Again the Magic (Wallflowers 0.5)(52)

“Mr. McKenna,” Adam said easily, “your return to Stony Cross has afforded Lady Aline such delight that I can’t help but share it, as I am appreciative of all things that bring her pleasure.”

“Thank you.” McKenna subjected him to a coldly hostile stare. “You have been friends for some time, I gather.”

“Well nigh five years,” Adam replied.

A stilted silence ensued, until it was broken by a cry from several yards away. “McKenna?…”

Glancing in the direction of the voice, Aline realized that some of McKenna’s old friends had seen him…Dick Burlison, once a carrot-headed, gangly-legged boy, who was now a stocky married man in his midthirties…Tom Haydon, the baker’s son, who now ran his father’s business…and Tom’s wife, Mary, the buxom butcher’s daughter whom McKenna had so often flirted with in his youth.

Smiling, Aline nudged McKenna gently. “Go on.”

He needed no further urging. As he strode to the group with a grin, they all let out jubilant laughs and shook hands enthusiastically. Mary, a mother of five, wore a look of astonishment on her round face as McKenna bent to kiss her cheek.

“I perceive that you have not been intimate with him yet,” Adam said to Aline sotto voce.

She replied softly as she continued to watch McKenna. “I may not be brave enough to take such a risk.”

“As your friend, I should probably advise you not to do something that you may regret later.” Adam smiled as he added, “Of course, one tends to miss out on a great deal of fun that way.”

“Adam,” she chided, “are you encouraging me to do the wrong thing?”

“Only if you promise to tell me all about it afterward.”

Aline shook her head with a laugh. Hearing the sound, McKenna turned and looked at her, a scowl working between his dark brows.

“There, I’ve just made it easier for you,” Adam murmured. “The flames of jealousy have been fanned. Now he won’t rest until he claims his territory. My God, you do like them primitive, don’t you?”

Sure enough, McKenna returned to her in less than a minute, his fingers clasping Aline’s elbow in a clear display of ownership. “We were heading to the village green,” he reminded her curtly.

“So we were,” Aline murmured. “Lord Sandridge, will you join us?”

“Regretfully, no.” Adam lifted Aline’s free hand to kiss the points of her knuckles. “I must rejoin my companions. Good evening to you both.”

“Goodbye,” McKenna said, making no effort to hide his animosity as the handsome viscount took his leave.

“Do be civil to him, please,” Aline said. “Lord Sandridge is quite dear to me, and I wouldn’t have his feelings hurt for the world.”

“I was being civil,” McKenna muttered.

She laughed, relishing his obvious jealousy. “You barely said one word to him, except to bid him goodbye. And the way you glowered reminded me of a stuck boar, ready to charge—”

“What kind of a man is he,” McKenna interrupted, “that he makes no objection when he sees you being escorted through the village by someone like me?”

“A trusting one. Lord Sandridge and I have a certain understanding—we allow each other as much freedom as is needed. It’s a very enlightened arrangement.”

“Enlightened,” he repeated with ill-concealed contempt. “Sandridge is a fool. And if I were in his place, you wouldn’t even be here.”

“Where would I be, then?” she asked pertly. “At home, I suppose, mending your shirt cuffs?”

“No, in my bed. Under me.”

Her amusement dissolved at once. Reaction to the soft-voiced words skittered through her body, making her feel light and shivery. She kept silent, her face turning pink as she walked with him to the village green. More than a few people glanced at them speculatively as they passed. After McKenna had spent so many years away, his return was reason enough for the villagers’ interest, but the fact that he was in Aline’s company caused tongues to wag even more eagerly.

The music was accompanied by clapping hands and stomping feet as men and women skipped and spun to a spirited folk tune. Enjoying the infectious melody, Aline let McKenna draw her closer to the musicians.

As soon as the song finished, McKenna gestured to their leader, a fiddle player, who approached him at once. McKenna spoke close to the man’s ear and crossed his palm with a few coins, while Aline observed him with sudden suspicion.

Grinning broadly, the fiddle player hastened back to his companions, held a quick conference, and the group of eight musicians walked en masse to Aline. She regarded McKenna with growing suspicion. “What have you done?”

Bringing her with them to the center of the crowd, the musicians stood her in front where she was visible to everyone. Their leader gestured with his bow to McKenna. “My merry friends,” he called, “this gentleman has requested a song to honor the charms of the lady who stands before us. I beg your kind assistance in singing ‘The Rose of Tralee’ to Lady Aline.”

The audience applauded heartily, for the tune was a wildly popular one that had just been published that year. Turning scarlet, Aline gave McKenna a glance that openly threatened murder, causing most of the assemblage to laugh. He returned her gaze with an innocent smile, lifting his brows mockingly to remind her that she had been the one to request a serenade.