The Laird's Christmas Kiss Page 4

  He shrugged and swept her into another turn. “I can’t help myself. Every time I do, ye look like a startled deer.”

  It was her turn to laugh, although with a hint of chagrin. “Given you couldn’t remember my name this morning, you can’t blame me for finding your behavior a little puzzling.”

  He didn’t smile but subjected her to an assessing stare that had her blushing again, although she wasn’t sure why. “Of course I remembered your name.” He paused. “And if I’ve been guilty of overlooking you in the past, that’s because you set out to be overlooked.”

  His perception surprised her. She’d always been in awe of his spectacular looks. Now she wondered if she’d misjudged the brain behind those cool green eyes. Fergus was clever. It wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility that Brody was, too.

  Was there a chance that she’d underestimated him, just as he’d underestimated her?

  The waltz came to an end and saved her from having to respond to his last uncomfortable remark. Charles was closing the music and standing up from the piano. Marina and Fergus devoured one another with their eyes. The others stood around, talking and laughing.

  Elspeth waited for Brody to lead her off the dance floor, but he kept his hand on her waist, anchoring her to the spot. “I suppose I should let ye go.”

  Drat. This time, she was sure she looked like a startled deer, much as she disliked the description. “It’s bedtime.”

  He gave a mock groan. “I know.”

  She frowned. “You’re being wicked again.”

  “Aye, I am.” His smile was unrepentant. “Can I see ye tomorrow?”

  She should move away, return to her mother, but some weak, female part of her liked the possessive weight of his hand on her waist. “Of course you’ll see me tomorrow. It’s not as if I’ll get lost in the crowd. There are only eleven people in the party, if you don’t count the children.”

  He was staring at her as if he’d like to eat her up. Almost like Fergus stared at his wife.

  She shivered. Her romantic interest in Brody had been a young girl’s ardent passion for an unattainable prince, essentially innocent. But today, something had changed between them. The attraction she felt—that any woman would feel, she assured herself—was much more adult.

  She would no longer dream of Brody falling to his knees before her and declaring eternal devotion. Now she got to know him better, she realized that wasn’t his style at all. Instead, she had an unwelcome inkling that tonight, her dreams would be full of his hands on her body and kisses that were hungry rather than worshipful.

  “You ken what I mean,” he said steadily.

  Not altogether, but she had a clue. “Yes, you can see me tomorrow.”

  “I can’t wait.” He released her waist and before she had a chance to regret her promise, he caught her hand and brought it to his lips.

  For a brief charged moment, she felt the heat of his mouth on her skin, then she was free. “Good night, sweet Elspeth. Dream of me.”

  Curse him, she had a horrid feeling she would. “Good night,” she stammered, then turned with relief when her mother came up to her.

  “Lady Glen Lyon,” Brody said, bowing. “It’s been a bonny evening.”

  “It has.” Her mother spent a few moments sparkling at him before she turned toward the door, taking Elspeth’s arm. “My, oh, my, that Brody Girvan is a fine-looking man.”

  “Yes, he is,” Elspeth said, with difficulty keeping her voice steady. Her fingers still tingled after that brief kiss, and she surreptitiously opened and closed her hand behind the flare of her skirt.

  “And how he does love to charm the ladies. I hope he’s not finding this party too dull, where the only unattached females are a woman old enough to be his mother and a shy little mouse like you.”

  Just like that, the burgeoning happiness in Elspeth’s heart shriveled to a bitter absence. Her feet had felt lighter than air when she danced. Now they felt as if someone had strapped lead bars to her soles.

  What a pathetic nitwit she was. Brody was making the best of a bad situation. How could she have missed that the pickings at Achnasheen were slim for a man who liked female attention?

  All that burning focus on her had been a game. She was the only available woman. Or at least the only one at a susceptible age. Of course his interest wasn’t genuine.

  As if it would be.

  When nasty reality set its claws into Elspeth, something in her revolted at always being belittled and disregarded. Brody had made a fool of her tonight, but he wouldn’t find her so easy to ignore again.

  Her mother might deride her meager attractions, but Marina said she had potential, and Marina was clever and perceptive. Be damned if Elspeth would ever let anyone call her a mouse again.

  Chapter 5

  Elspeth’s rebellious mood survived a restless night, which she spent telling herself that she deserved her humiliation. Hadn’t she sworn that Brody Girvan would have no more power over her emotions? Yet the moment she met those glittering green eyes, she was as besotted as ever.

  Never again.

  So she managed to maintain a cool air when he joined her for breakfast. To her surprise, Diarmid wasn’t much behind him. At the Christmas gatherings, both young men usually slept late, after sitting up to drink and play billiards, once everyone else went to bed.

  That wasn’t the only change. The air of constraint between Diarmid and Brody was new, too.

  Brief curiosity sparked. What on earth was going on? Fergus, Hamish and Diarmid were the best of friends, legacy of a long ago escapade when Fergus rescued the two younger boys who had become lost in the mountains behind Achnasheen. Brody had always fitted into the group as if he belonged. But this morning, Elspeth couldn’t mistake the lack of ease between her two companions.

  Before she had a chance to winkle out the story, Marina swept into the morning room and hurried her away to the south tower.

  “My goodness, you’re on top of the world here, aren’t you?” Elspeth said in amazement, as she stepped into the large and airy sitting room with windows facing in all four directions. She’d never been invited into the laird’s private apartments at Achnasheen before. She paused to admire the view down to the sea, with the snow-capped Cuillins on Skye rising in the distance.

  Marina laughed. “I often tell Fergus I only married him because no artist could resist the idea of living in such an extraordinarily beautiful location.”

  “He wouldn’t believe you,” Elspeth said with conviction.

  Marina’s striking features softened, so she looked extraordinarily beautiful herself. “No, he doesn’t.”

  “Do you think you can do anything with me?” she asked, nervous hands twining at her waist.

  “Coraggio, cara.” She left Elspeth standing in the middle of the floor and stood back to survey her with that intense attention, familiar after last night. “Are you sure you’re ready for this? Once I’ve finished, you won’t be lurking in the shadows anymore. I suspect sometimes the shadows are a welcoming place.”

  Elspeth recalled her mother describing her as a mouse, without a hint of spite, and Brody making do with her company because there was nobody better to flirt with. “You’re right. The shadows are safe.”

  “Yes, they are.” Marina watched her as if reading her thoughts.

  “But they can become a prison,” Elspeth said slowly. She raised her chin and squared her shoulders before she met Marina’s penetrating black gaze. “I’m ready to be free.”

  “Brava, ragazza.” Marina smiled at her, then turned to open a door that led to a dressing room. “We have work to do, Sandra.”

  Marina’s Italian maid, as stylish as her mistress in a gray ensemble banded with black velvet, emerged. She carried a pile of clothing which she tossed over the back of a pretty sofa, upholstered in flowered blue brocade.

  “Those are all my dresses,” Elspeth said in shock.

  “I hope you don’t mind.” Marina made an apologetic gesture. “I tho
ught first we’d see if any of your clothes are worth altering. Sandra worked for my modiste in Florence. When I decided to move to the wilds of Scotland, I invited her here to be my dresser. She’s a genius with a needle.”

  “Buongiorno, signorina,” Sandra said, dipping into a graceful curtsy. “We make you bellissima.”

  Elspeth had just enough Italian to understand and to cringe at the plan’s impossibility. But she bit back any word of protest. The first step toward claiming self-assurance was acting like she already had it. She turned to Marina and spread her hands in bewilderment. “I thought you were just going to lend me a dress.”

  Marina smiled. “We’re not at all in the same style, or I would.”

  “You’re much slimmer than I am,” Elspeth said, before she remembered that she meant to pretend to be confident. She spared a fleeting regret for all the shortbread she’d eaten over the years, to cheer herself up over her failure to win Brody Girvan.

  “You have a magnificent figure. You’re a true pocket Venus.” Before Elspeth could grasp hold of such an extravagant—and astounding—compliment, Marina’s tone turned practical. “Although only il buon Dio would know it under those schoolgirl frocks.”

  Elspeth shot the drab pile of dresses a doubtful look. In this lovely room and in comparison to the modish clothes the other women wore, her outfits looked duller than ever. “Do you think you can rescue any of them?”

  “A snip here. A dart there. You’ll be surprised. That’s not all we’re going to do. You need to change the shades you wear. Basta, no more browns and beiges and everything dull. No wonder you disappear into the wallpaper in dresses the color of mud. You should be in reds and blues and pinks and yellows. Strong shades to bring out your white skin and your sparkling eyes. I have some bolts of fabric from Milano and Firenze, that we can use for a few new gowns. But those won’t be ready for tonight.”

  Amazed, daunted and touched in equal measure, Elspeth stared at Marina. She couldn’t remember anyone taking this trouble over her before. “You’re far too generous.”

  Marina laughed and rubbed her hands together with unmistakable enthusiasm. “I’ll enjoy turning you into a beauty. It’s an artistic project. And Sandra was becoming bored, with just me to fuss over.” She turned to the maid with a volley of rapid Italian that Elspeth assumed was a translation of what they’d both just said.

  Sandra surveyed Elspeth with that same steely focus Marina had devoted to her, then broke into a snaggle-toothed smile that added layers of charm to her bony features. She responded in the same language, and all Elspeth could make out were stray words like bella and pronto.

  “Si, si, certo,” Marina said, and turned back to Elspeth. “Now, let’s take off that ugly rag and see what we have to work with.”

  Before Elspeth could protest—although Marina was being so kind, what could she say?—Sandra started tugging at the hooks down the back of her dark brown merino. Elspeth clutched the sagging bodice to save her modesty. “It’s not that bad, is it?”

  Marina’s smile was kind, too. “I’m afraid it is.”

  “Oh.” Elspeth had come here because she wanted to change, but facing up to her frumpishness was no fun. She caught another glimpse of Marina’s smile as Sandra hauled the dress over her head.

  “Cheer up. Faint heart never won fair laird.”

  At least she could blame her blush on the fact that she now stood in the middle of the room, wearing nothing but her undergarments. “I told you—I’m not interested in Brody.”

  Marina’s expression was suspiciously innocent when she circled Elspeth, as if she inspected a statue from every angle. “Brody Girvan isn’t the only laird in the world.”

  Until now, for Elspeth, he might as well have been. She straightened her spine and told herself to stop being such a wet flannel. She’d already decided she wanted to make some changes. The way she looked was part of that. “No, he’s not.”

  “Brava.”

  Sandra stood back, her dark eyes never shifting from Elspeth. When she burst into more Italian, Marina looked thoughtful, before she moved closer to unpin Elspeth’s tight arrangement of plaits.

  “Magnifico,” Sandra said, as a wealth of dark brown hair tumbled down about Elspeth’s shoulders. For once, no translation was needed.

  “What beautiful hair you have,” Marina said, lifting a thick hank of shining hair and letting it drift through her fingers. “Why on earth do you tie it away so tightly? Per l’amor di Dio, why on earth do you tie everything away so tightly?”

  Overwhelmed with the confusing mixture of praise and criticism, Elspeth glanced down at herself. Her full breasts pushed wantonly against her white linen shift, and she felt stunted next to Marina and Sandra, both so tall and elegant. In a defensive pose, she wrapped her arms around her middle. “I’m not the right shape for the current fashion.”

  The hint of fondness in Marina’s laugh removed any sting. “We can fix that.”

  “High waists make me look like a box.”

  Marina said something in Italian to Sandra, Elspeth guessed a translation of her self-deprecating remark. Sandra responded with what sounded like disagreement.

  Still smiling, Marina turned back to Elspeth. “With your lovely bosom and small waist, the shape of thirty years ago would have been perfect for you.”

  “I told you,” Elspeth said miserably, afraid that her mentor might decide she was a hopeless case after all.

  Marina went back to studying her. Elspeth was getting used to it. “But with some lighter materials and someone who knows what she’s doing like Sandra, we will succeed.”

  “In turning a sow’s ear into a silk purse?” Elspeth asked before she could stop herself.

  She expected Marina to laugh, but her hostess regarded her with a troubled frown. “Elspeth, you’re a beautiful girl, and I can show you how to make the best of yourself, but the world won’t believe that you’ve changed from a caterpillar into a butterfly until you believe it, too. I forbid you to say anything derogatory about yourself ever again.”

  Discomfited, Elspeth avoided those piercing dark eyes, as she struggled to come to terms with the idea of anyone calling her beautiful. Was it possible? When she’d accepted Marina’s help, she’d harbored the modest hope that it might rescue her from fading into the background. Beautiful was an unimaginable step beyond that.

  On the other hand, what did she have to lose?

  “Yes, Marina,” she mumbled.

  “A little more gusto, per favore, bella.” Marina carried a cheval mirror from the corner and set it before her.

  In the reflection, Elspeth met uncertain brown eyes. This reminded her of the night before last, when she’d promised herself she was going to stop trailing around after Brody and take charge of her life. She angled her chin upward and surveyed the woman in the mirror.

  “Yes, look, cara,” Marina said softly. “Look at yourself.”

  Marina said she could be beautiful. Marina was a stylish, sophisticated woman with an artist’s eye. If she said that, perhaps it was true.

  The girl reflected back was smaller than the two women ranged on either side of her. Out of her nun-like dress, even someone as self-critical as Elspeth saw that her curves weren’t plumpness, but a graceful generosity of form. Her bosom rose above the corset, firm and round and white. Her waist was small, and her hips flared above shapely legs. Thick, glossy hair flowed around her face, adding a touch of mystery to features that she’d always believed irredeemably ordinary. Now she saw large, radiant eyes and a full-lipped mouth.

  She didn’t resemble her mother or her spectacular siblings. The dark coloring came from her father’s side of the family. But nor did she look like a woman the world should ignore either. She looked…voluptuous.

  A tentative smile lengthened her lips. Perhaps Marina was right, and there was something here to work with.

  Approval lit Marina’s black eyes, as she watched Elspeth’s face brighten with new vitality. “Si, cara, si. Now you see what
I see, and you know we’ll succeed.” She turned to Sandra with a torrent of liquid Italian, before she stepped back with a determined expression. “Let’s get to work.”

  Chapter 6

  As the day went on, Brody became restless and bored and out of sorts. The weather had worsened, confining everyone to the castle. He’d wandered the corridors looking for Elspeth, but despite her promise last night, she proved elusive. He’d seen her at breakfast—which made another early morning worthwhile—but Diarmid had arrived a few minutes after he did and proved a deterrent to flirting.

  When he teased her last night, she’d been such a delightful mixture of confusion and gratification. He looked forward to teasing her again.

  If he could ever bloody find her.

  By the time everyone gathered to go into dinner, frustration had him ready to climb the walls. Where the devil was Elspeth hiding? Was she avoiding him? He’d swear she was as attracted to him as he was to her. He hadn’t missed her shy pleasure in his attentions, or the way her eyes brightened when she saw him.

  In a right royal sulk, he prowled into the crowded drawing room. Even before he entered, he heard the buzz of excited chatter. Once he stepped inside, he realized why. Without notice, Marina’s father Ugolino had arrived from Italy.

  And Ugolino hadn’t shown up alone. At his side was a comfortably plump, middle-aged woman with a kind face and dark hair streaked with gray. Was it possible Ugolino had married again? He wouldn’t bring a mistress here, not to a family party. A quick glance around the room told him that Elspeth wasn’t downstairs yet. But everyone else was agog to hear Ugolino’s news.

  Brody might be preoccupied with his own selfish concerns, but even he understood that a new stepmother showing up announced would be a shock to Marina. He glanced across to see how she took the news.

  “Such weather, figlia mia. Such weather.” Ugolino and the lady must have arrived just that minute. He was taking off his snowy greatcoat and passing it to one of the servants. Beneath, his stout form was clad in the height of fashion. “Why couldn’t you marry a man who lives in the south of France?”