The Scoundrel. Lisa Plumley

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СКАЧАТЬ the piano’s tunes. She sighed. Elaborately. Then she nodded to another group. “Perhaps one of those kind gentlemen would partner with me.”

      “My cousins?”

      She clucked at him, holding back a grin. “There’s no need to turn red in the face. They’re my family now, too. I believe George would make a fine dance partner.”

      “George has two left feet and a laugh like a whinnying nag.”

      “Frank?”

      “Pickpocket. Leave your reticule with me.”

      “James?”

      “Only if you don’t mind his inviting you to pose nude for one of his ‘sketches.’ He claims to be an artist.” A contemplative pause. “Wish I’d thought up that one myself.”

      My, but his family was a veritable rogue’s gallery—those who lived in the territory at least. His parents and sister had moved east some time ago. Sarah tossed another glance to the cluster of jovial, ale-drinking McCabe men. “Nathan, then?”

      “Nathan is more of a scoundrel than I am.” Daniel shook his head—whether in admiration or consternation, she couldn’t tell. “He has only to look at a woman and her skirts fly up.”

      “Really? Well. That would be inconvenient for dancing, now, wouldn’t it?”

      “Yes. It would.” Wearing a dark look, Daniel finished his ale. He set his cup beside hers. “Behave yourself. Sit down.”

      “If I do, will you tell me what scandalous things happen when you look at a woman?”

      “That grin of yours is not very wifelike.”

      “That doesn’t answer my question.”

      For a long moment, he only gazed at their wedding festivities, probably lamenting the day he’d been born a relation to so many scoundrels. Then he lifted his suddenly somber gaze to hers.

      “Doesn’t matter anymore. Because none of those things will ever happen again.” With a heavy sigh, Daniel stood. “How long will it take you to say your goodbyes? It’s time we collected Eli and started home.”

      For a woman who was supposed to make a convenient wife, Sarah had so far proved herself anything but, Daniel reflected as he strode homeward. First she’d shown up inconveniently beautiful for her own wedding. Then she’d ordered him to kiss her, gotten tipsy and volunteered to dance with his idiot cousins. And now…

      “You cannot have lost your own shoes.” He frowned at her, disbelieving. “’Tis like leaving behind your ears.”

      “I have, Daniel.” She shrugged. “I can’t explain it.”

      “I suppose you can’t explain your mother’s sudden interest in corralling Eli for an overnight visit, either?”

      Sarah blinked up at him with what he’d swear—if it weren’t impossible—was a coquettish gaze. “I can’t help it if Mama wants to be better acquainted with her new grandson. Or if she believes a bride and groom should spend their first night alone together. What should I have done? Refuse her?”

      “Yes.” He set his jaw. “I’ll not be beholden to anyone. Especially not family.”

      “‘Not family’? Don’t be silly. My family lives and breathes for helping other people.”

      “For meddling, you mean. No need to put too fine a face on it. I’ve known the Crabtrees as long as I have you, remember?”

      “Then you ought to understand they only have the best of intentions at heart.”

      “Intentions change.” Darkly, Daniel shifted Sarah in his arms. When she’d lost her shoes, she’d insisted he carry her home. Fortunately, he was more than strong enough for the task. “So does your size. Damnation, woman. When I used to toss you up to that old tree we climbed, you were light as a feather.”

      She gave him a mulish look. “I was only ten years old.”

      “As I recall, you didn’t mind walking barefoot then, either.”

      There’d been more than one time Fiona Crabtree had accused Daniel of being a poor influence on her daughter for that very reason. And others. She’d claimed he was turning meek little Sarah as wild as an Indian, and unladylike in the process.

      Reminded of that now, he peered curiously at her lace-frothed form. By accident, his gaze nearly went to her bosoms. They rose cheerfully from her bodice in a way he couldn’t quite countenance. Now that he noticed it, Sarah didn’t seem especially lacking in female attributes. Even if they were usually shrouded in ugly dresses. Smugly, he decided he hadn’t been such a poor influence after all.

      “I’m not so very heavy, Daniel. But you are getting on in years, you know. Nearly twenty-eight. Perhaps your advanced age is making you weaker. Too weak even to carry little old me.”

      He grunted a denial. If he didn’t know Sarah to be the gentlest, most sensible of creatures, he’d have sworn she was trying to bait him. Just in case, though, he flexed his arms.

      There. Let her see the kind of man she’d married.

      “Goodness!”

      That was better.

      “Do your arms hurt? You seem to be straining to carry—”

      He gritted his teeth. “My arms are fine.”

      “If it would make you feel better, we could send for your cousin Nathan to carry me home.” Solicitously, she patted his shoulder. “I’m sure he’d be willing.”

      “Maybe. But you wouldn’t be.”

      She stilled, staring up at him. “I wouldn’t?”

      Why did she look so startled? So…hopeful? “No. You’re far too sensible for the likes of Nathan. You’re practical, Sarah. Once you find your shoes, I expect you’ll make a fine and loyal wife.”

      She snorted. “You make me sound like a hound dog.”

      “Dependable, too.”

      “Or a trout!”

      Now that just didn’t make any sense at all. “You’re not nearly so slippery as a trout.”

      Teasing, he squeezed her in demonstration. She laughed and squirmed against him. To Daniel’s relief, no strange, unexpected feelings assaulted him in response—no revelations of Sarah’s curvaceous figure or long, feminine limbs. Clearly he was cured of whatever malady had assailed him before.

      Arriving at his house—their house—he stomped up the steps. On the threshold, he set down Sarah and opened the door. For some reason, she only stood there.

      “What’s the matter? The door’s open.”

      She slanted him a meaningful, if completely undecipherable, look. A look as cryptic as any Daniel had received from a cardsharp over the gaming table. СКАЧАТЬ