Julia London - Sinful Scottish Laird

She steadied herself and looked around. She caught sight of the dog loping lazily away...toward a man on an enormous horse. Daisy’s heart leaped with fear when she saw him, and in her head all of Belinda’s warnings about dangerous Scotsmen began to sound. She unthinkingly took a step backward, bumping into the wall. Just as she meant to squeeze through the hole and flee to the lodge, she realized that the man was familiar.

He suddenly reined his horse about and started toward her, the long strides of his mount eating up the ground with ease.

Perhaps she would prove all of Belinda’s fears true in the next few moments, but Daisy didn’t flee; she pulled her shawl more tightly around her as the man slowed his horse and pulled to a sharp halt before her. His horse jumped around a bit, wanting to carry on. Daisy’s heart raced with fear that she would be trampled by the horse, until she realized that the man kept a steady hand on the beast, and the horse would come no nearer to her. She looked up at the rider, her heart pounding.

The Scotsman’s gaze was locked on her, and Daisy’s heart began to flutter so badly that she could not recall his name. Oh dear, what was it? Avondale?

His inspection slowly moved over her, studying her, his expression one of mild surprise. That was the moment Daisy remembered that she was wearing bedclothes, and her hair, uncombed, was draped over her shoulders. She felt the heat of self-consciousness rise up in her cheeks.

“Madainn mhath.”

He towered above her in sinewy masculinity, and Daisy’s mind emptied of all rational thought other than how much she wanted to touch him. “Good morning, Lord Avondale.”

He shifted in his saddle. “Arrandale.”

Ah, yes. That was it. She winced apologetically and thought the better of explaining that her heart was pounding so hard in her chest that she couldn’t think of his name. “I beg your pardon,” she said and curtsied. “My lord Arrandale.” She rose up, drew her breath and released her hard grip on the shawl. It would not do to seem timid in the presence of a man like him.

God in heaven, he was even more dazzling than she’d recalled. He wore the plaid today, and his bare knees and a bit of his powerful thigh were exposed to her. She imagined touching that thigh, and how hard it would feel...and a salacious little shiver ran down her spine.

He was frowning at her, as if he knew what she was thinking.

“I saw your dog,” she blurted, trying to explain herself, and nodded in the canine’s direction. “She was in my garden.”

Arrandale glanced briefly at the dog, who had come loping back to them, her nose to the ground. But his gaze quickly moved over Daisy again. He looked at her as if he’d never seen a woman in her bedclothes and bare feet. He cocked his head. “Has something happened, then? Has the lodge burned? Have you been raided?”

Had something happened? Her heart had been invigorated and hammered in her chest—that was all. “No.”

“No?” He lifted his gaze to her eyes. “It’s no’ often one sees the lady of the house standing in a meadow in her bedclothes, aye?” He arched a brow as if he expected her to disagree.

“You think I’m a bit mad.”

“No’ a bit. Completely. And a wee bit daft, as you might recall.”

He said it so calmly, his manner so matter-of-fact, that Daisy laughed with surprise. “Do you find my appearance so scandalous?” she asked, her smile deepening as she brazenly opened her shawl to reveal her nightgown.

His horse jerked at the tight hold Arrandale had on him, and he adjusted his grip, giving the horse a bit more of his head but still holding him back. “You want me to find it scandalous, aye?”

She laughed with incredulity, the way a girl laughs when she finds a boy attractive. The gentlemen she sparred with in London never seemed to understand her motives, but she rather thought this Scotsman understood her motives very well.

“You enjoy trifling with gentlemen,” he remarked, as if to agree with her thoughts.

“Trifling! I am not trifling with you, my lord—I chased your dog out of my garden.”

A corner of his mouth tipped up in a vaguely droll smile. “Ah yes, the garden,” he said. “No need to deny it. I’m no’ offended.”

Daisy’s laughter was inexplicable, but it was spilling uncontrollably out of her now. “You are a very disagreeable man, sir,” she said cheerfully.

“Me?”

“You’re certainly the first gentleman to complain of flirting. But do you honestly believe that I rushed out here into the meadow just after dawn on the slim hope that you might be riding by? Do you think I came out in here in my bedclothes merely to trifle with you?”

He leaned over the neck of his horse and looked her directly in the eye. “I donna think you came out here with that intention. But I think you leave no opportunity for it untouched.”

He might have hoped to offend her with that remark, but it really only spurred her to trifle with him more. “Indeed? And what precisely do you see that leads you to such an outrageous conclusion?”

“The color in your cheeks,” he said, gesturing to her face. “The light in your eye.”

“Perhaps the color in my cheek comes from the sun. And the light in my eye is a result of the mist lifting.”

“Aye, and perhaps you leave your shoulder bare because the air is warm,” he suggested.

Daisy looked down. She hadn’t realized her nightgown had slid off her shoulder. She very slowly and deliberately pulled it up. “That was inadvertent.”

Arrandale snorted. “Donna mistake me for naive,” he said, as if speaking to a child. “I am well acquainted with women, aye?”

Goodness, but he seemed quite proud of that. “Ah, you are acquainted with women,” she repeated as if this were a revelation to her. “You grace me with your superior knowledge of them,” she said and curtsied daintily, holding out one corner of her nightgown as she dipped, aware that he was probably being treated to a view of the swell of her breasts. Frankly, the thought of it gave her a thrill. She was so unlike herself! She’d never flaunted her figure like this. As she rose up, she liked that his blue eyes had turned a bit stormy, as if something was brewing in him. “But as you know women, so do I know men. You said I would never see you again, and yet here you are. I know that when a man appears in a meadow beside a lady’s abode, riding about when he clearly has no destination in mind, he means to encounter her one way or the other.” She smiled pertly.

Arrandale’s smile was so slow and so wolfish that she felt it trickle down to her toes. “You speak like a man.”

“Why should it be only the provenance of men to speak directly? Must women speak only when addressed, and never flirt, and only agree with everything you say?”

He arched a brow. “How cynical of you, Lady Chatwick. I didna say I disapproved of it, did I? As it happens, I donna care for the demure wee English flowers. I prefer women who lust for life. Nonetheless... I have no interest in engaging you in a flirtation.”

Daisy’s eyes widened with surprise. No one had ever said such a thing to her, especially not since Clive died. “I beg your pardon,” she said flatly, suddenly annoyed with his lack of decorum and his dismissal.

Arrandale’s smile deepened at her irritation. “I suspect it comes as a great shock that you are no’ roundly esteemed by all members of the male sex. But you are no’.” He tipped his hat to her. “Latha math, Lady Chatwick. I’ll leave you to return to your rooms to dress.” He reined his horse about and, with a whistle for his dog, galloped away.

Daisy stared at his departing back as he and his massive horse and massive dog bounded across the meadow.