Page 10 of Walk on the Wildsyde

He noticed the glance and frowned a little, serious once more. “He wouldnae like it, I reckon?”

“Indeed, he would not,” she said, laughing at that understatement.

“I hear he doesnae like a good deal about our town. The builders have been made to feel like they are working for Satan himself, so I’m told.”

“He is most upset about the renovations to the Fisherman’s Retreat,” Clara agreed. “He is determined to stop the excessive drinking in the town, and so the renovation of a public house on his very doorstep has been seen as something of a challenge, I fear.”

“Wants to stop it, does he?”

Clara nodded, wondering if this man was involved with the project himself.

“I’d like to see him try,” he said with a snort.

“Oh, I’m afraid you will. There’s no question of that,” Clara said ruefully. “And you are quite correct, he believes the owner, Mr Hamilton Anderson, is Satan made flesh. He intends to make him repent his sins or run him from the town.”

The man’s eyes widened at that, and he made a choked sound which he turned into a cough, but she suspected the idea amused him as much as it had Mrs Macready.

“Does he, then?” he replied, rubbing his hand over his mouth. “Well, I’m afraid he’s in for a wee bit of a disappointment. There’s nothing that will stop the work, and Mr Anderson will open his business the moment it is ready. He’s going nowhere.”

“Oh,” Clara said in dismay. “Do you know Mr Anderson well?”

“Aye, lassie,” he said, chuckling. “Very well.”

Clara gazed at him, a slight shiver running over her skin at the way he rolled the ‘r’ in ‘very.’ His eyes glinted in the sunlight, shimmering bronze and copper catching her attention. Realising she was staring, Clara forced herself to look away.

“What kind of man is he?” she asked curiously. “I asked Mrs Macready, and she seemed to like him, though she told me I ought to stay away from him. He's… He’s got a way with the ladies, I believe?”

“Has he now?” the man replied, his eyes twinkling. “Well, he is a handsome fellow, ye ken.”

“That’s what Mrs Macready said,” Clara replied, frowning. “Though she gave me the impression it was his voice that charmed people.” She almost added that mellow honey had been the description and that it made a woman feel as if she were the only one in the world, but that would have been a breach of confidence, so she held her tongue.

He leaned closer, the faint scent of something warm and spicy reaching Clara’s senses, making her want to lean closer herself so she might breathe it in. “Perhaps ye are the only woman in the world. If the fellow has the least bit of sense, he might well notice that about ye,” he said easily.

A little too easily, Clara thought, though his words still made her heart thud rather too quickly. Forcing herself to straighten and get the conversation back on track, she tried to sound businesslike, though she felt rather odd, somewhat flustered and not quite sure of herself.

“Well, if you know the gentleman well, perhaps you could ask him if… if he would try to find a way to make peace with my father before things get confrontational.”

“Do ye reckon that’s possible?” he asked with interest. “In my experience, a fellow who has taken another in such deep dislike before he’s even met him is nae in a reasonable state of mind.”

Clara sighed, seeing the sense in this at once. She shook her head. “No. I don’t suppose it is possible. Only it seems that Mr Anderson is a very popular man, and a powerful one. I should dearly love for them to come to terms. I like it here, you see, and I’ve not yet had the chance to make any friends and… and good heavens, why on earth am I telling you all this?” she demanded, blushing as she realised how terribly indiscreet she was being.

“Because ye like it here, and ye have nae had the chance to make a friend, except for Mrs Macready. And for me,” he added gently.

“You, sir, are not my friend,” she said, forcing herself to put some distance between them, to dispel the feeling of intimacy, of having found a confidant that had been growing out of all proportion. She might not have any experience with men, but surely, she knew better than to allow herself to be so easily beguiled.

“Aye, lassie, I am,” he said, straightening. “Whether or nae ye are mine. If ye have need of me, ye need only ask, ye ken. I’ll come running if ye call me.”

“How can I? I don’t even know your name,” Clara retorted, folding her arms, though the thought that she could call on him if she were in need was strangely comforting.

Before he could reply, the front door opened, and Mrs Macready stuck her head out. “Well, bless me. Here ye are! I’ve been looking for ye all over the house. There’ll be nae pie left for ye to eat if ye dinnae come soon, for Jimmy is outdoing himself. Oh! Mr Anderson, I beg yer pardon, sir. I did nae notice ye for a moment.”

Clara gasped at the sound of his name, turning to stare accusingly at the devil who had failed to introduce himself to her properly. For good reason, it seemed. “Mr Anderson?” she repeated, unable to keep the annoyance from her voice, though in truth she was mortified rather than angry.

Oh, that would teach her to speak so unreservedly. What a fool she was for not realising at once.

He only smiled at her, a teasing note to his voice as he said just loud enough for her to hear. “Aye, lassie, the devil himself.”

Too embarrassed and ashamed of herself to say another word, Clara turned away to hide her blushes and hurried back into the house.