The Ranger (Highland Guard #3)(18)

His mouth quirked, but only for a moment. “I believe I shall recover,” he said dryly.

Lord, when he smiled he was a handsome devil. She felt that same funny flutter in her stomach and jump in her pulse, but it was even worse standing so close to him. She’d been surrounded by tall, muscular men her entire life, but never had she been so acutely aware of a man’s masculinity and her own femininity.

He unnerved her. Made her feel nervous. Discombobulated. Flush with impulses she didn’t understand. She wanted to move closer. Put her hand on his chest and feel the strength underneath. Stare at his face and memorize every hard angle, every line, every scar. It was outrageous to the point of ridiculous.

She’d been attracted to a handsome man before, but this was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. Nothing like the fondness she’d felt for Roger, her former fiancé. It was deeper. More intense. More visceral. It reached inside and pulled, compelling her to him.

He was waiting for her to say something. Clearly he wasn’t going to make this any easier on her. “Then I hope it is not the food and entertainment?”

He shook his head. “It’s a fine feast, my lady.” His gaze flickered to the door in a none-too-subtle indication of his wish to leave.

She stepped to the side, putting herself firmly in his path. “Don’t you like to dance?”

When he arched his brow again, she blushed, realizing how forward her question had sounded. It sounded as if she wanted him to ask her to dance. Which she did, but it was hardly ladylike to solicit it so brazenly.

But perhaps it was what he needed. She hated to think of anyone being left out of the fun.

“Sometimes.” He hesitated, and for a moment she thought he would ask her. But then his gaze flickered over her shoulder, and he tensed. If she hadn’t been watching him so carefully, she wouldn’t have noticed the steely cold glint in his eye.

He turned back to her, letting his gaze slide down the length of her body.

She sucked in her breath. No one had ever looked at her so boldly. It might have been a little exciting if it weren’t also utterly dispassionate—as if she were a horse at market. And not a very impressive one at that.

“But not today.”

His meaning couldn’t have been more clear. He didn’t want to dance with her. She hadn’t misjudged him or misinterpreted anything. It wasn’t his brusque warrior’s manners.

The stab of hurt she felt by his rejection was surprisingly sharp for someone she’d just met. For a man who shouldn’t have interested her at all.

This shouldn’t be so bloody difficult. But standing there, watching the emotions flit across her face as easy to read as words on a page, Arthur felt as though he was being twisted in a vise or splayed out on the rack.

He didn’t like hurting her—or any woman, he corrected. But when he’d caught Lorn watching them, he knew he had to put an end to this. Whatever this was.

He couldn’t believe he’d actually been considering dancing with the chit. Her genuine friendliness and innocent-kitten expression were not without effect. But her father’s interest had brought him harshly back to reality.

He hoped his crude glance cured her of any romantic illusions.

It had. Her eyes widened, taking on a stricken look that made him feel like a clod who’d just stepped on her fluffy white tail.

“Of course,” she said softly, her cheeks pink with embarrassment. “I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

She lowered her gaze and took a step back.

He felt it again. That strange compulsion that he’d experienced at the church. The inability to let her walk away.

He dragged his fingers through his hair, trying to fight the urge, to calm the sudden restlessness teeming inside him. It didn’t work.

Ah, hell. He reached out. “Wait,” he said, grabbing her arm.

She stiffened at his touch, not looking at him, color still high on her cheeks.

He dropped his hand.

When he didn’t say anything, she finally lifted her chin and tilted her face slightly toward him. He wished the soft candlelight had hid the quiver in her chin.

“Yes?” she asked.

Their eyes met, and Arthur cursed himself for a bloody fool. What the hell had he thought to say? I’m flattered, but it would never work; I’m here to destroy your father. Or how about, I can’t dance with you because I’m afraid you might realize I’m the spy for Bruce who saved you at the church.

She eyed him expectantly.

“I have a job to do,” he blurted, feeling like an idiot. He didn’t blurt anything. And why the hell was he explaining himself?

He sensed her scrutiny, felt the penetration of her gaze, and had the uncomfortable suspicion that she was seeing far more than he wanted her to.

“And nothing more,” she filled in.

He shrugged. “I’ve little time for anything else.”

A wry smile turned her mouth. “Are knights not permitted one day of entertainment and fun?”

Her response was lighthearted; his was not. “Nay. Not me, at least. Not with war on the horizon.”

He almost regretted his honesty when he saw the flash of alarm in her too-expressive big, blue eyes. It was clear the harsh reality of her father’s situation was not something she wanted to think about. Could she really be that naive, or was she living in some kind of fantasy world? A world of feasts and celebrations, happily ensconced in the bosom of her family, while war reigned in chaos beyond their gates.