When a Scot Loves a Lady

another. But he’d sounded like a gentleman. Quite nicely. So nicely that Kitty was barely able to find words when he had stormed through the door.

But why would he feign otherwise? And what sort of renowned flirt backed away from a woman so obviously wishing to be kissed, on such slight discouragement?

An honorable one. An honorable one who teased a lady about the suitability of her gown?

Kitty released a tight breath.

“Two horsemen have come into the yard, Mr. Yale and a stranger with a portmanteau.” Book in one hand, Emily peered out the window. “Mrs. Milch, I believe you are to have another lodger.”

“It’ll be mutton sausage for him too.” Mrs. Milch stacked Kitty’s linens and headed toward the kitchen.

The innkeeper met the gentlemen at the door.

“Welcome back, sir,” he said to Mr. Yale. “I see you’ve found another lost traveler.”

“Yes, indeed!” The newcomer gave the room an open smile that creased his attractive face into an attitude suggesting sheer pleasure at being stranded. His gaze met Kitty’s and his blue eyes brightened. He drew off his hat, revealing close-cropped gold curls and fashionably long sideburns.

“Ma’am.” He bowed, then to Emily. “What good fortune to find such company upon such a road. I should not have dreamed this luck.”

“Where have you come from, sir?” Emily asked.

He offered another charming smile. “Cheshire, ma’am.”

“I meant just now.” She turned to his companion, who was removing his coat and hat. “Mr. Yale, where did you find him?”

“At the pub.” He moved toward the hearth and held forward his palms.

“I’m afraid I had a nasty time of it last night,” the gentleman said with a light air of regret. “Stuck upon the road, the most frightful winds howling, my horse terrified. I found this village when I was nearly dead with cold, but I’d no idea of an inn until this good gentleman informed me of it minutes ago.” His regard shifted to the stair, and his brows lifted. “Ah, your party grows augustly.” He bowed.

“My lord, it is an honor.”

“An who might ye be?” The deep voice shivered through Kitty. She had to look. She could not in point of fact prevent herself from doing so. He was far too handsome, far too unnerving, and far too confusing. She wanted to look without ceasing.

“Cox, sir. David Cox.” The newcomer affected a martial snap of his heels. “A Lloyd’s man.

Shipping insurance of late, but before that Wellesley’s army. Fact, I am already acquainted with you of a sort, if I may be so bold. I knew your brother, James, back in the dragoons. He was a bruising rider, a favorite amongst his men. You have quite the look of him, and he always carried a cameo portrait of each of his siblings, just as I do of my … dear sister.” His brow lowered handsomely. “My condolences, sir. I understand you were quite close.”

Lord Blackwood nodded, his gaze hooded.

“Well now, sir,” Mr. Milch said cheerfully, “I’ve got all my chambers spoken for upstairs. But that pub is no place for a fine gentleman such as yourself. If you don’t mind it, there’s the garret. It’s got a grate, so you’ll find it suitable warm, and my Gert has made up the mattress with a good woolen quilt.

Can I tempt you to remain?”

Mr. Cox’s smile flashed once more. “You could not tempt me away from such company.” His appreciative gaze returned to Kitty.

She curtsied. “Mr. Cox, did you by chance encounter a carriage and four on the road yesterday or today?”

“Fact, I did, ma’am.” He moved to her. “Last night near Atcham I spotted a very fine carriage, pulled up before a farmhouse not far from the road. It seemed out of place, but any port in a storm will do. Quite literally.” He chuckled, deep enough to be pleasingly masculine. “Are you lacking members of your party?”

“Our servants, sir.”

Lord Blackwood came to her side. He extended his hand to the newcomer. Mr. Cox passed his gloves into his other palm and shook hands.

“It is excellent to finally meet you, my lord. It must be six years since I had the pleasure of your brother’s companionship in arms.”

“Seiven.” The earl released him. “Take a dram of whiskey afore denner, Cox?”

“Thank you. Don’t mind if I do.”

“Whiskey?” Emily furrowed her brow. “May I have a dram as well, Lord Blackwood?”

The Scot’s mouth curved upward. “Aye, miss. If ye wish.”

If you wish.

He was too close now. Memory of the sensation of his hand on her face, his caress on her lips, weakened Kitty, and it felt at once thrilling and horrid. He welcomed this tradesman as though he were an equal. He acted like a ruffian and occasionally spoke words that rendered her perfectly breathless.

He was the most peculiar nobleman she had ever been acquainted with, and he made her heart race merely standing beside her.

“Lady Katherine, will you take a glass as well? Join us in celebrating Christmas early?” Mr. Yale handed Emily and Mr. Cox glasses. Kitty welcomed the opportunity to cross the chamber, away from the earl’s unnerving presence.

“Capital idea.” Mr. Cox lifted his glass in salute. “We shall be in this village until the snow melts, I suspect. In Shropshire for the holiday!”

“Some of us were intended in Shropshire for the holiday already,” Mr. Yale said, offering a half-

filled glass to Kitty. She sipped. It burned, then invaded the place behind her breasts with heat. She drank again, deeper.

“Then you are not of a single party?” Mr. Cox glanced with interest about the group. “I had imagined these elegant ladies in your company, my lord.”

“’Tis a sorry disappointment.” Lord Blackwood raised the glass to his mouth and looked directly at Kitty.

“Lord Blackwood and Mr. Yale are on their way to no admitted destination, Mr. Cox,” she said in impressively measured tones given her quivering insides. His hand around the glass was beautiful, strong, and long-fingered. She could still feel it upon her. “Lady Marie Antoine and I are intended at her parents’ home not many miles distant.”

“Ah, then I am sorry you have not reached your family, Lady Marie Antoine.” He looked truly contrite. “But, I say, we shall make a party of it here instead.”

“What do you have in mind, sir?” Mr. Yale lounged on the sofa, his glass full to the brim.

“Lady Katherine and I were to bake bread tomorrow,” Emily said. “Perhaps we could find the ingredients for a pudding and make one of those instead.”

“Have you any idea how?” the Welshman drawled.

“Have you?”

He offered her that slight smile Kitty now recognized, and took a long quaff of whiskey.

“No doubt Mrs. Milch will know a recipe,” Emily said.

“Then pudding it shall be.” Mr. Cox appeared all contentment. He turned to Kitty with a glimmer in his very blue eyes. “What else shall we have, my lady?”

“Ned plays the fiddle. We’ll have music.” Mr. Milch set plates atop the lace covering. “Gert!

Where’s the boy? He must play for these good folk before dinner.”

“The boy?” Mr. Cox lifted a brow. “Why, he is seeing to my horse, of course. I gave him a penny for it.”

Lord Blackwood met Kitty’s gaze. His mouth curved into the barest hint of a smile. A private smile, meant for her it seemed. Her breath faltered.

“We canna lack a bonfire.” He spoke as though to her directly.

“A bonfire?” she said. His gaze seemed to caress her lips as his thumb had in her bedchamber.

“Whatever for, my lord?”

“Scots believe evil elves hasten down the chimney on Christmas to spirit away little children,” Mr.

Yale supplied, staring into the flames now. “We must build the hearth fires high lest we be invaded by sprites.”