“Stop what ye’re about,” he ordered.
Mrs. Baxter had her forefinger jammed at a piece of paper on the desk, with his mother making a conciliatory gesture and Mr. Baxter red-faced. “Niall, I’m in the middle of something,” Francesca said tightly.
“No,” Mrs. Baxter countered, turning in her seat to face him. “You are a disgrace. I will not sign my daughter over to you simply because you saved her from embarrassment last night. That is not—”
“I dunnae want ye to sign anything. There’s nae agreement.”
Lady Aldriss blinked. “You’ve changed your mind?”
“Nae. I havenae. But Amelia-Rose has already been forced once into a match she didnae want. I’ll nae see her forced into this one just because it saves me the trouble of winning her.” He pinned her mother with a glare. “I will win her, Mrs. Baxter. Nae agreement, nae piece of paper but a marriage certificate, signed by her and by me and by whichever priest marries us.”
“I highly doubt that, Mr. MacTaggert,” her mother returned. “Amelia-Rose is a troublesome girl, but she will not be swayed by your good looks or absurdly quaint accent. She knows her duty to this family.”
“I reckon we’ll find that out.” He wanted to add that her parents had been the ones signing her over in exchange for the loftiest title they could find, but they would eventually become his in-laws. A healthy dislike would be better than outright hatred.
With a last glance and nod at his mother, Niall left the room. Time to begin again. And this time, he’d be wooing the lass for himself.
Chapter Ten
Amelia-Rose watched Niall stomp off back inside Oswell House. Fine. The MacTaggerts stomped off a great deal.
No, that wasn’t fair. Niall had rescued her last night. His swift appearance had been the only thing that saved her from complete scandal and ruin. And however underhanded his so-called courtship had been, that kiss last night had been more than a moment of mutual attraction. She thought she’d behaved her worst, unable to make a calm reasoned reply when she was clearly being baited, and yet he’d once again been impressed by her spleen, as he called it.
Aside from that, his kiss had absolutely made her toes curl. Better he leave before she accidentally blurted out that she’d half—more than half—wished he’d been pursuing her for himself.
She looked around the garden at Oswell House. It was pretty and well kept, the gazebo freshly painted, with no half-wilted roses and their dropping petals in sight. Lady Aldriss, Francesca Oswell-MacTaggert, had had a father and a grandfather who despite being viscounts had eagerly invested in trade, in this case the tobacco coming in from the Caribbean and the new United States. In addition Lady Aldriss owned part of at least one shipping company, with her father deciding to be sure his untraditional investments went to his only child rather than to whomever she might marry. Now that had been foresight.
“Ye stayed,” Niall said, returning from the house.
“My parents are still here; I would have had to walk,” she replied, belatedly realizing she’d somewhere days ago stopped watching her words when she chatted with him. It made her feel … lighter.
He flashed a grin at her. “I’ve improved to being less offensive than a stroll in the wrong shoes, then. That’s someaught.”
Amelia-Rose tilted her head at him. She’d met good-natured people before, but they always seemed somewhat dim. Unwilling to see beyond the pretty little garden with which they’d surrounded themselves. Niall was not by any stretch of her imagination dim. Just the opposite. And yet … “How do you make me smile in the face of disaster?”
Stopping in front of her, he looked at her for a good handful of seconds. “I reckon I like to see ye smile.”
“That’s very nice, then.”
“Hold on to that compliment, as I’ve a favor to ask ye.”
“A favor? When everything’s been going so splendidly? Oh, by all means, ask away.”
Niall narrowed one eye, light green still glinting from behind his long lashes. “I’m nae oblivious to sarcasm, ye ken.”
“It’s no fun to utilize sarcasm on someone who doesn’t understand it. What is your favor?”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “This is my first time in London. I wonder if ye’d show me about.”
That, she hadn’t expected. Was he attempting to save her again? To keep her well away from any potential social quagmires? He couldn’t save her forever. “I’m in the middle of the social Season, Mr. MacTaggert, and I’ve just parted from an almost-fiancé. Perhaps you should hire a guide.”
“Och,” he muttered. “Ye’re nae even trying to be pleasant now.”
“Well, people have been yelling at me since dawn, and you said you liked my spleen.”
“I dunnae dislike yer sharp tongue. I’m only pointing out that I noticed it stinging me.” Moving closer, he reached out to take her hand and pull to her feet. “Ye’re a stubborn woman.”
No one had ever called her stubborn before, except for her mother, and Victoria had meant it as an insult. Stubborn meant she had a backbone, and a lady wasn’t supposed to have one of those. “As I said, in light of last night, I find that your motives have somewhat confused me.”
“Ye’re nae the only one who’s been confused, lass.” His gaze lowered to her mouth, and her heart did an odd flip-flop. Kiss me, she thought to herself, since nothing in the world would induce her to say it aloud. Just kiss me.
Niall took a half-step forward, lifting his free hand to brush her cheek with his forefinger. Then, lowering his head, he very lightly touched his mouth to hers. Amelia-Rose shut her eyes, warmth, heat, awareness flooding through her.
The press of his lips didn’t deepen, and a short moment later he withdrew again. Annoyed, she opened her eyes to find him gazing down at her, a half smile on that impossible mouth of his. “What?” she demanded.
“Ye’re leaning,” he murmured, stroking her cheek again. “I knew ye liked me, lass. And my ‘nice’ kisses.”
“I already admitted that you kiss well. Do you wish a fanfare now?”
He laughed. “Take me to a museum tomorrow. Ten o’clock. I’ll fetch ye in that barouche ye like so much.”
Oh, for heaven’s sake, she was leaning toward him. Belatedly she straightened. “Niall.”
“Say aye, Amelia-Rose.”
If she didn’t, there was no telling where he might next make an appearance—or worse, that he would simply decide she wasn’t worth the trouble. “Yes,” she breathed.
“Amelia-Rose,” her mother’s voice came from the direction of the house, “come away at once. We are leaving!”
“I’ll see ye in the morning, lass.” Niall stayed where he was in the gazebo, no doubt deciding he’d aggravated her mother enough with the bagpipers earlier.
“Don’t be late.”
“I dunnae mean to miss my moment again,” he returned.
She contemplated that last exchange as she joined her parents and they stalked through the Oswell House main hallway while the butler hurried behind them. Was he admitting that he knew he’d very nearly ruined his own chances? It would be nice if he actually had learned a lesson from this disaster.
On the other hand, why, precisely, had she agreed to go with him tomorrow? He was still that Highlander who didn’t like London and had no title, and she was still herself. They remained incompatible. Evidently she forgot all her objections to him when he kissed her, and for those moments it was worth it.
But yesterday she’d nearly fallen into a mire well over her head; she had no wish to do it again. Even as she acknowledged that she should stay well clear of his mouth, though, she had to admit that it would be easier to stop breathing. What had she wound herself into? Already she’d begun making compromises in her head, when firstly he’d never asked her for any, and when secondly the two largest walls between them were the ones neither of them could change. He would never be a viscount, and he would always be a Highlander.