Alison Fraser – Love Without Reason (страница 3)

Riona matched his directness with a flat ‘Really. Why?’

He laughed in response. She wondered if he ever took offence—and, if so, how she could possibly give it.

He went on obliviously, ‘I didn’t notice the piano player. As a rule, they don’t tend to be so beautiful.’

Riona ignored the compliment, but couldn’t ignore his eyes. They slid from her face to the dress she wore. A simple bodiced dress in white cotton, it left her arms and shoulders bare and kept her cool in the warm, crowded hall. It also hinted at the first swell of her breasts, a fact that she hadn’t really noticed until the American’s gaze lingered there.

Riona had always found her figure an embarrassment. She didn’t mind being tall—at five nine, she was taller than many Highland males. And, in her usual clothes of baggy jerseys and jeans, it hardly mattered what her figure was like. She just wished that, when she wore feminine clothes, her curves were less pronounced, less suggestive. It seemed a joke of nature when, in character, she wasn’t the ‘sexy type’ at all.

She felt only anger as the American’s eyes reflected his thoughts, and she snapped, ‘Perhaps I can have my dress back when you’ve finished.’

‘What?’ Distracted from their private fantasy, his eyes travelled back to her face, and he gave her one of his slow smiles. ‘I guess I was being obvious.’

‘Painfully,’ she agreed, and tried to walk past him.

He moved to block her path. ‘So can I buy you a drink?’

‘No, thank you,’ she said, politeness forced. ‘I don’t drink.’

‘You’re kidding.’ His face expressed genuine surprise. ‘Next to bagpipe playing and caber-tossing, I thought drinking was the national pastime in Scotland.’

Not sure if this was meant to be a joke or what, Riona scowled in response.

She countered, ‘So why did you come if you have such a low opinion of the place?’

‘On the contrary—’ he shook his head ‘—I think it’s a wonderful country. Drunk or sober, no one can rival the Scots for their generosity of spirit. It makes you quite forget their occasional bloody-mindedness,’ he said on a wry note.

Again he was probably joking, but Riona wasn’t laughing. ‘Do you know what I like about you Americans?’ she rallied.

‘No, what?’ He actually smiled.

‘Your stunning diplomacy,’ she answered with dead-pan sarcasm, then smiled, too—before walking away.

She was intercepted again, but this time by Dr Macnab. ‘Well, good evening, lass,’ he greeted her, then added, ‘I see you’ve met him.’

‘Who?’

‘The American.’

‘Oh, him.’ Riona pulled a face.

‘You didn’t like him?’ The doctor frowned.

‘Not so you’d notice,’ she shrugged back. ‘I just hope the new laird isn’t like him.’

The Doctor’s frown changed to a look of puzzlement, before he sighed, ‘I’m rather afraid he is, lass.’

It took Riona a moment to catch on. They’d been waiting months for the new laird’s arrival, ever since Sir Hector had finally pegged out at ninety-five. They’d heard he was an American, a C H Adams from Boston, and that was about it. They’d worked out for themselves that he wasn’t too interested in his inheritance, having failed to materialise to claim it in person.

‘You don’t mean...’ Riona prayed she’d misunderstood.

She hadn’t, as the doctor went on, ‘Aye, that’s the man himself. Sir Hector’s great-nephew.’

‘Oh, God!’ Riona closed her eyes in despair. She had just cut dead the man who owned the cottage in which she lived and the croft she worked.

‘What’s wrong?’ the doctor asked.

‘Nothing really.’ Riona grimaced. ‘I was just rather insulting to him.’

‘Dearie me,’ Dr Macnab exclaimed in his mild way. ‘That’s not like you. He must have said something to prompt it.’

Riona nodded, before pointing out, ‘But that hardly matters. He’s laird and I’m just a lowly tenant...least, I was.’

‘Ach, lass,’ the doctor chided, ‘he’s no going to turf you out for a few hasty words. In fact, he’s probably laughed them off already. I’m told he’s got a fine sense of humour.’

Riona gave an unladylike snort. Fine wasn’t the word she’d have used—more like warped.

‘Who told you that?’ she asked.

‘Mrs Ross.’ The doctor named his housekeeper. ‘Her sister’s girl, Morag, helps with the cleaning up at the House.’

The House was Invergair Hall, the seat of the Munro family. It wasn’t quite a castle, but it did boast a turret or two and was fairly imposing in size.

‘Anyway, Morag thinks he’s very charming,’ Dr Macnab continued.

‘Yes, well...’ Riona wasn’t too impressed with Morag Mackinnon’s opinion. A nice enough girl, her head was easily turned by a good-looking male, and Riona supposed Cameron Adams was that.

She glanced round the hall and located him without difficulty. Over six feet, he was the tallest man there. His dark handsome head was inclined in conversation with Isobel Fraser, the secretary to the estate and Invergair’s resident vamp. At thirty-three, she’d already seen off two husbands in the divorce courts.

‘Isobel seems to like him, too,’ Dr Macnab chuckled. ‘Perhaps she’s measuring him up for number three.’

‘She’s welcome,’ Riona replied tartly.

‘Ach, you wouldna wish Isobel on him,’ the doctor said, still with gentle humour. ‘A bonny lass she may be, but she has a hard heart.’

Riona didn’t disagree, muttering instead, ‘I wouldn’t worry too much about Cameron Adams, Doctor. He didn’t strike me as the vulnerable type.’

‘Perhaps not,’ the doctor conceded, before relaying, ‘At any rate, he told old Mrs Mackenzie, the housekeeper at the Hall, he wasn’t the marrying kind.’

‘Really?’ The news didn’t surprise Riona. She remembered his showing a healthy contempt for the married state the first time they’d met.

Dr Macnab went on to explain, ‘Apparently a Mrs Adams called from America while he was out and Mrs Mackenzie assumed it was his wife. He laughed at the idea, saying that Mrs Adams was his stepmother, and that acquiring a wife was something he’d so far managed to avoid.’

The doctor smiled, amused by the American’s phrasing, while Riona declared cynically, ‘I suspect they’ve avoided him—women with any taste, that is.’

‘Oh, I don’t know.’ The doctor gazed across to where the American was standing, having attracted another couple of ladies into his circle. ‘He seems to be charming the birds out of the trees.’

Riona glanced at the American again and made a dismissive sound. True, he appeared to be gaining a fan club, but they were women who would have fluttered round the new laird if he’d turned out to be the devil himself.

‘I hope he doesn’t expect us all to fawn on him,’ she muttered aloud, refusing to be susceptible to those powerful good looks.

‘I’m sure he doesn’t,’ Dr Macnab said more reasonably. ‘At least, I can’t think he’ll be any worse than Sir Hector.’

‘Mmm.’ A non-committal sound from Riona. True, Sir Hector had been a terrible old autocrat with a variable temper and an almost feudal attitude to his tenants, but who knew what his successor was really like?

Feeling she’d already wasted too much time discussing the American, Riona excused herself and returned to the stage with the rest of the band. They continued through their repertoire of dance numbers. It was music Riona could have played in her sleep, which was fortunate as her attention kept wandering back to Cameron Adams.

She saw him dancing the Highland schottische with Isobel Fraser. They were both dreadful at it. Isobel was actually a lowlander from Strathclyde and normally considered herself too sophisticated for the weekly ceilidh. It wasn’t hard to guess what had brought her to this one.

When the other two band members suggested playing a slow, romantic air, Riona shook her head and led the music into an eightsome reel. Then, in an unusually spiteful mood, she enjoyed watching Isobel try to keep up with the energetic dance. High heels and reels did not go together. The couple eventually left the floor, mid-dance, and, losing sight of them, Riona assumed they had gone completely.

Only later, when the dance was over and she went in search of a lift from the doctor, did she discover the two men—Dr Macnab and Cameron Adams—making each other’s acquaintance at a table in the far corner of the hall. She stopped in her tracks and was about to retreat altogether when the older man spotted her.

‘Ah, Riona,’ Dr Macnab hailed her, and she reluctantly approached the table. ‘I was just about to come and look for you. You’ll be wanting a lift?’

‘Aye, Doctor, if it’s not too much trouble,’ she said stiltedly, inhibited by the American’s presence.

She didn’t have to look to know his eyes were boring into her. But she looked all the same and immediately regretted it.

‘I’ll give you a lift,’ the American said in a tone that suggested refusal wasn’t an option.

Riona’s heart sank. She’d sooner walk the four miles in bare feet.

It was Dr Macnab who answered warmly, ‘That’s good of you, Cameron,’ when Riona remained silent.

‘It’s on my way.’ Cameron Adams dismissed any kindness in the offer, then directed at Riona, ‘Are you ready?’

What could she say? Remembering her first lift with him, she’d no wish to repeat the experience. But he was the new laird, while she was just one of his tenants.