give ye the shirt off'n his back if ye asked him."
Was the squire an admirer? Dougal's jaw tightened. The man was probably thick-necked and red-faced. Of course, such a lout would be drooling over Sophia—she was beautiful.
"The squire's been so kind," Sophia said in a warm voice. "I should ride over and see him this afternoon."
Dougal realized his hands had tightened into fists, and he stared at them, frowning. Bloody hell, was he actually
jealous
? Of a woman he'd just met?
He shook his head. He was easily irritated until he'd had breakfast. That was what made him so ill tempered, not the thought of some country bumpkin panting after his future mistress.
Dougal paused, one hand on the doorknob. Future mistress? Where had that come from? But the more he thought about it, the more he liked it.
Sophia MacFarlane was clearly no innocent; she grew up consorting with gamblers and other risqué types. And she carried herself with the air of a woman of the world, exuding the confidence of the experienced. It was one of her most attractive traits.
Dougal had never been interested in an innocent; he didn't have time for the drama, the tears, and the recriminations. He loved women who knew who they were and what they were and who luxuriated in that fact.
He turned the knob and opened the door. Sophia spun around at the sound, her skirts flaring about her, her eyes bright as they found his.
Good God, she was lovely. It was more than just her golden hair and startlingly blue eyes. It was the way her cheeks rose to meet her temples, the way her full lips curved when she smiled, and the contrast of her milky-white skin against the tan lace at her throat.
She looked fresh and tempting, dressed in a very fashionable morning gown of blue muslin trimmed with lace and adorned with a striped blue and tan sash that tied neatly under her breasts. Her blond hair was put up in a simple manner that left little tendrils curling before each ear. A blue rosette was pinned in her hair, and small pearl earbobs dangled from her lobes.
She dipped a curtsey. "Good morning, Lord MacLean."
He bowed. "Good morning, Miss MacFarlane. It's a lovely day."
Last night, he'd wondered at his curiously strong reaction to her, but in the light of day, he realized that it was merely a natural reaction to such an incredibly beautiful woman. Added to that was the shock of discovering what his little angel of trouble had planned.
Yet no matter how he'd met her, or when, he'd have had the same powerful reaction. Any man would.
She turned to Angus and said in a husky voice, "That will be all."
Angus's mouth tightened, but he gathered some empty platters and left.
Dougal waited until the door had closed. "Your servant is… quite unusual."
Sophia sighed. "Here in the country, one can't be too choosy. I've had better luck finding help in town."
He'd had better luck in town, too. Or so he'd thought until he'd come to MacFarlane House and met a golden angel with nimble fingers waiting to pluck his winnings from his waistcoat pocket.
Sophia took her chair, gesturing for him to do the same.
Dougal eyed the breakfast repast. In addition to burnt toast, there was poorly trimmed ham, eggs that looked rubbery enough to bounce off the floor, pathetically dry scones, and small, smoking pieces of something he suspected had once been kippers.
Sophia noted Dougal's disgusted expression, and her heart lifted.
He looked amazingly handsome this morning, dressed in a blue riding coat and white shirt, his dark blond hair curling over his collar, his green eyes glinting as he began to fill his plate. Two scones, a scoop of eggs, and a large piece of blackened ham all went onto his plate.
Sophia had eaten earlier in the kitchen with Mary, who had served warm muffins with cream and marmalade, some lovely bacon, and crusty toast, complemented by a pot of hot tea.
Sophia hid a smile as Dougal attempted to cut his ham. Too tough for his blade, it tore into uneven pieces under
Was the squire an admirer? Dougal's jaw tightened. The man was probably thick-necked and red-faced. Of course, such a lout would be drooling over Sophia—she was beautiful.
"The squire's been so kind," Sophia said in a warm voice. "I should ride over and see him this afternoon."
Dougal realized his hands had tightened into fists, and he stared at them, frowning. Bloody hell, was he actually
jealous
? Of a woman he'd just met?
He shook his head. He was easily irritated until he'd had breakfast. That was what made him so ill tempered, not the thought of some country bumpkin panting after his future mistress.
Dougal paused, one hand on the doorknob. Future mistress? Where had that come from? But the more he thought about it, the more he liked it.
Sophia MacFarlane was clearly no innocent; she grew up consorting with gamblers and other risqué types. And she carried herself with the air of a woman of the world, exuding the confidence of the experienced. It was one of her most attractive traits.
Dougal had never been interested in an innocent; he didn't have time for the drama, the tears, and the recriminations. He loved women who knew who they were and what they were and who luxuriated in that fact.
He turned the knob and opened the door. Sophia spun around at the sound, her skirts flaring about her, her eyes bright as they found his.
Good God, she was lovely. It was more than just her golden hair and startlingly blue eyes. It was the way her cheeks rose to meet her temples, the way her full lips curved when she smiled, and the contrast of her milky-white skin against the tan lace at her throat.
She looked fresh and tempting, dressed in a very fashionable morning gown of blue muslin trimmed with lace and adorned with a striped blue and tan sash that tied neatly under her breasts. Her blond hair was put up in a simple manner that left little tendrils curling before each ear. A blue rosette was pinned in her hair, and small pearl earbobs dangled from her lobes.
She dipped a curtsey. "Good morning, Lord MacLean."
He bowed. "Good morning, Miss MacFarlane. It's a lovely day."
Last night, he'd wondered at his curiously strong reaction to her, but in the light of day, he realized that it was merely a natural reaction to such an incredibly beautiful woman. Added to that was the shock of discovering what his little angel of trouble had planned.
Yet no matter how he'd met her, or when, he'd have had the same powerful reaction. Any man would.
She turned to Angus and said in a husky voice, "That will be all."
Angus's mouth tightened, but he gathered some empty platters and left.
Dougal waited until the door had closed. "Your servant is… quite unusual."
Sophia sighed. "Here in the country, one can't be too choosy. I've had better luck finding help in town."
He'd had better luck in town, too. Or so he'd thought until he'd come to MacFarlane House and met a golden angel with nimble fingers waiting to pluck his winnings from his waistcoat pocket.
Sophia took her chair, gesturing for him to do the same.
Dougal eyed the breakfast repast. In addition to burnt toast, there was poorly trimmed ham, eggs that looked rubbery enough to bounce off the floor, pathetically dry scones, and small, smoking pieces of something he suspected had once been kippers.
Sophia noted Dougal's disgusted expression, and her heart lifted.
He looked amazingly handsome this morning, dressed in a blue riding coat and white shirt, his dark blond hair curling over his collar, his green eyes glinting as he began to fill his plate. Two scones, a scoop of eggs, and a large piece of blackened ham all went onto his plate.
Sophia had eaten earlier in the kitchen with Mary, who had served warm muffins with cream and marmalade, some lovely bacon, and crusty toast, complemented by a pot of hot tea.
Sophia hid a smile as Dougal attempted to cut his ham. Too tough for his blade, it tore into uneven pieces under
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