Page 12 of A Heart Worth Loving

He crossed to her, grasped her hand and bowed over her fingers. “Ma’am. A pleasure to see you again.”

She nodded to the young woman. “May I introduce my daughter, Margaret.”

The girl angled her head in acknowledgement.

“A pleasure, Miss Brodrick.” He bowed.

“Please, have a seat,” Mrs. Brodrick said. “Mattie, bring tea, please. It is wonderful that you have paid us a visit. We were just discussing Margaret’s wedding plans. She is to marry Lord Richard Ainsley.”

Ewan nodded. “Felicitations, Miss Brodrick.”

She blushed prettily, reminding him of a delicate doll, but nothing so real, so intriguing as her sister, Kyla.

“Oh, you must come to the wedding,” Mrs. Brodrick said. “Say you will.”

“Ma’am—”

“You may bring your brother and the other gentlemen at Blackstone Abbey,” she went on. She looked at her daughter. “Lady Margaret Ainsley.” Mrs. Brodrick looked at him, genuine joy in her eyes. “She will make a lovely viscountess, do you not agree?”

The woman was clearly a social climber, but she seemed truly happy for her daughter.

“Aye.” Ewan tilted his head in the girl’s direction. “Very lovely.”

She blushed again and dropped her gaze.

Mattie returned, and set the tray of tea on the table in front of the divan.

“Do sit down, Lord Kilbreck,” Mrs. Brodrick said. “I will pour the tea.”

“Thank you,” Ewan said, “but you will have to forgive me. I have no time for tea. I came to beg the use of your sheep dog.”

“Sheep dog?” She frowned and looked at her daughter.

“We haven’t a sheep dog, nor a dog of any kind, I am afraid,” Margaret explained.

He should have been surprised but, oddly, wasn’t. So, what had his lovely ghost been doing at Blackstone Abbey in the middle of the night?

He endured fifteen more minutes of Mrs. Brodrick trying to entice him to sit and have tea while she and Margaret regaled him with wedding plans before he succeeded in breaking away.

Ewan strode down the path back to Blackstone Abbey. Why had Kyla Brodrick really been at Blackstone Abbey in the middle of the night? Those keys must be important for her to brave returning after he’d so soundly kissed her. He winced. He’d done a bit more than just kissed her. He’d been drunk. Perhaps she’d hoped he wouldn’t remember the encounter.

He smiled. She might hope he didn’t remember, but she certainly had. Her startled expression when he’d caught her in the refectory that morning was more than just guilt at having been caught trespassing. The minx had obviously remembered that kiss. He grimaced. God, he was mooning over her like a lovesick lad of sixteen. He didn’t have time for such foolishness.

A murmur of voices up ahead caused him to slow his walk, until, much to his surprise, the object of his thoughts came into view. Kyla. She stood in the middle of the road, speaking to a man with mutton-chop whiskers.

“I cannot,” she said emphatically.

“Why?” the man demanded with a scowl.

Kyla blew out a frustrated breath. “You must wait until my father returns.”

Her father still lived? Interesting. He’d had the impression that wasn’t so.

“It is too late to change the plan now.” The man threw his hands in the air in exasperation. “Bah! What do women know of such matters?” He paused, then dropped his voice and added in a suggestive tone, “They are much better for other…things.”

“Mister Mallatratt. How dare you,” she snapped.

“Do no’ be angry, Kyla.” The man reached for her.