by Karen Ranney
Instead, they’d pretended not to know each other.
“What did he talk about?”
She didn’t lie easily, but she found herself doing so now. “He expressed an interest in Hearthmere’s horses.”
He stared at her for one long uncomfortable moment before nodding.
“You shouldn’t have agreed to accompany him to the door, Eleanor,” her aunt said. “He was wrong for singling you out. You compounded the issue by agreeing.”
“It won’t happen again,” she said, wondering if that was enough groveling for everyone.
It was a curious feeling being a pariah. She felt as though they were all looking at her out of the corners of their eyes and waiting for her to do something else shocking.
Michael was still annoyed. That was obvious from the way he said his farewells with barely a word to her while thanking her aunt and Hamilton fulsomely for the evening.
It was a distinctly unpleasant experience being frozen out. She would never mention Logan McKnight again. Nor would she let anyone know that she had every intention of meeting him in the morning.
Chapter Seventeen
Eleanor was up before the rest of the household, so she was able to take Bruce out, then grab a quick breakfast before dressing. She and Bruce slipped out of the house via the servants’ stairs, heading for Queen’s Park.
It was early, too early to expect Logan to be there. That’s what she told herself when she entered the wrought iron gate and closed it behind her. They walked a little farther than their normal route, heading for a more populated area. They only encountered one couple walking arm in arm and two men on horseback.
The day was a brisk one, with an icy tinge to the breeze. She’d only worn a shawl this morning, but she didn’t return to the house for her coat. The cold was all she smelled. Gone was the lingering scent of late-blooming flowers or even the dust stirred up by the horses.
Bruce investigated an insect, caught a twig, and barked at the wind stirring up falling leaves.
She found a bench alongside one of the paths, sat, and went through Bruce’s training. He didn’t seem ready to listen, but the lure of the liver finally convinced him to demonstrate what he’d learned.
An hour passed and there wasn’t a sign of Logan. She was foolish to be disappointed and even sillier to be here at all. Her nose felt as if it would be permanently cold, and her fingers were getting numb.
She’d told Logan about Queen’s Park only because it was important that they meet. She needed to ensure he knew two things, namely that she was engaged to be married. He shouldn’t single her out in any way should they happen to meet in the future.
Second, she wanted his word that he wouldn’t say anything about what had happened in Scotland. She didn’t want to have to explain her momentary lapse in judgment to anyone. Besides, she already had more than enough complications in her life.
One of them was trying to chew on the toe of her shoe right now.
She pulled back her foot and tried to interest Bruce in a twig instead.
Bruce was no longer a fluffy little ball of fur. The shape of his face was changing. His nose was elongating and he was acquiring an impressive amount of very sharp teeth. In a matter of months he would be nearly the size of Peter and Paul, the dogs that had guarded the sheep. Even now he had some behaviors that confused her until she realized that one of his parents must have been a herding dog. He would sometimes circle her as if trying to move her in a certain direction.
If Logan had shown up she was going to ask him about Bruce’s parents. He didn’t look exactly like Peter or Paul, but she suspected that he was still part border collie.
She stood, calling out to Bruce, and gently tugging on the end of the lead.
“We might as well leave, Bruce.”
When the puppy returned to her side, she bent down and petted him from his pointy ears to his fluffy tail.
“It’s silly to be disappointed, isn’t it?”
Michael was her fiancé. She should keep that thought uppermost in her mind. Anything she felt for Logan McKnight, be it curiosity or compassion, should be squashed immediately. As should the memory of his kiss.
Up until then Michael was the only man who had ever kissed her. He’d done so almost like a brand, as if to say, “There, you’re mine.”
Logan’s kiss, on the other hand, had been light and quick, almost teasing.
She’d spent entirely too much time last night thinking about him, putting everything she’d learned about Logan into place, like he was a puzzle she was solving.
Bruce strained on the lead.
“We’ll come back, I promise,” she said. “You can investigate whatever you’re interested in later.”
It was no use. He was pulling and he never did that. Even worse, he twisted his head back and forth. She didn’t realize what he was doing until the lead completely slipped off. In a flash Bruce was running.
“Come back!”
She grabbed her skirt with both hands, grateful that she’d worn one of her older dresses this morning. She hadn’t needed more than two petticoats with it. Nor did it require a bustle.
She made it across the road and saw Bruce jumping up excitedly on Logan’s pant legs. She stopped where she was, watching as he bent and corrected the puppy.
“Down. Sit.”
To her amazement Bruce did exactly that. But his tail still wagged so fiercely that it shook his entire body.
A minute later Logan looked over to see her. “You need to stop him from doing that. One of these days he’ll be capable of knocking someone down.”
Emotions flooded her. Gratitude that Bruce hadn’t run away. Confusion that Logan was criticizing her. Joy that he was here and guilt because of feeling that.
“You’re right,” she finally said. “But he’s doing very well with other commands.” She listed everything that he could do.
Logan bent and scratched the puppy’s ears. “Then you’re a smart boy, aren’t you? Do you want to learn some things your mother can do?”
She watched as Logan led the way back to the bench where she’d been sitting. Once there, he waited until she again sat before joining her.
“Who are his parents?” she asked. “I suspect one of his parents is a border collie, but what about the other?”
He smiled. “No one knows,” he said. “You’re right. His mother is a champion herder, but let’s just say she went far afield. Bruce is the only one of the litter who looks like his mother. The others must take after their father. They’re coal black with white-and-black faces.”
When Bruce tried to climb his trousers, Logan gently pushed the puppy back down to the grass.
“This is a hand command,” he said, flattening his hand and showing the palm to Bruce. “He’ll learn this first. Then you’ll add the word to it. Down, in this case.”
He ran through a series of commands she was determined to memorize. One by one they practiced them with Bruce. Not surprisingly he was quick to learn, earning praise from both of them.
“Later on,” Logan said, “all you’ll have to do is whistle to get him to obey.”
“I can’t whistle.”
“Of course you can. Everyone can whistle.”
“I can’t.”
“Have you ever tried?” he asked.
“Of course I have.” When he looked dubious she repeated, “I have.”
“Whistle for me.”
“What?”
“Try to whistle.”
“How ridiculous, Logan. I’m not going to try to whistle.”
“You never know if you can or can’t do something until you try, Eleanor. Who knows, you might be an expert at whistling. People would come from all around just to hear you.”
How silly he was being and how foolish she was for smiling at him.
“I honestly never thought of giving him commands by whistling.”
“It’s how a shepherd controls his border collies from far away. A whistle travels farther tha
n a man’s voice.”
“You know a great deal about being a shepherd without being a shepherd.”
“I’ve known Old Ned since I was a boy,” he admitted. “I learned everything from him.”
“Including how to train a dog?”
“That, too.”
For the next quarter hour he showed her and then Bruce various commands, including go left, go right, go far, and stop. To her surprise Bruce picked up the last two with little difficulty, but the first two needed practice.
“You’ll need to train him every day. It’s not something you can just do once or twice. Consistency is the key.”
“Do I really need a dog that’s trained to herd sheep?”
“Those commands can come in handy at any time. Besides, a well-trained dog is a better companion. Something else you need to consider. Bruce comes from a long line of working dogs. He’ll need a job.”
“I don’t have any sheep he can guard,” she said.
“Then his job will be to protect you.”
She looked down at the puppy, now rolling on his back in the grass. Even though he seemed to be growing larger every day, it was still difficult to think of him as a guard dog.
“You knew that when you gave him to me, didn’t you? Did you think I needed a protector?”
“Honestly? I wasn’t thinking of that. All I knew was that he needed someone to love him and I thought you could do with a little companionship as well.”
“Do you go around giving puppies to strangers all the time?”
“It’s the first time I’ve ever done it. And probably the last. Unless, of course, I meet another beautiful woman on the road in Scotland.”
He really had to stop saying things like that. She wasn’t beautiful, especially compared to Deborah or Daphne. She was simply herself.
“Now, about whistling,” he said. “All you have to do is wet your lips, then make sure your mouth is pursed a certain way.”
He demonstrated, whistling one note.
She did as he instructed, making a moue of her mouth.
“Breathe through your lips.”
She did, making the tiniest sound, nothing close to his whistle, however. Still, he seemed pleased, smiling at her.
A man’s smile had never had that effect on her, but his did. It was as if his happiness incited hers, which was ridiculous. Her emotions weren’t tied to his. Nor did he have the ability to alter her mood. Or shouldn’t.
“Do it again,” he said.
He startled her by placing both his hands on either side of her mouth and pressing her lips together even more.
“There. Try a whistle again.”
This time, the sound was stronger.
He dropped his hands. “There, you have it. All you have to do is practice for a bit and you’ll be able to do more than one note.”
He was too close. His eyes were direct, almost as if he was talking to her in his gaze. His look told her that he wanted to do much more than teach her how to whistle.
Reason enough for her to pull back, but she didn’t.
“You’ll have to practice your whistle as well as Bruce’s training.”
“He’s a great deal of trouble, you know.”
The puppy was a bother in many ways, but he was also a joy, which surprised her. She truly hadn’t realized how lonely she was in London. Bruce was a bit of Scotland by her side. He demanded her attention and it was surprisingly gratifying to care for him.
“I imagine he’s taking you away from all your fittings for your trousseau,” he said.
There it was, the mention of her engagement. How strange that he’d brought it up this way.
Bruce jumped up on the bench, the first time he’d done so, wedging his way between the two of them. Once he was satisfied that his favorite people were near, he settled down, making himself a nest on the fabric of Eleanor’s skirt.
She smiled down at him, petting him as he sighed into sleep. There were times when he almost reduced her to tears because he was so sweet and defenseless.
“You’ve always struck me as a woman of intelligence.”
She glanced at him.
“I can’t understand, however, why you would agree to marry Herridge. The man’s an idiot.”
“I don’t think that’s a fair assessment. You and he may have differing opinions on certain matters, but it doesn’t mean that he’s an idiot.”
“Very well, he’s an ass.”
Anyone else would offer an apology for that particular word, claiming that it slipped out unintentionally. Knowing Logan as she was beginning to, she knew it was deliberate. She also knew that he wasn’t going to apologize.
“Why did you agree to marry him?”
No one had ever asked her that question before. She looked at him and then away, concentrating on the line of oaks stretching out before her.
“Everyone has to marry.”
“Do they?”
She glanced at him again. “Don’t tell me that you’ve never given a thought to marriage.”
“It isn’t something that’s important. At least, not yet.”
“When? When you’re old and doddering?”
His smile was quick, amusement mirrored in his eyes. “Perhaps not that far away. But it hasn’t been something I’ve given a lot of thought to.”
“Perhaps you should. No doubt you have a great many women interested in you. After all, you’re probably a catch. You’re a member of Parliament. You have some intellect. You have all your limbs.”
“What about my sterling character, my ethics, my morals?”
“No doubt those all play a part,” she said.
“What was it about Herridge that made you say yes? I doubt it was his sterling character, ethics, or morals. Was it his title?”
“No,” she said, looking down at Bruce adrift in dreams. Was he herding sheep? Or just running through the grass? “If anything, his title was a detriment.”
Logan’s expression wasn’t difficult to read.
“I know you don’t believe me, but it’s the truth. Oh, everyone in my family is overjoyed, but the prospect of being a countess is rather frightening.”
Why on earth had she told him that?
He looked at her the way Bruce did sometimes with his head tilted slightly, an expression in his eyes that made her think he was waiting to be convinced.
She shook her head. She really didn’t want to continue this conversation. It was too personal.
“What happened last night?” she asked.
“Last night?”
She frowned at him. He knew perfectly well what she meant.
“Did Michael insult Scotland? Or did Hamilton demand to know about Abyssinia?”
He smiled. “Neither. We were discussing women, as I recall. How emotional they were and how lacking in sense.”
“Do you feel that way?”
“It wasn’t me. That was your future husband.”
Now was the perfect opportunity to tell him that he mustn’t single her out in any way. Doing so would further irritate Michael, and although she was certain that irritating Michael would please Logan to no end, it would only cause her problems.
When she said as much to him, he didn’t say anything for a moment.
Finally, he said, “I’m going to make it my life’s work never to see you again, Eleanor.”
She met his eyes before looking away. Why would he say something like that? He hadn’t seemed like the kind of person who would deliberately hurt someone else.
“Why?” she couldn’t help but ask. Even as she did she knew it was foolish. She was tiptoeing too close to something forbidden. Instead, she should welcome his words, proof that one of them was sensible.
“Why?” He sat back, regarding the canopy of branches above them. “Because you’re a temptation. You make me want to say things that I shouldn’t. Or do things that are unwise. You intrigue me and irritate me and a half-dozen other emotions. It would be infinitely better if I forgot you.”
/>
“Oh.”
She didn’t know whether to be pleased at his words or horrified. He wasn’t sensible after all.
Neither was she.
“I’m surprised that you don’t clash with Herridge, but you don’t, do you? He doesn’t see you as you truly are, does he? You’re an entirely different person in London, Eleanor, than the woman I met in Scotland. What’s happened to you?”
“You can be the most obnoxious man.”
He grinned at her. “There she is. That’s the woman I’ve been missing.”
She frowned at him. She really shouldn’t be here. Nor, if she was honest with herself, should she be enjoying herself so much.
She could almost hear her aunt’s voice, disembodied and sounding too censorious. Eleanor, what do you think you’re doing? Michael wouldn’t be happy if he saw you now. Do you want to jeopardize your engagement?
They really should go back to addressing each other properly, not as Logan and Eleanor. Yet as long as they were alone—another impropriety—did it matter?
Her aunt would say yes. So would her cousin.
So would all of society.
How very strange that she didn’t seem to care.
“Why are you so different here? In Scotland you were animated, interesting, and a fascinating woman.”
“And I’m not now?” she asked, her face warming.
“You’re still fascinating, but not for the same reasons. I’m confused. There’s Scottish Eleanor and then there’s London Eleanor. What happens, you cross the border and you change?”
She didn’t know how to answer him. “I don’t feel like myself here,” she finally said. “I never have.”
“You’re suffering from the same disease I’ve seen in other fellow Scots. You feel inferior to the English.”
“Do I?” She regarded him with amazement. “I don’t think I do, no.”
“Then why are you so different?”
She thought about it for a moment. She knew who she was at home. Eleanor Craig of Hearthmere. Here she was simply Eleanor Craig, transplanted Scot. Of no importance, actually.
