Free Flirting With Fortune by Erin Knightley Page B

father who doesn’t appreciate symbolism, but you yourself?”
    “No mystery in that. A barrister has little use for symbolism in life.”
    “Barrister?” He had her attention now. “I had no idea you were a man of the law. Do you practice in Edinburgh?”
    “London, actually. And I’m not quite practicing yet—I’ve still a year left to go at the Inns of Court.” If he could secure the funding. He had no idea that the money his father had been sending all this time had been borrowed funds.
    “London?” she exclaimed, her hands going to her hips. “For heaven’s sake, I thought you were merely visiting with your aunt. You’ve been in London for two years and your very first ball was this week?”
    Her accusatory glare made him smile. As if he had purposely prevented their worlds from intersecting sooner. “Not exactly on my list of things to do,
a stór
.”
    •   •   •
    A stór.
    A shimmery thrill raced down Beatrice’s back. She hadn’t realized she’d been waiting to hear the endearment from his lips again. She’d never thought much of a Scottish accent, but the marriage of Scottish and English tones on his tongue was like mixing two uninspired pigments and coming up with a completely unique, perfectly gorgeous color. She swallowed, trying to come up with something clever to say when all she could think about was the look in his smoky eyes the first time he called her that. “Well, we’ll certainly have to remedy that.”
    Judging by the look of sudden interest on his face, she probably hadn’t hidden her reaction as well as she hoped. His lips parted, the teasing smile transforming to something more intimate. “Is that so? And why should it matter to you if I’m attending balls or not?”
    A good question. She looked away from his ensnaring gaze as she moved to the next painting, trying her best to maintain a casualness that she didn’t feel. “Well, we never did have that dance. You need to make good on your promise, like a proper gentleman.”
    “Who said I was a proper gentleman?” He leaned a shoulder against the wall beside the painting, his body as lithe and lean as one of the great cats she’d seen in the Tower Menagerie. She had a sudden image of painting his portrait in just that position but stripped bare to the waist.
    Heat swamped her cheeks, and she hastily dropped her gaze to the floor. Lord have mercy, where had
that
thought come from? She drew a deep breath, trying to get herself under control. She wasn’t a blusher, and she certainly wasn’t shy. Gathering her scattered wits, she put a hand to her hip and met his gaze head-on. “
You
did—when you decided to attend that first ball.”
    “Ah, is that how it works? I’d argue the point,” he said, a bit of mischief lifting a single dark brow, “but it wouldn’a be very gentlemanly of me. Now, as for the dance, it was your decision to take a stroll outside over my offer to dance. You canna expect me to leave the door open indefinitely for that particular delight.”
    “Of course I can. It’s one of the few perks of being a female. We may make unreasonable demands upon men until our hearts are content. Of course, it’s up to them as to whether or not they choose to indulge us.”
    “And that, I suppose, separates the men from the gentlemen?”
    “No, that separates the gentlemen from the rakes.”
    “So my choice is to honor a lady’s wishes or be labeled a rake?”
    “More or less. And truly, you are entirely too generous to be a rake—otherwise I would never have had the chance to be here. Therefore,” she said, grinning as she presented her victorious argument, “your offer to dance still stands. And I accept.”
    “Do you now?” He pushed away from the wall and took a slow, languid step toward her. “Well, far be it from me to keep a lady waiting.”
    A spark flared to life within her as he extended his gloveless hand. He couldn’t mean to dance now. Could he? She considered the slight upward