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“Joseph has all the family he needs. And if you start playing matchmaker, I’ll toss you out the bloody window.”
“Victoria likes her, too,” Nick said as he slit open a letter and began to read.
Logan waved an arm. “Donella wants to become a nun, for God’s sake.”
“Perhaps you could change her mind,” Nick absently replied.
Logan stared at him with disbelief before turning on his heel and stalking from the room.
Chapter Seventeen
Logan listened to Donella and Joseph chat like old friends. His son was wedged between them in Logan’s curricle, and the lad’s attention was all for his new favorite as Logan drove them back from their outing at Mugdock Castle.
He’d arranged the visit as a special treat, hoping to spend time with both his son and Donella. But Joseph had largely ignored his father, holding Donella’s hand as she’d shown him about the ancestral home of Clan Graham. The two had had a splendid time, while Logan had served as the mostly silent coachman and escort.
True to her word, Donella had involved Joseph in planning the Gilbride holiday parties. Logan had only discovered today that his son lurked outside Donella’s door every morning, waiting for her to appear. She didn’t seem to mind, clearly returning Joseph’s affection.
Idiot that he was, Logan was jealous, and not simply because Joseph preferred Donella’s company. As much as he wanted to be with his son, he also wanted to spend time with Donella—a lot of time.
It was Nick’s fault, damn him. Ever since his brother suggested that Logan should marry the lass, he couldn’t get the notion out of his head. When he wasn’t worrying about Joseph, he was thinking about Donella.
The same could not be said about her. Donella had no problem keeping her attention firmly away from him, avoiding his presence whenever possible.
A small elbow dug into his side. “Papa, are you listening to me?”
Logan transferred the reins to one hand and patted his son on the knee. “Laddie boy, I always listen to you.”
The boy raised a skeptical eyebrow in a dead accurate imitation of the look Donella often leveled at Logan.
“Then what did I just say?”
“You were speculating on the likelihood of stopping at the sweet shop for some cake.”
“Well done, sir,” Donella said, amused.
“I am capable of doing more than two things at once. On rare occasions, even three.”
“I will file that for future reference,” she dryly replied.
“So, we can stop for a treat?” As always, his son remained focused on his priorities.
“If Donella doesn’t object.”
“I’d love a treat,” she said.
Logan’s kind of treat would involve smooth, pale skin, shiny auburn curls, and lacy underthings.
Get your mind out of the gutter, man.
He refocused on his son. “Then the pastry shop it is.”
Joseph wriggled with delight, sending his lap blanket sliding off. “Aunt Vicky says Monroe’s has the best French pastries.”
Donella retrieved the blanket and tucked it securely around Joseph’s waist. Given the unusually mild weather for December, the wool plaid was barely necessary. Up at Castle Kinglas, snow would already be dusting the peaks around Loch Long. Glasgow, however, was enjoying a bout of temperate weather that boded ill for little boys longing for sledding and skating. Joseph had become so worried about the lack of snow that Logan had been forced to reassure him that they would travel to Kinglas immediately after the holidays.
“Since your aunt Vicky is invariably correct about everything,” Logan said, “we will repair to Monroe’s.”
Joseph tilted his head to study him. “Papa, sometimes you talk funny.”
