Highlander in Disguise Page 14

  “You?” she said, pausing in her struggle to remove her gloves. “Why? I’m the only one who knows that you are not who you say!”

  “Never ye mind why,” he said gruffly, and peered out the window before drawing the drapes shut. As that cut out what precious little light was left of this awful day, he went about lighting several candles.

  Anna watched him as he moved about. He was dressed in a navy coat and gold embroidered waistcoat, his neckcloth expertly tied—a dashing figure of a man, the sort of figure that made her feel oddly light-headed.

  When he had lit the last candle, he turned to face her again, put his hands on his trim waist, and studied her closely. “I told ye to dress in something less priggish, did I no’?”

  Confused, Anna looked down at her gown. It was a pale blue silk, adorned with tiny pink rosebuds and gathered at her back into a long train; it had cost her father a small fortune to commission. “But I did dress less priggishly!”

  With a shake of his head, Lockhart strode across to where she stood. “A man likes to see a wee hint of what is beneath.” He frowned at her bosom, then lifted his hand as if he meant to touch her bodice. Anna froze. He hesitated. She let out a quick sigh of relief.

  And then he did it. Just put his hand on the bodice of her gown—dug into her bodice, actually, his fingers curling around the fabric and his knuckles sinking into the round flesh of her breasts. She gasped; he frowned and forced the bodice of her gown down, so that it just barely covered her breasts.

  “There,” he said, more to himself, and pulled his fingers from her dress. “Aye, there ye are,” he said again. He had not, as yet, lifted his gaze from her bosom, and in between her shock and the shaking of her knees, she caught her breath and held it.

  He stood there like a mute, staring at her breasts for what seemed an eternity, but then suddenly stepped back and away from her as he lifted his gaze to her eyes. “There, then, do ye see, lass? A woman’s bosom is to be politely admired…” His gaze flicked to her breasts again. “No’ hidden away,” he muttered, and abruptly turned away.

  Anna released her breath.

  “Perhaps ye should bring a slate and take notes of what I tell ye. When ye are in the presence of a man ye admire,” he said, his back to her, “ye’d do yerself well to use such a… bonny bosom to yer advantage.”

  “Use it?”

  “Aye. To catch his eye.”

  “By exposing myself?” a perplexed Anna asked.

  “No’ expose them—Diah! A man doesna want to see them until he has the lass in his bed. But he very much wants to imagine, and he needs a wee bit of help in that regard!” He glanced at her over his shoulder. “Ye’ve no idea what I mean, aye?” he asked, frowning a little, and pivoted about, once again closing the distance between them.

  And once again, before Anna could determine what he was about, he grabbed her hand in his, then snaked an arm around her back so that hand was on the small of her back, and pulled her into his chest as if they were dancing.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded.

  He grinned, a boyish, devilish grin. “I’m pretending to stand up with ye, lass. And ye may pretend ye coerced me into doing so, if ye prefer—”

  “I did not coerce you!”

  “Uist! Ye complain too much!” he said, and stepped backward, awkwardly dragging her with him. “All right, then, pretend ye are dancing with yer dandy Mr. Lockhart, will ye, light as a fairy on yer pretty little feet, and ye’d like him to pay close attention to what ye say. How, then, do ye drag his attention away from yer bonny sister across the room?”

  She frowned as he moved backward, dragging her along. “It’s quite impossible to pretend anything without at least the hint of music.”

  “Ach, Anna! Can ye no’ use just a wee bit of yer imagination? We’ve only begun to dance!” He smiled; his gaze dipped to her bosom again. “Go on, then,” he said, his voice softer. “How do ye gain his attention?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” she said irritably. “I suppose I should kneel between his knees.”

  He smiled lopsidedly at that. “That would undoubtedly gain his attention. But no’ the sort I think ye want.”

  “Ah. So that lesson only applies in the delivery of a whiskey, is that it?”

  “That is no’ the only thing it applies to, but ye will require many more lessons ere we broach the other arts for which yer knees are useful.”

  Anna blushed furiously at that, and he laughed. “Shall we try again, then? How do ye gain a man’s attention?”

  “Oh all right!” She tried to find her feet without music, stumbling a little as he shifted directions and forced her backward. “I suppose I’d say something like…‘You seem to enjoy dancing, sir.’”

  Grif suddenly paused in his strange little dance, looked at her as if he expected her to say more. “Is that the best ye can do, then?”

  She thought about it. “Yes,” she said with a firm nod. “If I make polite conversation with a gentleman, he should respond in kind.”

  Grif sighed heavenward, as if she were intentionally taxing him. “ ‘If ye make polite conversation, a gentleman should respond?’” he mimicked her. “If ye want a man to see only ye, to think of only ye, then ye must do more than make polite conversation!”

  “Really?” she said uncertainly. “What more should I do?”

  “Mary Queen of Scots,” he groused. “Mind what I do now. Do ye see how far away I hold ye from me?”

  “Yes. A proper distance.”

  “Aye. ’Tis a proper distance for grandmothers and spinsters. But if ye want him to hold ye close like a lover, then ye will move just so,” he said, prompting her with a hand at the small of her back, pushing her closer to him. Anna took one step. Then two, at his urging, and a third, so that now her bosom was brushing against his coat.

  He grinned appreciatively. “Now ye have me undivided attention. And ye say…?”

  “I say… ‘Do you enjoy dancing?’”

  “No, no! Ye look up into me eyes, through those lovely lashes… lean forward now, lean forward… aye, there ye have it! And say, ‘Ye’re a bloody fine dancer, Mr. Lockhart,’” he said in a falsetto voice while batting his lashes. “ ‘What other talents might ye be hiding from me, then?’”

  Anna couldn’t help herself. She burst into laughter.

  “What?” he demanded.

  “What other talents might you be hiding?” she repeated, and laughed again.

  “Then give me one better!” he challenged her. “Show me how ye’d gain yer love’s attention, and God blind me if ye mention the bloody weather!”

  She laughed again, laughed deeply at her situation, which suddenly seemed ridiculously absurd.

  With a dangerous grin, Lockhart yanked her into his chest, holding her so tightly that she could scarcely catch her breath. “Ah, there ye are,” he said low. “A bonny laugh ye have, Anna.”

  That was the moment Anna felt something inside her trip and fall, something come clean away from all the snares and traps and tangles of the propriety in which she’d been steeped all these years. And as he began to move, she pressed into him as he had shown her, looked up at him from beneath her lashes as he’d directed, and said, in a purring voice, “My, my, sir, how well you move us about the dance floor! One can’t help but wonder if you move as well in other, more intimate circumstances,” she said, and let her lips stretch into a soft smile.

  It worked. Grif’s grin faded; he slowed his step a little and blinked down at her for a moment. But that dangerous smile slowly appeared again, starting in his eyes and casually reaching his lips. “If ye were to pose such a question to me, lass, I’d say, ‘As fast or as slow, as soft or as hard as ye’d want, leannan. Pray tell, how would ye want?’”

  The tingling in her groin was a signal that she was on perilous ground. Anna looked into his green eyes, so dark and so deep that she couldn’t quite determine if this was a game they were playing or something far more dangerous. And her good sense, shap
ed and controlled from years of living among high society, quietly shut down, allowing the real Anna, the Anna who yearned to be loved, to be held and caressed and adored and know all manner of physical pleasure, to slide deeper into the circle of his arms.

  “I don’t rightly know how I’d want, sir, other than to say…” Her voice trailed away as she let her gaze roam his face, the perfectly tied neckcloth, the breadth of his shoulders, his thick arms. And then she lifted her gaze to his, saw something smoldering there, and recklessly whispered, “… that I’d most definitely want.”

  He said nothing. The muscles in his jaw bulged as if he refrained from speaking, and she realized that they had come to a halt. But then his hand spread beneath hers, his palm pressed to her palm, and he laced his fingers between hers, one by one, and with the last one, he closed his hand, gripping hers tightly. “Tha sin glè mhath,” he whispered hoarsely.

  Anna smiled, lifted a curious brow.

  “I said, that’s very good, lass. Very good indeed.”

  Sixteen

  A dreary afternoon and an erotic, musicless dance cast Anna Addison in a whole new light. Grif had always thought her rather exotic, but now he saw her as someone who was… desirable. Captivating, in her own unique way. Sultry. Bloody sultry.

  Not that she didn’t need work, for that she did, and quite a lot of it, actually, owing primarily to an annoying little habit she had of speaking.

  But when she wasn’t speaking… ach….

  As that dance went on, he had thought to kiss her again, for after all, what was more seductive than a lass’s tender kiss? But as he might have expected, Anna had a completely different notion, and put her hands on his chest and laughingly pushed him away, reminding him that he was merely acting a part and that she did not desire to kiss him in the least, nor did he desire to kiss her.

  She had something of a point in that. Truly, he did not want to kiss her, and the fact that he had remained awake half the night thinking of how badly he did not want to kiss her he hoped had more to do with a particularly bad batch of beef than anything else.

  Nevertheless, he at last arose from his bed and drank quite a lot of whiskey to numb the smoldering burn that dance had left behind in him, particularly in all those places where they touched each other. Like his hands. And his knees. His thighs and chest. His groin.

  Diah!

  All that smoldering had made him particularly anxious to get on with the lesson the following day.

  Unfortunately, Dudley’s gout had flared up again, and it was Hugh who showed Anna in.

  She glided into the room ahead of him, removing her bonnet. Hugh stood there watching her in a way Grif understood all too well. Anna looked up; Grif said, “MacAlister was just leaving, he was.”

  “No, I wasna,” Hugh responded, and walked across the room, hand extended. “I beg yer pardon, miss, but we’ve no’ had the courtesy of a proper introduction—”

  “Hugh MacAlister is me valet, Miss Addison,” Grif quickly interjected.

  “Oh! How do you do?” she asked politely as Hugh took her hand.

  “Quite well,” he said, bowing over it.

  Grif cleared his throat. Hugh dropped her hand, but did not leave. In Gaelic, Grif said to Hugh, “What in God’s name are you doing? You’re a valet! You should be gone from here to wash clothing or some such thing.”

  “Your valet?” Hugh spat, his eyes still on Anna. “It’s not as if you need to hide anything from her any longer—she knows what you’re about.”

  “No, all she knows is that she has something I want, but she has no idea why, or how deep our lie runs. The less she knows, the better, ye canna argue.”

  Now Hugh looked at Grif. “You’re the only one to have any amusement, is that it? Dudley and I are to waste away in some darkened parlor while you connive the beastie out of her?”

  Anna cleared her throat. Both men stopped their argument and glanced at her cautiously. “Perhaps…I should come another time?”

  “No!” they exclaimed at the same moment, and glared at one another again.

  “We’ve almost done what we came to do, lad,” Grif reminded him softly in their native tongue. “Be patient, will ye?”

  “Patient! And perhaps you might hurry it along,” Hugh snapped, but he looked at Anna and smiled, and said sadly in English, “I beg yer pardon, miss, but I’ve a… ah, a wardrobe… to, ah… tend,” he said, and with a very lackluster bow for Anna, he dragged himself to the door and through it.

  Anna watched him go, her expression curious. When the door had closed, she shook her head as if confused and removed her pelisse. “Isn’t that the man you were fighting with? You were fighting with your valet? On my honor, I’ve no idea what you’re about, sir, but I am quite certain it can’t possibly be good!”

  Never mind that—Grif was extraordinarily pleased to see she had taken his advice to heart. She wore a rose-colored walking gown trimmed in earth brown.

  “I shall probably find myself in Newgate for somehow abetting you in whatever scheme you’re involved in,” she continued, oblivious to Grif’s admiration.

  Her bodice, he noted happily, was suitably draped in sheer silk, and cinched so low that her breasts were luscious mounds of creamy flesh, waiting to be freed.

  “I must have quite lost my mind to have come here,” she said, smoothing her hair, then looked at Grif.

  He smiled. Her eyes narrowed in an expression he knew quite well in spite of their brief association, and he instantly threw up his hands. “I’m admiring yer good work, lass! Ye’ve taken yer instruction well.”

  Her expression softened a bit as she looked down at her gown and reached behind to shake out the train. “Really? Do you like it?”

  Like it? He was tempted to lick it off her body. “It is indeed quite lovely,” he said in all honesty.

  She smiled demurely, clasped her hands behind her back. “Thank you,” she said, blushing a little. “I thought… well, given what you said yesterday, I thought…” Her voice trailed off and she shrugged. “So? Shall we carry on with the lesson?” she asked.

  Grif held out his arm to her. “Aye. Let’s be done with it.”

  Anna looked at his arm. “You… don’t intend more dancing without music, do you?”

  As appealing as that sounded, he shook his head. “Today ye learn to speak with a man.”

  “Speak with him?” she exclaimed. “Oh, I can well imagine! Speak only when spoken to, and never speak too much, for women should leave the thinking to me. Something like that, I suppose?”

  “As usual, ye are quite wrong. I should like to see ye laugh. And smile. There’s naugh’ more appealing to a man than a woman’s bonny smile,” he said, and indicated she should take his arm.

  “I smile!” she insisted. “And I laugh when there is something clever or amusing!”

  “Ye donna smile or laugh nearly enough in the company of men.”

  “I do!” she argued, her brows dipping into a frown.

  “No,” he argued pleasantly. “On me word, ye have a tendency to be the most humorless woman about. Always frowning, always seeking a way to deride—”

  “That isn’t true!” she protested, putting her hands to her hips.

  Grif raised one brow, asked calmly, “Did ye no’ make yer deal with the devil, Anna? I am honoring this end of it… will ye no’ honor yours?”

  She glared at him. Bit her lip. “Blast it,” she muttered beneath her breath.

  “Come, then,” he said, reveling in her defeat. “Pretend we’re having a walkabout.”

  Anna sighed skeptically, put her hand on his arm, and didn’t flinch when he covered it with his hand. “Where shall we walkabout?” she asked, sighing impatiently.

  “Here,” he said, and began to stroll, walking the length of the room. “Imagine ye are strolling with the object of yer great esteem, Mr. Rake Lockhart—”

  “Drake.”

  “Drake, Rake… ’tis all the same to me. Imagine he has ye on his arm. ’Tis a l
ovely spring day, without a hint of rain. There are flowers here and there. And he says, because he wishes to impress ye, ‘Miss Addison, ye look as fresh and green as a daisy,’” Grif said, using an effeminate voice. “What do ye say?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh, I don’t know… perhaps something about daisies not being green, but white and yellow?”

  “Mo chreach, ye are a thick student! A man likes to know that his efforts to compliment ye are appreciated!”

  “But that compliment makes not the least bit of sense.”

  “Especially if it makes no sense. Most men are no’, by their nature, poets.”

  “All right…I suppose I should say, ‘Thank you kindly, sir.’”

  “Good,” he said, smiling warmly. “But have ye more? Perhaps a wee bit of a smile?” he asked, nudging her with his shoulder.

  She smiled. A wee bit of a smile, to be sure, but a smile all the same.

  “And can ye no’ look me in me eyes?” Grif pressed her.

  With a snort, she turned her face up to his, looked him squarely in the eyes, and smiled charmingly, all white teeth and coral lips.

  Better still, Grif saw something flicker behind those coppery orbs, and grinned at her. “Excellent. Perhaps ye might practice this smile at night, before ye sleep. Corners of yer mouth up, corners down, and then repeat.”

  What was that? A hint of a genuine smile?

  “Shall we try it again?” he asked pleasantly.

  Anna nodded.

  “Very well.” He made a show of drawing a deep breath. “Will ye look at the glorious day about us, Miss Addison? And it is made infinitely brighter by yer beauty.”

  Anna smiled, nodded demurely. “Thank you kindly, sir.”

  “Aye, but ye look as bonny as a purple moon, ye do.”

  She glanced at him from the corner of her eye.

  He grinned, daring her to argue his metaphor.

  “Why, Mr. Lockhart, I do not believe kinder words were ever spoken!” she said, and laughed gaily.

  She was perfect in that moment—her smile beautiful, her laugh beautiful—and Grif wondered where this Anna had been hiding. “Oh my, I’m afraid you really have gone round the bend!” she cried gleefully.