“I think most people come to see the animals in the Menagerie, or the jewels,” Amelia-Rose returned. “We could go see those as well, if you’d like. It will cost you another three shillings, though.”
“Nae. I reckon I like it right here.” With another glance toward the door he put his hands around her waist and lifted her to sit on the fourth step of a wooden stepladder some worker had left beside the row of kings. “Are ye going to warn me about scandal now?” he murmured, gripping the ladder on either side of her head and leaning toward her. “It’s just ye and me, adae, and the snoring lass in the corner.”
She looked past his shoulder at where Jane sat. “She’s a light sleeper,” Amelia-Rose whispered, reaching out to run her palm along his cheek. “And someone could come along at any moment.”
“Aye. I reckon so.” He studied her face, the brief wrinkle between her brows as she frowned at him. “What now?”
“Do ye like to read?”
That made him blink. “Aye, I like to read. Are we discussing literature now?”
“Literature’s not scandalous, at least.”
“That depends on the literature, I reckon.” Niall grinned. “I cannae pretend to know what it’s been like to live yer life, lass, but I imagine it’s been frustrating.”
Her fingers soft on his cheek sent a shiver up his spine. “Why do you think that?”
“I see ye as a lass who’s generally smarter than anyone else, man or woman, in the room. It’s nae polite to correct a gentleman when he says someaught foolish, so ye just have to listen to the nonsense and smile. When ye cannae stand it any longer and ye speak yer mind, they call ye forward, or mannerless. Am I wrong?”
“No, you’re not wrong.”
God, he could drown in those blue eyes of hers. “I have to tell ye someaught.”
Those eyes narrowed a little. “What do you have to tell me?”
“I’ve been calling ye adae. But it doesnae mean ‘rose.’”
“It doesn’t? I warned you that if you were calling me a turnip or something, I would not be happy, Niall.”
Putting his fingers over her mouth before she could wake damned Jane, he shook his head. “It doesnae mean ‘turnip.’ It means ‘trouble.’”
“Trouble?” she repeated in a muffled tone, not looking very flattered.
“Aye. From the first time I set eyes on ye I knew ye’d be my downfall.” He waited a heartbeat. Since she didn’t seem inclined to make another outburst, he removed his hand.
“Oh.” She sighed. “That’s rather nice. And I suppose ‘trouble’ is better than ‘prickly,’” she added with a slight smile. Abruptly she scowled again. “I told your brother Aden that you called me adae, and what you said it meant. He didn’t bother to correct me. He did step on my toe. So does everyone in your family thi—”
He closed the last few inches between them to kiss her.
Her mouth was so soft it made him ache. How she could conjure such sharp wits and still have a mouth like this seemed a marvel. Niall teased her lips open, sending his tongue dancing with hers.
Sliding her hands up his chest and around his shoulders, she leaned into him. Amelia-Rose moaned softly, and his cock reacted. When they kissed it didn’t matter that she was a Sassenach and he was a Scot. It didn’t matter that she loved dancing and soirees and picnics in London and he preferred hunting and fishing in the Highlands.
Niall moved in between her legs, deepening the kiss. A woman he’d known for just days, one he’d resented on principle before he’d ever set eyes on her, one who was nothing like the bride he’d thought to find and abandon, and now she was his first thought in the morning, his last thought at night, and the subject of all his dreams.
With another moan she twisted her fingers into his hair and pulled backward. He lifted his head a little, still nibbling at the corners of her mouth. “Ye’ve a sweet mouth on ye, lass,” he murmured.
“And you’ve a very naughty one,” she whispered back breathlessly. “We must stop.”
“Why must we?”
“Because I will not be ravished beside King George the Second’s armor, for one, and because someone will come in and see us, for two.”
“So ye’ve nae objection to me ravishing ye in a more private setting?” he returned, shifting a hand to cup her warm cheek and kissing her again.
“I have very many objections,” she breathed, leaning her forehead against his. “And I am not some wilting flower who swoons into your embrace.”
He chuckled. “Och, lass, that ye arenae. Ye’re sharp and prickly.”
She lifted her head away from his to frown. “That is not a compliment. You’re not so smooth and gentlemanly, anyway.”
“Seems to me we make a good pair, adae.”
Her scowl flipped into a grin. “‘Trouble’ again, eh? How do you say ‘scoundrel’ in Gaelic?”
“Ye’ll use it against me, willnae?”
Her smile deepened. “Aye. Very likely.”
“Skellum.”
She repeated it. “Skellum. It doesn’t actually mean ‘handsome’ or ‘virile,’ does it?”
He snorted, remembering just in time to stay quiet. “Nae. Though I wish I’d thought of that, now.”
That made her laugh, and then Niall had to kiss her once more. Stopping his breath would have been easier than resisting that mouth of hers. He wondered if she knew just how charming she was when she wasn’t trying to be that other lass—the one she’d decided made her more acceptable and more marriageable. Here with him, now, she shone like the sun. Warm, affectionate, and witty, Amelia-Rose made all of London less inhospitable to a skellum like himself.
Across the room Jane Bansil let out a snort that would’ve made a boar jealous, and sat upright. In the same second Niall took Amelia-Rose around the waist and lowered her to the ground again. “When are ye free next, lass?” he asked, gripping her fingers in his.
“This is the Season. It’s very busy, you know.”
“Aye. When can I next see ye?”
“You are serious, aren’t you?” she asked, studying his face. “You’re not planning on stealing my virtue and then dancing away with another woman?”
“I’m serious as a Highlands winter, Amelia-Rose.” He brushed a lock of blond hair from her forehead. “I’m nae asking ye to run off to Gretna Green with me in the moonlight, lass, if the idea of something permanent still troubles ye. I’m suggesting that ye and I spend more time together. I reckon it’s worth it. Do ye?”
“Step away from her at once!” Jane demanded, launching herself forward and swatting at Niall with her reticule.
“What are ye, woman, a damned banshee?” he protested, protecting his head with one elbow and moving out of her path.
“You are a disreputable Highlander, sir. I will not have you ruining Amelia-Rose!” She hit at him again.
“Jane, stop pummeling him,” Amelia-Rose ordered, though she sounded more amused than worried. “We were just chatting.”
“You cannot chat with your mouths fastened together. I am not a fool, cousin.”
The companion had seen that, then. “So ye’re a witness,” he said, catching her rather formidable arm and drawing her closer. “What do ye mean to say about it, then?”
“Mrs. Baxter will want to know what—”
“I reckon ye fell asleep, and I took advantage to sweep in and kiss a lass. I’m a bit of a scoundrel. Dunnae make it Amelia-Rose’s fault,” he interrupted.
“But—”
“Which will cause the worse uproar?” he continued, noting that his lass no longer looked as amused. “Me surprising a lass with a kiss, or ye telling her mama that ye allowed it to happen?”
He’d never really known his own mother, but he was abruptly grateful that Francesca hadn’t yet proved to be as intrusive as Mrs. Baxter. Aye, she’d meddled, dragged them down to London and ordered them to find brides. She hadn’t made them feel worthless or attempted to change who they’d become in her absence. Not yet, anyway.