His gaze cut over to find Miss Windermere’s gloved forefinger just below his. Her gaze startled up, and she yanked her hand back.
It had been the lightest brush of fingers.
He should give a sheepish smile and dismiss the entire encounter as the sort of thing that happened at supper parties.
The contact was passing…insubstantial…inconsequential.
And yet…
It felt like the opposite.
It felt like it held substance…
Like there would be consequences.
And the look in Miss Windermere’s eyes seemed to know it.
Chapter Two
It wasn’t simplya touch of Kilmuir’s long, masculine fingers that had Juliet snatching her hand back as if scorched.
It was the spark of something in his eyes…
Heat.
Directed ather.
Heat that flushed through her and sent her gaze skittering away.
She’d been determined to ignore his presence for the entire night—a particular skill she’d developed over the years—but it was an impossible feat when the blasted man was seated directly opposite her. And…
Touching her.
She shook the silly thought away.
He’d barely grazed her finger.
It was hardly of consequence that the point of contact still tingled.
Even as she sliced into a filet of trout, so too did the side of her eye cut in his direction. How was it possible that he’d only become more impossibly…oh, well,everything…since he’d moved to Scotland a year ago?
More impossibly broad of shoulder… More impossibly golden of hair… More impossibly bright of eye… More impossibly attractive, especially with his newly-grown, golden-red beard.
It was damnably irritating was what it was.
But, as in every other moment of her life, her natural reserve served her appropriately; her face maintaining its surface placidity so that her well of emotions could storm beneath.
That was what pen and paper were for, anyway. Pens quelled storms into manageable squalls that soon exhausted themselves on paper.
How she longed to jot down a few lines. But she supposed that would be considered rude and eccentric at a supper table where she was a guest of honor.
Juliet felt a gaze on the side of her face. From her place three seats down from Kilmuir, Delilah caught her eye. Her eyebrows lifted in silent question. Juliet gave her head a dismissive shake, unwilling to allow the slightest indication that anything was amiss.
“Now,” said Mrs. Robertson, again directing her sharp gaze toward Delilah. Everyone asked their questions of Delilah first, which Juliet minded not in the least. It granted her opportunity for observation. “What brought youunmarried”—she gave her throat a light, prim clearing—“ladies all the way up to the Highlands, my dear?”
“It’s a simple story, really,” said Delilah, warming as she ever did to having all eyes upon her. “Our mother and Mrs. Dalhousie came out in the same London season and became fast friends.”
Mrs. Dalhousie nodded wistfully. “What a wonderful time of life that was.”