with more nannies and prams and bairns, gave way to fancy-looking shops, hotels, and gentlemen’s clubs.
The gray mare drew even with him. “Do you know where we’re going?” Amelia-Rose asked.
“More or less. I reckon ye’d inform me if I make a wrong turn.”
“Certainly. We’re a bit too far south at the moment, but this is the less complicated route.”
“I asked yer groom for directions,” he said, indicating the man riding at the rear of the parade. “He looked at me like I was an idiot, so it follows he’d give me the simplest route.”
She cleared her throat in what might have passed for a chuckle. “This is truly your first time in London?”
“Aye.” He felt more than saw her sideways glance at him. Next she’d be asking if he’d ever kissed a lass, because from what he’d always heard about the Sassenach, they thought every man who’d never been to London was no man at all. “Is that White’s club?” he asked, indicating the plain building front that looked very much the same as all the others, with the exception of its prominent bow window. He’d seen a drawing or two of that, as he recalled.
“Yes. Is your father a member?”
Niall snorted. More English snobbery. “Nae. My da is a chieftain of clan Ross. That’s the only club he’d ever care to join. A gaggle of Sassenach sitting about and arguing over how important they are is a bigger waste of time than milking a cat.”
Her smile loosened a little. “That’s a bit severe, isn’t it?”
Was it? “I’ve nae seen a thing to change my opinion.”
“That’s because you haven’t seen anything at all but an evening at Drury Lane Theater and a morning riding down the street.” She squinted one eye.
“Either ye’ve a twitch, or ye’re wanting to say someaught more, lass. Dunnae be shy with me. I dunnae offend easily.” Aside from that, he’d very much appreciated the way she’d blasted at Coll last night.
With a barely audible sigh, she nodded. “We’re to be friends, aren’t we? In-laws, if our parents have their way. Tell me, then, if your father so dislikes London and the English, why did he marry your mother?”
“That’s a question we’ve debated for two decades,” he answered truthfully. “He claims it was for her da’s money. I reckon he got cracked in the head by Cupid, but he willnae admit it now out of pride.”
Her mouth, with which he’d been fascinated all morning, quirked again. She’d be terrible at card games, because every emotion she felt mirrored itself on her pretty face. For God’s sake he hoped it wasn’t the same with him, or they’d all be in trouble.
“‘Cracked in the head by Cupid,’” she repeated, chuckling. “Not quite as poetic as being struck by the cherub’s arrow, but I imagine falling in love could be somewhat … chaotic.” She sent him another glance. “Would you agree? Have you ever been in love, Mr. MacTaggert? Niall, I mean?”
“I’ve been near to it half a dozen times, Miss Baxter,” he returned, spotting the next street plaque and turning the group north accordingly. “Nae close enough to fall over the cliff.” At this moment he was wishing one of those lasses had caught his heart; if he’d been already married, especially without knowing about the bloody agreement his parents had signed, he would likely have been excused from this mess and happily still in the Highlands.
But after last night, that wasn’t quite true, either. The play had been better than he’d expected, but so had the conversation. Especially when he’d thought to be seated in the back row watching while Coll attempted to speak to an empty-headed flower about nonsense. It had begun that way, aye, until Coll had pushed too hard. Had his brother suspected he was being bamboozled? More likely he’d just been overly annoyed by the entire thing, but she’d definitely taken her moment to speak her mind.
“What about your brother?” she asked.
Niall blinked. “What about him?”
“Has he … been in love?”
Oh, that. “Nae that he’s admitted.” He sent her another look, catching a glimpse of blue eyes slanted in his direction before she faced forward again. “Ye definitely caught his attention last night.”
“If you try to tell me he was intrigued rather than entirely put out, I will call you a liar, sir.”
A laugh burst from his chest. He tried to stifle it with a cough, but doubted he’d been at all successful. “He wasnae indifferent about it. I’ll admit to that.”
“Well, I shall be minding my tongue this morning, just so you know. I misspoke last night, however … provoking he might have been. I know better.”
That seemed a damned shame, but since Coll wasn’t anywhere about and Niall had lied to get her to the coffee shop, he was almost willing to wager that she would be misspeaking again this morning. He looked forward to it.
Just past the corner on the left in front of them, a wooden sign bearing a drawing of a Turkish coffeepot and fancy lettering proclaimed that they’d arrived at The Constantinople. The shop below the sign boasted large windows and a rich, exotic scent that drowned out the coal-and-manure smell around them. His stomach rumbled. While he’d had coffee, he’d never been to a place dedicated to the brew.
This morning might have been worse, he supposed; Mrs. Baxter might have sent them to a recital or a tableware museum. What he knew about finer folk’s music and dinner plates wouldn’t fill a thimble.