When a Scot Loves a Lady by Katharine Ashe Page A

smile.
    Emily pointed at the round of dough. “You must put the heels of your hands into it, Mr. Cox. Like that.”
    Kitty’s heart pattered. She wiped her palms on a cloth.
    â€œWill you excuse me?” she muttered. Mrs. Milch was sufficient chaperone for Emily, a chaperone like the one Kitty ought to have had in the stairwell the night before. Emily dug into the dough anew and Mr. Cox studied her actions. Mrs. Milch did not look away from the pot of sealant. Kitty fled.
    She must escape the inn, if only for a few moments. She needed cold air in her lungs to clear her clouded head. It was vastly unwise to fixate on the Earl of Blackwood, his breathtaking jaw, his skillful caress.
    In the parlor Ned stood with one of the dogs. The boy’s head came up and something gold glimmered in his palm.
    He grinned. “Sky’s fair clear today, milady.”
    She could barely think to put together words. “It seems so.” She went toward him. Distraction of this sort was exactly what she required.
    The dog snuffled his hand.
    â€œAre you feeding treats to the animals, Ned?” She tried to smile, but her lips felt wobbly like the rest of her.
    â€œNo, ma’am. It’s only a trinket I found a fortnight since on the road down a’ways at Shrewsbury.” His brows perched high under jutting hair. He turned his hand upward. A painted cameo covered his palm, a portrait set in a gold frame of a young woman with gold ringlets and a pleasingly dimpled cheek.
    â€œHow pretty she is, and how sad her beau must be to have lost it.” Kitty smiled, nerves jittering recklessly. Distraction, it seemed, was not helping matters.
    â€œReckon.” Ned tucked the cameo in his pocket, tugged his cap, and went with the dog out into the yard, where the earl had presumably gone returning to the stable. She could go out there and… No .
    She would brave the icy rear stoop where she might press her fiery cheeks into a handful of snow to calm her heated nerves. Then perhaps she could throw herself into the snow entirely to cool the rest of her. She hurried toward the rear foyer for her pattens and cloak.
    Lord Blackwood stood in the nook behind the stair, shoulders against the wall, one large hand covering his face. He dropped his arm, met her gaze, and a hard breath left him.
    â€œMy lord, what are you doing here?” An atrociously inelegant greeting. Now she had lost all propriety and civility. Falling, it seemed, would not be pretty.
    â€œCatching ma breath, A think.”
    Low light slanted into the foyer; she could not clearly make out his expression. But she could sense him well enough. His entire person seemed to breathe of the outdoors, of rugged, untamed northern wilderness, which was profoundly silly since his estate was quite close to Edinburgh and anyway he mostly lived in London.
    She stepped toward him; indeed, she could not prevent herself from doing so. He seemed to flatten his shoulders to the wall.
    â€œIt must have been dreadfully unpleasant work.” She had nothing to say to him really. “Terribly cold. Did you go up on that roof?”
    â€œAye.” His jaw looked tight. Kitty imagined tasting it. She should have done so last night. Foolish oversight. Her breaths shortened.
    â€œI understand that you were in the stable when the accident occurred.”
    â€œAye.”
    â€œYou were tending to your horse?” How could she get closer without appearing ridiculously obvious? Her very skin tingled to touch his.
    He nodded. “The lot of ’em.”
    â€œYou were feeding the carriage horses as well? And the gentlemen’s mounts too, I daresay.” She could not do it subtly. But subtlety was often overrated. “Mightn’t you have left that to Ned, rather?” She took another step forward, tilting her head back to look into his face, perfection of masculine form and shape.
    â€œAye.” He was not smiling.
    â€œBut you did