kiss-the-freckle with you."
A smile curling her lips, she murmured, "I assure you, my lord, that will never happen."
"Lost all your freckles, have you?"
"Malcolm Kerr!" She slapped his calf. "How dare you be so vulgar."
Ignoring her maidenly outrage, he went on. "I seem to remember you had a cluster of them here." He touched his hipbone. "And here." He touched a spot at the top of his thigh. "And we mustn't forget the ones on your back."
"You had them, too, don't forget."
"Where?"
"Stop right now. That's enough. We were talking about Rabby and Emily."
"Leave the lad to me. I'll speak with him."
"I'm sure you will. Lot of good it'll do."
"Are you mocking me?"
"No. I just don't think you'll succeed in controlling Rabby's love life. That would be the pot calling the kettle black."
Gossips in Whitley Bay had filled her head with tales of Malcolm's casual flirtations. He courted the gentry maidens so no one would guess the real reason he dodged marriage; he couldn't, in good conscience, marry a lass and sentence her to a life barren of children.
"What's this?" she asked. "Malcolm the great rogue at a loss for words?"
"Have I tried to seduce you?"
"Of course not," she said softly. "You wouldn't try so farfetched a thing."
"I might."
"Well, don't. We wouldn't suit, not as lovers."
"How do you know?"
" I just know. Can we get back to the problem of Emily and Rabby?"
Malcolm intended to show Alpin MacKay how wrong she was to challenge him. "Would you care to make a wager on whether or not I can control Rabby's amorous adventures?"
Tipping her head back, she studied him closely. But when her tongue peeked out and made a slow trek over her lips, leaving a slick sheen, he lost the ability to govern his lustful thoughts. He could make a picnic of her mouth and a feast of her other delights. Wait! his conscience screamed. That's Alpin MacKay you're fantasizing over.
Shocked at his reaction, he folded his arms over his chest and raised his eyebrows. "Well?"
"Why not, my lord?" She shrugged, drawing his attention to the set of her shoulders and the delicate hollow at the base of her throat. "I'll put a keg of rum against your gray mare."
"What? A horse for a jug of spirits? That's hardly fair."
Like a tutor grilling a slow-witted student, she said, "I have six kegs of rum. You have ten times that many horses. All things considered, my ante is as valuable to me as yours is to you."
Her distorted reasoning rattled in his mind and looked for a logical place to settle. But the exercise was unnecessary, for he would emerge victorious. He didn't want the rum… unless he could use the occasion to understand his sudden interest in a woman he shouldn't want. "Very well, but only if you share it with me."
She shivered. "A whole keg? We'd both be rotten drunk."
"A drink between friends, then. 'Best friends' is how I recall you describing us. Unless you've changed your mind."
Again she took great interest in her bracelet. "Rest assured, Malcolm, I could never change my feelings for you, even if I tried."
Her cheerful tone couldn't mask an innuendo. Neither could the gleam in her eye. He smiled down at her. "Good. I'm also considering selling Paradise and I'd like to know more about it before I do."
Her eyes grew large, and the color left her face. "You can't sell Paradise. That would be foolish." She grasped his ankle. "Please don't sell it."
"Why not?"
Her gaze darted desperately from the bunks to the floor to the tartans that hung from pegs on the wall. "Certainly you can sell it, since you own it," she said, distracted. "But what about the people there? The servants. The slaves."
She said the last word with so much compassion that Malcolm was again reminded of the trouble with the slaves five years ago. Could Charles have agreed to give Malcolm the plantation out of spite because Alpin had taken the side of the slaves? His first instinct was to reject the idea that the Alpin he'd known was capable of championing a
A smile curling her lips, she murmured, "I assure you, my lord, that will never happen."
"Lost all your freckles, have you?"
"Malcolm Kerr!" She slapped his calf. "How dare you be so vulgar."
Ignoring her maidenly outrage, he went on. "I seem to remember you had a cluster of them here." He touched his hipbone. "And here." He touched a spot at the top of his thigh. "And we mustn't forget the ones on your back."
"You had them, too, don't forget."
"Where?"
"Stop right now. That's enough. We were talking about Rabby and Emily."
"Leave the lad to me. I'll speak with him."
"I'm sure you will. Lot of good it'll do."
"Are you mocking me?"
"No. I just don't think you'll succeed in controlling Rabby's love life. That would be the pot calling the kettle black."
Gossips in Whitley Bay had filled her head with tales of Malcolm's casual flirtations. He courted the gentry maidens so no one would guess the real reason he dodged marriage; he couldn't, in good conscience, marry a lass and sentence her to a life barren of children.
"What's this?" she asked. "Malcolm the great rogue at a loss for words?"
"Have I tried to seduce you?"
"Of course not," she said softly. "You wouldn't try so farfetched a thing."
"I might."
"Well, don't. We wouldn't suit, not as lovers."
"How do you know?"
" I just know. Can we get back to the problem of Emily and Rabby?"
Malcolm intended to show Alpin MacKay how wrong she was to challenge him. "Would you care to make a wager on whether or not I can control Rabby's amorous adventures?"
Tipping her head back, she studied him closely. But when her tongue peeked out and made a slow trek over her lips, leaving a slick sheen, he lost the ability to govern his lustful thoughts. He could make a picnic of her mouth and a feast of her other delights. Wait! his conscience screamed. That's Alpin MacKay you're fantasizing over.
Shocked at his reaction, he folded his arms over his chest and raised his eyebrows. "Well?"
"Why not, my lord?" She shrugged, drawing his attention to the set of her shoulders and the delicate hollow at the base of her throat. "I'll put a keg of rum against your gray mare."
"What? A horse for a jug of spirits? That's hardly fair."
Like a tutor grilling a slow-witted student, she said, "I have six kegs of rum. You have ten times that many horses. All things considered, my ante is as valuable to me as yours is to you."
Her distorted reasoning rattled in his mind and looked for a logical place to settle. But the exercise was unnecessary, for he would emerge victorious. He didn't want the rum… unless he could use the occasion to understand his sudden interest in a woman he shouldn't want. "Very well, but only if you share it with me."
She shivered. "A whole keg? We'd both be rotten drunk."
"A drink between friends, then. 'Best friends' is how I recall you describing us. Unless you've changed your mind."
Again she took great interest in her bracelet. "Rest assured, Malcolm, I could never change my feelings for you, even if I tried."
Her cheerful tone couldn't mask an innuendo. Neither could the gleam in her eye. He smiled down at her. "Good. I'm also considering selling Paradise and I'd like to know more about it before I do."
Her eyes grew large, and the color left her face. "You can't sell Paradise. That would be foolish." She grasped his ankle. "Please don't sell it."
"Why not?"
Her gaze darted desperately from the bunks to the floor to the tartans that hung from pegs on the wall. "Certainly you can sell it, since you own it," she said, distracted. "But what about the people there? The servants. The slaves."
She said the last word with so much compassion that Malcolm was again reminded of the trouble with the slaves five years ago. Could Charles have agreed to give Malcolm the plantation out of spite because Alpin had taken the side of the slaves? His first instinct was to reject the idea that the Alpin he'd known was capable of championing a
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