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That she had no interest in staying with him came as a breath of fresh air.
A woman with no interest in him? Another first. And why it made him a tad disgruntled was a mystery.
CHAPTER TWO
Next morning, Moira hurriedly opened the front door to go take care of her first task of the day. And nearly bumped into a pair of muscled legs clad in green, black, and white tartan. Her eyes travelled up his long limbs, his tapered waist, and his impossibly wide shoulders to find the McKendrick monument standing on a ladder. He was fixing a screw at the top door hinge.
Her heart exploded in sprint. No, she was not startled. That heart of hers jumped for reasons she preferred not to acknowledge at the moment.
Yesterday, focusing on the ledgers had provided a refuge from the man. In minutes, she had been engrossed in them. When he spoke, she startled, especially since she expected him to take his leave and forget all about their encounter. Not for a second did she imagine he might draw a counter-offer. A counter-offer that fitted the bill so beautifully she wondered why she hadn’t thought of it. Availing themselves with a way out of marriage gave her thrills of relief, because a man like him for a husband would be a gigantic headache. No woman in her right mind should have a husband with his looks for it was a recipe for disaster.
After he left, her knees buckled and she sat while the whole thing hit her. She had agreed on an appearances-only betrothal with a man the lasses said was for the bedchamber rather than for the church. That the man was able to let go of the fact she had, yes, hunted him proved surprising. That he proposed a betrothal which would help her muddled circumstances could only be called dumbfounding.
In her mind, they would set on a function to publicise their “engagement” as a strategy to fend off her uncle. After which they would carry on with their lives without disruption.
“What the darn are you doing there?” she asked, more out of a need to cover her reaction to him than to gauge the information itself.
Big mistake, of course. His deep-set coffee eyes latched onto hers. Not only did her stomach give a wild flip but also her heart tried to run from her ribcage. Not to mention the tightening of her breasts, or that already familiar melting sensation in her core. Fou
r-years familiar to be more precise.
But then one corner of his perfectly shaped lips lifted in a smirk, and she wondered what she had been thinking to abduct this man and propose marriage so disastrously.
“Good morning to you, too, Lady Darroch.” Moira added his rich voice to her list of disasters regarding the man. He continued. “This door needs adjusting to lock well for the night.”
People in the McKendrick clan boasted Lachlan as a handyman, able to fix every and anything in his lands. From roofs, to ploughing devices, or broken fences. They also advertised how tirelessly he worked, with a never-ending well of energy. The latter mostly from women in low, suggestive tones.
“I can do that.” If the McKendrick monument would go taking charge in a fake betrothal, what would he not do were it a real one? Stand in her way perpetually, no doubt. “You need not surge like a ghost when the sun is barely up.”
She was thankful few witnessed their conversation. More than that, with the intense work in the fields, most of her clan would head there. Spring used to be a busy season.
With a last firm twist, he climbed down the ladder and stood before her. Close…too close. His frame occupied almost all the width of the casing as well as the height. The light dimmed as her neck cricked to look up at him. A cool breeze blew inside, carrying his scent, a mixture of pine and sandal. Her mind produced an image of unwrapping the green wool from his body and grazing her nose along the wall of his chest to discover every hint of muskiness. Her breath caught as ripples of sensation coursed through her.
Clad in a white shirt under the tartan, Lachlan crossed his bunched arms and lowered his head. Several heartbeats elapsed as they stood in charged silence.
When he moved, it was to step forward, eliciting her to step back. Another step of his followed by one of hers. It repeated once more. And then he closed the door behind him. Her stare widened because he seemed to be even closer. Reluctant to give way, she kept her ground.
“Look,” he started. “If we’re going to do this, we must do it thoroughly.” Merely inches from her, she registered amber freckles in his eyes. They seemed to move with the light from the window to their right.
“W-what do you mean?” Moira really hoped it did not come out as a sigh even if it did. And then she hoped he could not tell she was breathless.
“I’ll be around a great deal,” he said, his tone hoarse.
“Great deal…” she echoed dumbly. Her eyes did not even blink, for pity’s sake. As though she wanted to engrave him in her memory. As though she had not already.
“Which is to say I’ll be moving in here.” Such a thing was not unheard of, especially if a clan could use all the help one offered at busy times like these.
Moving in? Blast it all! If just bumping into this ode to male beauty caused a revolution in her insides, his being ‘around’ amounted to nothing but a tragedy.
“But—” The protest clogged her dry throat. Her tongue darted to moisten her mouth, promptly followed by his unwavering attention.
“We should put up a united front. Your people will get the feeling we are solid about the alliance.” The seriousness on his features left no doubt of his commitment to their ruse. “If this offends your sensibilities, hire a lady’s maid or a chaperone.” In short, money would be no issue here. He possessed loads of it.
Moira’s brows pleated. There was no fragile London-bred ninny in this clan. “I don’t need a chaperone.” What she needed was to have thought her crazy plan through before she set it in motion.
With a slow nod, he uncrossed his arms. “Suit yourself.” He turned, opened the door, grabbed a satchel laying by the frame, and dropped it inside the hall.
Her gaze darted to the leather bag and back to him. The arrogance of him to assume he could stay before asking. Not that she wished he had consulted her, far from it. Even if the manor belonged to her family and this concerned her clan. Resisting an urge to roll her eyes, she gave him as wide a berth as she could. And let herself out before she told him exactly what she thought of his conceited actions.
