Page 7 of Reckless Desire

Her heart warmed. At ten years of age, he had begun to show signs of manhood. His stoic expression on the morning she’d left, as she waved goodbye from the carriage, had been too grown up. Still, she fancied the shimmer in his eyes had been unshed tears. The warmth vanished. She’d been gone a month. Did he think much of the girl who was the only sister he had known? Boys cared so little for anything other than sword play with sticks and chasing tadpoles in fairy pools—which was exactly as it should be.

Three ladies smiled at Sir Stirling, and he greeted them as they passed. Kenna angled her head and murmured “Hello” in response to their smiles. A couple greeted them, and she smiled and said “Hello” again, and again. The din of conversation seemed to roar in competition with the music.

Tears pricked. Nae. She had promised her aunt she would not cry after leaving Skye—though she had broken that promise a dozen times. She would not embarrass Lady Chastity and Sir Stirling. Why, oh, why had her aunt been home the day Sir Stirling arrived on their doorstep? She was being foolish. She didn’t know Sir Stirling well, but she knew him well enough to know that he wouldn’t have left without speaking with her.

They reached a vacant alcove on the far side of the room. If Kenna didn’t know Sir Stirling, she would have thought him fortunate to find an unoccupied, private alcove. But she did know better. No doubt, the hostess had reserved the spot especially for him.

He stood aside as Lady Chastity entered. He smiled at Kenna a she followed close behind, and she was glad when the murmur of voices softened.

Sir Stirling lingered in the doorway. “Would you like refreshments, ladies?”

Lady Chastity sat on the couch to the left and looked at him through her lashes. Her expression lacked the artifice of Lady Phoebe’s when she’d looked at Lord Newhall that morning.

“Champagne,” Lady Chastity said.

Sir Stirling’s gaze softened. “Anything you wish, my dear.” His eyes lingered on her another two heartbeats before he faced Kenna. “Would you like champagne, as well, Miss Ramsay?”

She’d never tasted champagne. “Aye, thank you, sir.”

He angled his head in a slight bow, then turned and left.

Kenna half wished he had pulled the curtain.

“Come, sit beside me, Kenna.” Lady Chastity patted the cushion beside her.

Kenna crossed the alcove and sat down. The country dance ended and the orchestra began a Scottish reel. Kenna glanced through the open doorway and glimpsed the dancers.

“Do you like to dance?” Lady Chastity asked.

She nodded. “My aunt taught me. She said a lady must know three things: how to dance, how to play the pianoforte and how to speak at least one language other than English.”

“What language did you choose?”

Kenna looked at her. “Italian.” Her cheeks warmed. “I know it is the fashion to speak French, but Italian is such a warm language.”

“Have you visited Italy?”

She shook her head. “Nae.”

“Perhaps you will one day.”

Kenna covered Lady Chastity’s hand, which rested on her lap. “My lady, I will never visit Italy.” Kenna removed her hand and sighed. “I know my aunt hoped that I would come here and find a respectable husband, but none of these men will want a poor girl from Skye.”

“You have a fine pedigree,” Lady Chastity said.

Kenna blinked in surprise. She had expected her to say, ‘Any gentleman would be fortunate to have you.’ That is what her aunt always said.

“What will a fine gentleman care that my ancestor was Robert the Bruce?” she replied.

Lady Chastity laughed. “Kenna, that is not your only fine attribute.”

“The only men I attracted back home were farmers and ranchers.”

“Not surprising.”

“I beg your pardon?” Kenna blurted.

Chastity shrugged. “Most men on Skye are farmers and ranchers.”