As she disembarked from the carriage on the Strand, Connor moved toward the coach with long, sure strides. Behind him, the Savoy was a majestic sight. But she could scarcely take her eyes off him.
“Ah, there’s that brother of mine,” Serena said fondly. “Connor’s been bent on wearing his kilt, displaying the clan colors and all that. I insisted the look of a proper Englishman might better serve his purposes, but as usual, he had his way.
A proper Englishman? Indeed, his silver cravat was skillfully tied, and his shirt was a pristine white fresh-fallen snow could not rival. A well-tailored wool jacket emphasized the breadth of the magnificent shoulders she’d clung to as their passion had reached its summit. But Connor MacMasters could not disguise himself as an Englishman with all the cravats and immaculately-pressed trousers in the land. No garment could strip him of his rugged masculinity, the brash confidence he wore like a second skin.
Her gaze roamed to the kilt with its distinctive hues of red, black, and green, proclaiming his heritage with a bold pride that intoxicated her. Her attention roamed lower still, to strong, muscular legs that bespoke a powerful maleness. He was magnificent, a superb blend of gentleman and warrior.
If only he was hers.
How she longed to peel off that oh-so-proper shirt and cravat and strip the kilt from his hips. Her desire for the man was like a storm she hadn’t seen coming. With a pure, consuming hunger, she yearned to touch him. To thread her fingers through his dark hair. To feel his flesh against hers once again.
For his part, Connor’s expression betrayed nothing of his deepest thoughts. Infuriating man, stirring her heart and offering not so much as a glimmer of response.
He offered a greeting so restrained, so civilized, she might have believed him an imposter if his sister had not been standing at his side. Despite the stiff politeness of his words, the rumble of his deep burr and the spirit in his penetrating eyes touched something deep and primal within her.
At Johanna’s side, Laurel studied him. “You look different. Your whiskers are gone.”
His brows quirked. Whether with amusement or puzzlement, Johanna could not be sure.
“I wished to be a proper gentleman this evening,” he said with a warm smile. “’Tis a very special night.”
“Yes,” Laurel agreed with a smile. “I’ve never been to such a fine establishment.”
“Such big words for a wee lass,” Connor said. “Ye’re a clever girl, aren’t ye?”
“Why yes, I do believe I am.”
He shot Johanna a glance. “Like yer aunt.”
“Of course.” Laurel’s smile broadened.
“But tonight is special for another reason.” He crouched low, eye to eye with Laurel. “Ye see, today is my birthday.”
“How very exciting!” Laurel gushed. “We must celebrate.”
“Aye, lass. I intend this to be a celebration for all of us. And I’ve set my sights on the best present of all.”
“Will you tell me?” she asked.
His smile did not dim, but he slowly shook his head. “Not yet. ’Tis a surprise.”
“A surprise?” Laurel’s curiosity had been piqued.
Johanna’s stomach did a little flip. She shot Serena a searching glance. His sister’s features revealed nothing, aside from sly amusement.
“A fine surprise, indeed.” Connor caught Johanna’s elbow in his large, strong hand. His heat seared through the cool silk of her gown.
He ushered them inside. The maitre d’ hurried to meet them, treating Connor as a highly regarded guest. Once they’d reached their table, Connor glanced toward Laurel. She sat wide-eyed with excitement, taking in the elegance of the Savoy and its patrons with unbridled enthusiasm. The sight seemed to please him, and his smile slipped into a warm grin.
His gaze settled on Johanna. Suddenly, she felt aware of the heat in his forest green eyes. Her heartbeat raced. Just as her breath caught, he flicked his attention back to Laurel.
“I’d like to trouble ye for a favor, lass.”
“A favor?” Laurel’s nose wrinkled, betraying she found the request as unexpected as Johanna did.
“Aye. Ye might consider it a present.” He flashed another grin, cheeky and bold. “I’d like a word with yer aunt, for her ears only. Will ye stay here and keep my sister out of trouble?”
Laurel’s forehead puckered into a little bridge. “What sort of trouble?”
Serena shot him a glare. “He’s being a silly goose.” She offered Laurel a conspirator’s smile. “Let’s have some fun, shall we? I’m looking to spot the hat with the largest, most outrageous feather, an utterly ridiculous plume. I’ll wager I find it before ye do.”
A grin lit Laurel’s features as she pointed in the direction of an enormous white flounce topping a matron’s magenta hat. “That feather is bigger than her head. You won’t find a larger one.”
“Ah, I do love a challenge.” Serena nudged her brother with her finger. “Off with ye both now. The lass and I are having a grand time, aren’t we now?”
Laurel nodded, still smiling as she scanned the large room.