Page 12 of A Scoundrel’s Promise

The vase plunged toward the floor. A hand flashed into her field of vision. Liam’s. Tanned. Well-formed, with a hint of charcoal on one finger.

The natural flow of time resumed, and the vase fell into Liam’s hand with a dull thump.

“By God,” her father swore.

Mackenzie swallowed. Such a narrow miss.

“Miss Dunn.” Liam extended the vase toward her.

The expression in his blue eyes held a note of suspicion. Truly? Did he think her a silly enough twit to risk her mother’s prized vase to gain his attention? Irritated, she opened her mouth, but then their fingers brushed. The warmth of his skin drew her attention. So solid.

Liam placed the vase in her hands. “Good day, Miss Dunn.” He bowed, then strode away.

“Thank you,” Mackenzie called after him.

Had he heard? She liked his gait. Each step confident as he started down the stairs with her father. The hem of his kilt brushed those muscled calves. She suddenly felt oddly warm.

“Come, let us return to your mother,” Cora urged.

Mackenzie waved her hand as the men disappeared from view. “Go, I need to clean up this spill.”

Cora’s big brown eyes took on a Will you? look before she turned and headed toward the parlor.

Mackenzie hurried to the top of the stairs and peered over the railing, down into the foyer.

They stood before the open door. “I shall see you soon, Liam.” Her father clapped him on the back.

“Good evening.” Liam gave a slight bow.

He ducked his tall frame out the door and Mackenzie hurried to the window overlooking the front drive as he stepped into the summer rain. He descended the half dozen steps to the drive and started toward his horse, tied to a post. She’d met plenty of men during the Season in Inverness, but none so compelling as Lord Liam. What was it about the man? She simply had to see him again. She couldn’t let him slip through her fingers. Suddenly, the party seemed far too distant.

He untied the reins from the post and her heart skipped a beat when Liam swung up into the saddle. She got an eyeful of his muscled thigh and—Lord help her—a hint of his rounded buttocks when the wind snapped his kilt. His long hair flicked in the rain and wind. He turned the horse toward the drive, then unexpectedly looked up. Mackenzie ducked aside. Had he seen her? Nae, he couldn’t have. Carefully, she peeked around the window. Lord Liam’s horse cantered down the drive, then broke into a gallop.

The creak of the stairs jarred her from her thoughts and she realized her father was returning. An inkling of an idea flashed through her mind. Quickly, she retreated to the vase and began to rearrange the flowers.

“Pray have a care, my dear,” her father greeted her mildly as he emerged from the stairs.

Mackenzie turned, as if surprised, and smiled contritely. “I will, Papa. How fortunate Lord Fraser is as nimble as a cat.”

“Aye.” Her father snorted and nodded in the general direction of the parlor. “Your mother would suffer a fit of vapors to know just how close her vase came to shattering on the floor.”

Mackenzie winced in agreement, then as her father started toward his study, she joined him and caught his arm.

“Papa, I have decided on my birthday wish. This time, I shan’t change my mind.”

“Truly?” his voice held a hint of amusement.

She followed him into the study. “The Arabian. ‘That prime piece of horse flesh,’ I believe you called her.”

Her father chuckled. “Did you not say she was a wee too spirited? And when I offered to hire a trainer, I do believe you told me you weren’t ‘overly fond of waiting,’ did you not?”

“Perhaps it is time I learned patience,” she replied lightly.

“Are you ill?” he asked in mock concern.

Mackenzie tugged his sleeve. “Please, Papa, the horse?”

He crossed the room, settled behind his desk, and reached for a stack of letters near the inkwell before glancing up at her with a twinkle in his eye. “If it is the horse you wish, my dear, then it is the horse you shall have.”