Page 19 of A Stranger’s Promise

Chapter Six

Alistair valiantly struggled to suppress his amusement as he watched Charlotte succumbed to the whisky’s spell. A twinge of guilt stabbed, but only a twinge. He’d underestimated just how much—or little—she could imbibe before succumbing to the powerful drink. He should’ve known her delicate constitution would fail to withstand the second glass, but then, he hadn’t expected her to down it all in one go like the town drunk.

She frowned, leaned sideways in her chair and squinted. “You’re simply too…handsome. It’s rather unfair.”

Alistair tensed. What had she said? By God, the woman thought him too handsome? His heart began to pound. She found him attractive?

She nibbled her bottom lip. His blood burned. How he wanted that mouth. Such a delectable mouth with such pink lips, plump and full, begging to be kissed. As ever, several rebellious curls had escaped her bun, dragging his gaze to the sensual line of her neck. A coil of desire wound through his body.

“Did I say that aloud, Lord Cssils…” She seemed to wrestle with each word.

He shouldn’t have poured the second whisky, but he had to admit he felt sorely pressed to regret it. “That I was handsome? Aye, lass, you did.”

Her pupils widened in the firelight as her lips formed a perfect circle. “Oooh,” she whispered, then added in a rush, “Lord Casssilllis…may I call you Alistair, instead? It is so much easier to say.”

Alistair chuckled. “Only if I may call you Charlotte.”

Charlotte nodded, her hazel eyes sparkling. “Please do.” She wrinkled her nose. “Forgive me. I shouldn’t have said…”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” he assured. “If anything, it is I who should beg forgiveness for pouring the second whisky, lass.”

“It tastes dreadful.” She waved her fingers. “But it warms the toes.”

The toes? He sipped his whisky, then replied, “Indeed.”

She hiccupped, then covered her mouth again with her hands. “I thought you no longer needed my services,” she confessed in a whisper. “I thought you were letting me go.”

“Quite the contrary,” he replied.

The smile spreading over her lovely face beguiled him. Let her go? She’d fascinated him from the moment he laid eyes upon her in Lady Prescott’s drawing room. He’d thought it a fleeting fascination. In the past two weeks, he’d convinced himself he felt nothing extraordinary toward her, nothing beyond the interest a man should feel toward the governess of his own niece and nephew. He’d been wrong. His reaction to her was much stronger this time.

She yawned and relaxed against the chair back. “Then that is well,” she murmured. “I have no desire to sleep on the streets.”

The words caught his interest. “Surely, you have relatives somewhere, Charlotte?”

“The devil I do,” she retorted in a very unladylike manner. “Hardhearted and uncaring wretches, the lot of them—and the Captain, as well.”

“Captain?” he repeated.

Charlotte grimaced in distaste. “My fian…fian…” she struggled to enunciate.

He tensed. “Fiancé?”

She pointed a finger at him with a lopsided grin. “That’s the word.”

It wasn’t a word he liked.

She cocked her head. “He said I shouldn’t look at that crimson dress. I was just looking. Just looking. He said a decent woman wouldn’t even do that. Look. But it was beautiful. A dream.”

The man sounded like an ass. Alistair took another sip from his glass. “Where is this captain now?”

Charlotte lifted her chin. “Let’s not speak of him.”

“Very well, then,” he granted with a nod. It didn’t matter. He’d have Foster find out. And if her fiancé dared show his face at Culzean, Alistair would have a choice word or two to say on Charlotte’s behalf.

A silence fell between them and he thought she’d fallen asleep, but she suddenly sat up and clucked her tongue against her teeth. “They even took my mother’s cookery book,” she said with heat.

“They?” Alistair queried softly.