A Time & Place for Every Laird (20 page)

“I am highly skilled.”

Claire shook her head in amazement at his ego but carried on.  “Touching?”

“Has been strictly forbidden,” he said quickly.

“What if it wasn’t?” she dared to ask and was rewarded by the heat that darkened his eyes and the flaring of his nostrils. 

“Then it could play a valuable part in
said flirtation.”

Drawing in a shaky breath, Claire tried to calm her racing heart, which had been startled into a gallop by the banked desire in his gaze.  Words and touching aside, he played a pretty good game with a single look. 

Definitely a jumble.

“Kissing?” she whispered almost inaudibly.

His gaze shifted to her lips, and Claire could practically feel the pressure as they warmed and tingled beneath that scorching look until she couldn’t help but catch her lower lip between her teeth to stop it.  Hugh almost groaned as she did so, showing as no words could that flirtation was truly a two-way street.

“At yer discretion and instigation only,” he said gruffly
, finally looking away.

“Okay,” Claire whispered
, more to herself than to Hugh, wondering what she was getting herself into.  Right now it seemed more perilous than taking on the whole of the U.S. government.

Claire held a hand out
, and ever so slowly Hugh engulfed it with his large one.  His rough palm slid across hers, inciting the same riot of feeling that had surprised them both when they had first shaken hands just four days past.

God!  Was that all it had been?  Already it seemed like a lifetime.

“Ye mentioned being hungry,” he began, leaving Claire to consider all sorts of hunger.  But obviously Hugh would never cease to surprise her.  “It’s long past luncheon and I find myself hungry as well.  Can we return tae the house for some food ere I wither away?”

The tension between them
—of a more pleasurable sort, this time—faded, and Claire marveled at how handy Hugh was at driving a person’s moods.  That he could censure, humiliate, and soothe in a matter of minutes was astounding, but somehow he had set them back to rights again.

“You’re right,
" she replied, "we should get something to eat, and I know just the place.”

Parking her car in a lot beneath the elevated highway near the ferry terminal, Claire turned off the motor and got out, joining Hugh on the opposite side of the car, where he stood staring up at the buildings surrounding them.  “What do you think?”

“It is quite
… loud.”

Claire had to smile at that.  With everything he had seen, noise was the greatest impression downtown Seattle
had made on him.  “Just loud?”

Hugh nodded.  “
’Twas one of the first things I noticed here.  There is always some noise, a hum that lingers in the air, but there is surprising solitude as well. I am far more accustomed tae having people aboot.”

“What do you mean?”

“At Rosebaugh, there were at least fifty people within its walls at all times,” Hugh explained.  “Family, retainers, servants.  My home was open tae my clan at all times.  Court was even worse.  There was nae privacy, even in the bedchamber, which often felt as if it were my valet’s domain rather than my own.  I hadnae dined wi’ just one person in many years.  The privacy is unexpectedly agreeable.”

While she was conversely enjoying company where she had been alone for years, Claire
couldn’t imagine sharing her house with so many people.  It would be like attending a family reunion each day, and she shuddered at the thought.  Every day with Danny again?  Eighteen years had been enough of that!

“So we’re noisy yet restful?” she teased.  “Is that all?”

“Ye might nae be pleased wi’ my other observations,” Hugh prevaricated. “Where is this place ye spoke of where we might find a meal?”

“
It’s just up the street a ways,” Claire said, pointing to the north. “A restaurant called the Crab Pot.  It’s a little touristy, but the food is good.”

“That sounds appetizing,” he said
, with a hint of facetiousness lacing the words.

“It’s good.  You’ll like it.”  Hugh only grunted but offered his arm
courteously to her.  With only a heartbeat of hesitation, Claire took it, tucking her hand in the crook of his strong arm before leading him across Alaskan Way and up the boardwalk.  As they walked, Claire relished the warmth of having a masculine arm beneath her hand once again, and Hugh silently absorbed the sights and sounds around them, much as he had from the car earlier.  The crush of people and tourists on the waterfront.   The cars, buses, and cyclists to their right.  The boats, birds, and shops to their left.

“What other observations?”

“Simply that ye live in a world of incredible luxury,” he began, pausing to look over a table covered with small trinkets all marked with the city’s name and an image of the Space Needle.  “For days now, I hae marveled again and again for what the future has wrought, marveled that the simplest object” – Hugh lifted a souvenir pen from a cup – “such as this pen filled with ink is taken for granted.”  He rolled the pen between his fingers for a moment before dropping it back in the cup.  “For ye, they are naught but novelties, but tae me, they are nothing short of phenomenal.  Yer people use wi’out care what I once saw as unimaginable.  Ye hae machines tae do everything for ye.  Tae carry ye places, tae cook for ye, tae clean and tae do yer laundry.  Everywhere there are machines.  It hae spoiled ye and made ye—nae just ye but all these people—lazy, I daresay.  Ye cannae even walk the stairs any longer or take pride in the craftsmanship of yer buildings and furniture.  There is nae adornment, nae real style.  Nothing seems tae be built tae stand the test of time.  Yer people take all that ye hae for granted.”

“You’re right.  We are spoiled,” Claire agreed
as he guided her back into the flow of bodies moving along the sidewalk.  There was no way to deny it the truth of his words.  “But weren’t you once spoiled as well?  You had money, servants to do everything for you.  By your own admission, you had no job.”

“In my frustration
, I was less than truthful in saying that I had nae occupation.”

“I can imagine
that as a duke you had responsibilities,” she said.  She had seen enough of the British royals to know that having a high rank didn’t free a person from burden.  “But then and now, that is the one constant.  You work hard and you get rewarded.  Only the reward has changed a little over time.”

“And what will be my reward in this time?”

“That depends.  What do you want badly enough to work for?”

Silence met her question and Claire looked up at Hugh to find him looking at her now instead of the city around them.  His blue eyes were deep and penetrating as they met
hers, telling her without words what he wanted and a bolt of excitement zipped through her veins. “Oh, well … um,” she stammered with a blush, uncertain what to say, given their recent conversation on the subject.  “We’re here.”

Claire n
udged him toward a crowded doorway, pushing the moment aside.

“This is a restaurant?” he asked, pronouncing the new word slowly
, and Claire cast Hugh a bright—if somewhat forced—smile.

“Like it?”

“’Tis even more deafening than the city beyond.”

Another fine point that Claire could not deny.
  The Crab Pot was housed in the Waterfront Arcade, a building that also housed a couple tourist gift shops as well as an actual arcade.  The entry hall was exceedingly loud and bursting with people.  Some were shopping while others were sitting on benches that lined the way.  It was Saturday afternoon on the waterfront, Claire realized with a grimace.  Surely, there would be a wait to get in. 

Grabbing Hugh’s arm, Claire pulled him to a halt before he could just saunter
pass the hostess podium into the restaurant and take any table.  “Wait.”

“Why?  Ye
cannae expect me tae wait in queue.”

“Sure I can.
  You just can’t walk right in there like you own the place.”

Hugh raised a brow.  “I can do anything I please.”

“Really?  Anything?” she scoffed.  “You couldn’t just walk in there naked.”

“I probably could
, if only just the once,” he said with a straight face.

Claire studied the harried hostess as she took the name of another among the waiting patrons.  A half-hour
wait, at least.  Slanting a speculative look at Hugh, she said, “Care to prove it?  Prove that you can do what you want?  That you are the greatest flirt ever to come out of Scotland?”

“A wager?”

“Call it substantiation.”

Hugh turned to the hostess thoughtfully but didn’t move.

“Here, I’ll even get you started.”  Approaching the hostess station, Claire cleared her throat.  “We’d like a table please.”

“How many?” she asked without looking up.

“Two,” Claire answered as the girl dragged her finger down a list of names on the sheet in front of her before stopping at a blank space.  “Name?”

With a sweep of her arm, Claire invited Hugh to take over, whispering “Impress me” as he passed. 

With a grin, Hugh leaned against the podium and drawled in a seductively deep brogue, “I’m called Hugh Urquhart, lass.  What is yer name?”

The hostess’s head shot up so quickly that Claire was certain the girl would feel the strain of it later. 
She was a pretty, petite girl of about twenty, but in that moment she might have been a pre-teen with her favorite teen idol in her sights, and what happened next so astonished Claire that later she would be certain she had imagined it all.  The beleaguered hostess straightened, a blush spreading across her pale cheeks as she stammered out, “I’m J-Jessica.”

“Jessica, lass, might
I beg ye for a table?”

“Oh, sure,” she sighed and tore her eyes away to look at the list before looking up at him once again.  “I just love your accent.
  Are you Scottish?”

Hugh leaned in and smiled
an amazing, roguish grin that Claire had never seen him display, and the hostess all but melted on the spot.  “Aye, lass, I am.  A verra hungry Scot aboot tae waste away tae skin and bone.”

“Oh! 
We can’t have that, can we?” Jessica gushed with a flirtatious smile of her own.

“God, no,” Claire
drawled under her breath.  “We can’t have that.”

Hugh shot Claire
a wicked glance and a wink before he turned back to the hostess with a flash of white teeth and a definite smolder in his eye.  “Can ye secure us a table, lass?  If it wouldnae be too much of a bother?”

“Oh, n
o bother at all,” Jessica replied without hesitation as she shuffled out a pair of menus.  “Will you follow me?”

“Anywhere ye lead, lass,” Hugh said with a
gallant sweep of his arm, indicating that the hostess should lead the way.  She did.  As she led them around the main floor and up the stairs, Jessica flirted with Hugh over her shoulder, asking questions that required answers, which Hugh gave in thick teasing tones, exaggerating his brogue.

“I just love your accent,” the girl cooed
again as they arrived at a prime table near the windows.

Claire rolled her eyes.  “Oh, brother.”

“Will this do?” Jessica asked.

“Verra nice. Thank ye, Jessi
ca,” Hugh said, shifting to walk around the hostess just as the girl turned.  The pair collided and Hugh reached out to steady her.

“Oh!  I’m so sorry!”

“Nae at all,” Hugh said smoothly.  “Mea culpa.”

Jessica giggled uncertainly and Claire translated drily.  “That’s kind of like ‘my bad
.’”

“Oh!” the hostess said brightly, setting the menus on the table while Hugh held out Claire’s chair and moved around the table to the other side to sit.  “Well, anyway, here’s your menus”
—Claire was inwardly surprised that the girl remembered that there were two people present, since she’d hadn’t torn her gaze away from Hugh the entire time—“and Becky will be your server.  She should be right with you.”

“Yes, I’m sure
she will,” Claire said under her breath once again, gaining another devilish grin from Hugh.  A split second later, her eyes were rolling once again as Hugh took the girl’s hand and kissed it gallantly.  “My thanks, Jessica, for yer kind assistance.” 

The hostess giggled with another blush.  “Just let me know if I can get you anything else.”

Claire
could almost see the hostess’s knees wobble as she walked unsteadily away.  “Well, you proved me wrong, didn’t you?  You really can do whatever you like.  And your powers of flirtation are truly unparalleled.  Are you always such a charmer with the ladies?”

The grin turned from roguish to
amused, his eyes lighting with real humor.  “It is a skill required at court, and if it gets me what I want, why shouldn’t I employ my many gifts where they benefit me the most?”

“
Those gifts being good looks and charm?”

“
’Tis my curse.”

“My, you are cocky.”

“But another burden tae bear.”

Claire had to laugh out loud at that and rolled her eyes
yet again as the waitress eagerly approached, bearing a wooden cutting board with a loaf of bread on it.  “Hi, I’m Becky.  I’ll be your server this afternoon.  Can I get you something to drink?”

The waitress was of similar age to the hostess, Jessica, and like her co-worker, directed all
of this to Hugh with an alluring smile and even batting eyelashes.  It was so incredibly amusing—and insulting to her gender—that Claire was tempted to wave a hand in front of the girl’s eyes to force her attention away.

“I’ll have a
pint of Sam’s,” Claire said loudly in an attempt to draw her attention.  “And he’ll have the darkest, thickest, nastiest thing you have on tap.  The liter.”

“We have a Black
Butte Porter,” the waitress suggested, eagerly.  “Looks like mud.”

“Perfect,” Claire said, expecting the waitress to wander off
, but Becky lingered, gazing at Hugh with adoration.  With a long-suffering sigh, Claire motioned for her to leave. “Incredible,” she said to Hugh as she buttered a piece of the bread.  “I would bet that she’s back with those drinks in record time.”

“Jealous?”

“Hardly,” Claire denied quickly.  “If your ‘many gifts’ benefit me as well, employ away.”

Hugh drew in his breath to respond
, but as Claire had predicted, Becky was back with the beers and a smile in a matter of moments.  The flirting ensued, as the waitress bent farther over the table than was necessary to put Hugh’s huge mug of porter down in front of him.  Naturally Huge flashed his dimples, spoke husky compliments, and generally made the girl feel as if she were the most amazing person on the face of the planet. 

It
was
a gift, Claire decided as she watched the show.  She’d never seen anyone who could so easily make everyone like him as Hugh did.  Well, the fairer sex, anyway … and men like his hairstylist.  How would normal, heterosexual men respond to Hugh, she wondered?  Would they be like some women who grew nasty in the company of women prettier than they were, or would they fall as quickly under his spell?