Julia Quinn - Gretna Greene

She nodded again, this time with more vigor. "Do you see? Do you see what I mean?"

"How old is your brother?"

"He's only eighteen."

Angus let out a whoosh of air. "You're right, then. He has no idea what he's doing. No boy of eighteen does. Come to think of it, no girl of eighteen does, either."

Margaret nodded her agreement. "Is that how old your sister is? What's her name? Anne?"

"Yes, on both counts."

"Why are you chasing after her? What did she do?"

"Ran off to London."

"By herself?" Margaret asked, clearly aghast with horror.

Angus looked over at her with a bemused expression. "Might I remind you that you ran off to Scotland by yourself?"

"Well, yes," she sputtered, "but it's entirely different. London is… London."

"As it happens, she's not entirely by herself. She stole my carriage and three of my best servants, one of whom is a former pugilist, which is the only reason I'm not terrified out of my skull right now."

"But what does she plan to do?"

"Throw herself upon the mercy of my great-aunt." He shrugged. "Anne wants a Season."

"And is there a reason she cannot have one?"

Angus's expression grew stern. "I told her she could have one next year. We have been renovating our home, and I'm far too busy to drop everything and head to London."

"Ah."

His hands went to his hips. "What do you mean, ah?"

She moved her hands in a gesture that was somehow self-deprecating and all-knowing, all at once. "Just that it seems to me that you are putting your needs before hers."

"I am doing no such thing! There is no reason she cannot wait a year. You, yourself, agreed that eighteen-year-olds know nothing."

"You're probably right," she concurred, "but it's different for men and for women."

His face moved a fraction of an inch closer to hers. "Would you care to explain how?"

"I suppose it's true that eighteen-year-old girls know nothing. But eighteen-year-old boys know less than nothing."

To her great surprise, Angus started to laugh, falling back upon the bed and shaking the mattress with his chuckles. "Oh, I should be insulted," he gasped, "but I fear you're right."

"I know I'm right!" she retorted, a smile sneaking across her face.

"Oh, dear Lord," he sighed. "What a night. What a sorry, miserable, wonderful night."

Margaret's head snapped up at his words. What did he mean by that? "Yes, I know," she said-just a touch hesitantly, since she wasn't quite sure what she was agreeing with. "It's a muck. What are we to do?"

"Join forces, I suppose, and look for both of our errant siblings at once. And as for tonight, I can sleep on the floor."

A tension that Margaret hadn't even realized she was carrying slid right out of her. "Thank you," she said with great feeling. "I appreciate your generosity."

He sat up. "And you, my dear Margaret, are going to have to enjoy the life of an actress. At least for a day."

An actress? Didn't they run about half-dressed and take lovers? Margaret caught her breath, feeling her cheeks-and a rather lot of other bits-grow warm. "What do you mean?" she asked, horrified by how breathy she sounded.

"Merely that if you want to eat tonight-and I'm fairly certain there will be more than haggis on the menu, so you may breathe easier in that respect-then you will have to pretend to be Lady Angus Greene."

She frowned.

"And," he added with a roll of his eyes, "you're going to have to pretend that the position is not quite so disagreeable. After all, we did manage to get you with child. We can't dislike each other so very much."

Margaret blushed. "If you don't stop talking about that infernal nonexistent baby, I swear I shall close the drawer on your fingers."

He clasped his hands behind his back and grinned. "I am quaking with terror."

She shot him an irritated look, then blinked. "Did you say Lady Greene?"

"Does it matter?" Angus quipped.

"Well, yes!"

For a moment Angus just stared at her, disappointment spreading in his chest. His was a minor title- just a baronetcy with a small but lovely piece of land-but still women viewed him as a prize to be won. Marriage seemed to be some sort of contest to the ladies he knew. She who catches the title and money, wins.

Margaret placed her hand over her heart. "I place great stock in good manners."

Angus found his interest renewed. "Yes?"

"I shouldn't have called you Mr. Greene if you're truly Lord Greene."

"It's actually Sir Greene," he said, his lips twitching back into a smile, "but I can assure you that I am not offended."

"My mother must be turning over in her grave." She shook her head and sighed. "I've tried to teach Edward and Alicia-my sister-what my parents would have wanted. I've tried to live my life the same way. But sometimes I think I'm just not good enough."

"Don't say that," Angus said with great feeling. "If you're not good enough, then I have serious fears for my own soul."

Margaret offered him a wobbly smile. "You may have the ability to make me so furious that I can't even see straight, but I shouldn't worry about your soul, Angus Greene."

He leaned toward her, his black eyes dancing with humor, mischief, and just a touch of desire. "Are you trying to compliment me, Miss Pennypacker?"

Margaret caught her breath, her entire body growing oddly warm. He was so close, his lips mere inches away, and she had the sudden, bizarre thought that she might like to be a brazen woman for once in her life. If she just leaned forward, swayed toward him for only a second, would he take the initiative and kiss her? Would he sweep her into his arms, pull the pins from her hair, and make her feel as if she were the star of a Shakespearean sonnet?

Margaret leaned.

She swayed.

She fell right off the bed.

Margaret yelped in surprise as she slid through the air. It wasn't a long slide; the floor practically jumped to meet her hip, which was (of course) already bruised from her ride in the farmer's cart. She was sitting there, somewhat stunned at her sudden change of position, when Angus's face appeared over the edge of the bed.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"I, er, lost my balance," she muttered.

"I see," he said, so solemnly that she couldn't possibly believe him.

"I frequently lose my balance," she lied, trying to make the incident seem as unremarkable as possible. It wasn't every day she fell off a bed while swaying into a kiss with a complete stranger. "Don't you?"

"Never."

"That's not possible."

"Well," he mused, scratching his chin, "I suppose that's not entirely true. There are times…"

Margaret's eyes fixed on his fingers as they stroked the stubbled skin of his jaw. Something about the movement transfixed her. She could see each little whisker, and with a horrified gasp she realized that her hand had already crossed half the distance between them.

Good Lord, she wanted to touch the man.

"Margaret?" he asked, his eyes amused. "Are you listening to me?"

She blinked. "Of course. I'm just-" Her mind flailed for something to say. "Well, it's obvious that I'm sitting on the floor."

"And this interferes with your auditory skills?"

"No! I-" She clamped her lips together in an irritated line. "What were you saying?"

"Are you certain you don't want to come back up on the bed so you can hear me better?"

"No, thank you. I'm perfectly comfortable, thank you."

He reached down, clamped one of his large hands around her arm, and hauled her up onto the bed. "I might have believed you if you'd left it at one 'thank you.' "

She grimaced. If she had a fatal flaw, it was trying too hard, protesting too much, arguing too loud. She never knew when to stop. Her siblings had told her so for years, and deep in her heart, she knew she could be the worst sort of pest when she was single-mindedly fixed on a goal.