A Laird for All Time by Angeline Fortin (room on the broom read aloud txt) 📗

She’d seen the movie Age of Innocence years ago.  As far as clothing for men went, it was pretty much spot on there.  Gorgeous elegance and Emmy was also immediately aware that he hated it.  He gave an outward appearance of nonchalance, but Emmy could just see him on the inside twitching and itching and yanking at his collar.

As he crossed the room toward her, he was bowed or curtsied to by all present.  He would nod in return but no one spoke to him at all and he offered nothing either.  But all eyes watched him as he approached her and it seemed to Emmy that they were all in awe of Connor or perhaps simply afraid of the man who held their relaxed lifestyles in the palm of his hand.  Like he was their king or somewhat godly.  Untouchable.  Yet, he did provide for them.  Hmmm, it made her think.

His eyes captured hers as he neared.  Emmy could easily see the desire and heat in them.  It was astonishing to know that he felt the same unwilling attraction that she felt for him.  It was a powerful thing.  Undeniable…though she was sure they would both do their best to deny it anyway.

“Ye look lovely this evening, my love,” he offered by way of greeting taking her hand formally and raising it to his lips.  She did indeed.  The gown she was wearing heightened the natural bounty of her figure accenting her tiny waist, full hips and glorious bosom pushed to the edge of the square neckline of the bodice.

“Thank you,” Emmy responded curling her hand and surreptitiously scratching the tingling palm that had just been teased by his lips.  “I feel lovely this evening,” she confessed and rocked side to side to set her skirts swinging a bit.  “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

A surprised grin jerked at the corner of his mouth and almost raised itself into a smile.  “Thank ye, I think.”  A footman arrived with his drink and he held it up to her.  “To yer return,” he toasted softly.

Emmy held up her own wineglass and shook her head.  “To my…something.”  She clinked her glass to his and took a quick sip.  Responding to his raised brow, she said only “I’m not really sure I can call it a ‘return’.”

“Still trying to refute who ye are, my love?”  Why did she insist on preserving this charade?  Any fool could see that she was Heather.  She was Dory’s identical twin.  What point was there in denying it?

“I believe I have asked you not to call me that,” she replied throwing his thoughts back to him.  “Besides why would I come here and try to deny it?  It doesn’t make any sense.”

“There is much about ye that is a mystery, my…” the corner of his mouth jerked up again in an appealing lopsided grin.  “My apologies, I shall strive to withhold my endearments as ye requested.”

“Endearments?”  Emmy laughed softly and sipped again of her wine.  “You do know that you actually have to like someone to have it be called that, don’t you?”

His grin took a devilish edge.  “There are many levels of liking.  In fact, I seem to have developed an entirely new liking for ye that I never had before.”  The heat flared in his eyes and the soft brogue of his deep voice caused shivers to shoot down Emmy’s spine.  “Truly,” he continued running a finger down her bare arm, “I’d verra much like to…”

“My lord,” Dorcas said sharply interrupting his thought, “I can see you have not noticed that Chilton has called dinner.  Perhaps you would care to lead dear Heather in?”

“As the lord of my own home, I believe my dinner could have waited another moment, Dorcas, until my conversation was finished,” he responded in equal tones.  He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck before offering an arm to Emmy.  “My lady?  May I?”

Emmy took his arm silently and let him lead her toward the dining room some ways away, but could not control the question for long.  “Don’t like each other much, do you?”

Connor sighed as much at the question as her unusual phrasing.  “Honestly no, we have never been truly amiable to each other.”

“A simple ‘never have, never will’ probably covers it, huh?”

A sharp, rusty laugh of surprise escaped him once again.  “Indubitably.”

“Why don’t you get along?” she was unable to stop the question that followed.

“Perhaps because facing her everyday has been a constant reminder of the humiliations ye once served me,” he voice was low and pleasant but the flash of anger in his eyes told another story.

As they entered the dining room, Connor bypassed the chair at the foot of the table and propelled Emmy forward to seat her at his right hand.  Though Emmy saw no problem with this, displeasure showed clearly on Dorcas’ face.  Other places were taken around the table leaving the foot unoccupied before Emmy figured out why. “Shouldn’t I be sitting down there if I am supposed to be your wife?” she asked.

“I cannot converse with ye way down there and feel no need to entertain anyone else.”  He signaled the waiting servants for the service to begin.  “And, alas, I feel that I must try to speak with ye.”

Emmy waited as a footman placed her napkin in her lap and stepped back before leaning toward him.  “Well, don’t put yourself out there if it hurts so much,” she murmured drily.

Connor did not answer but looked around the table and Emmy followed his gaze, watching his family take their seats and chat with one another.  None tried to address Connor directly.  She wondered at that.  Why would no one speak to him?  Was he really such a bear that no one dared?

Shaking her head, Emmy looked down at her elaborate place setting.  She realized she only knew what to do with about fifty-percent of the forks, maybe three-quarters of the spoons.  Why did she need three glasses?  She had been to