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“Victoria told you,” he said gruffly.
She simply nodded. For him, old wounds had been ripped open again, and she suspected he wouldn’t wish to discuss it.
After a pause, he cleared his throat.
“Then you must see I have no wish to renew a relationship with Mrs. MacArthur.” He rolled his eyes. “For a thousand reasons.”
Donella’s heart sank. “I understand. Your family wouldn’t approve.”
He frowned. “They wouldn’t, but that’s not what I meant.”
“Of course, sir. I understand completely, truly I do.” And now she was babbling. “We are finished this discussion, are we not?”
His gaze was so riveting she had to fight the impulse to look away.
“Oh, lass, we’re not close to being finished,” he murmured, his brogue going deep and rough.
Donella’s stays suddenly felt tight, and she had trouble catching her breath. “We’d best get back. Angus and Joseph will be wondering where we are.”
Mischief gleamed in his eyes. “Coward.”
“And wearesupposed to be Christmas shopping.”
When she gave him a little shove to get moving, he huffed under his breath.
Taking her hand, he tucked it back inside her velvet muff. “Don’t want your hands to get cold, love,” he murmured.
She dropped her gaze, annoyed that she was no doubt blushing like a schoolgirl.
“And, yes,” he added, “we’re going shopping. I think I’ll look about for a present for you.”
“You’ll do no such thing, Mr. Kendrick.”
“Logan.”
“Mr.Kendrick.”
When he laughed, she couldn’t hold back a reluctant smile. She was grateful when he asked her which shops she needed to visit, giving her a moment to recover her mental balance. To say her emotions were tumultuous would be to massively understate the case.
Was he truly courting her? And were his feelings for Jeannie MacArthur truly relegated to the past?
Donella’s instincts about men—about life—had been wrong more than once. And since those instincts were now urging her to allow Logan to woo her—and possibly wed her—she truly didn’t know how to respond.
The safest course would be the cautious one.
But I’m sick of being cautious.
“You mentioned that you wished to pick up snuff for Lord Riddick,” he said as they strolled past the fashionable storefronts. “There’s a good tobacconist just up ahead. Would you like to pop in?”
“Yes, please, something plain for my uncle. Spanish Bran, perhaps?”
“Excellent choice. No nonsense like Attar of Roses for a sensible Scotsman.”
“I’m not familiar with that one. Then again, I’m not exactly fashionable, so I wouldn’t be.”
He paused before the door of a shop, smiling down at her. “You’re as fashionable as you need to be, lass.”
The man had alethalsmile. She could almost wish to unbutton her pelisse and fan away the flush of heat.
