My Heart's in the Highlands by Angeline Fortin (ebook reader screen TXT) 📕

there of her own accord, and he wondered what mighthave prompted her to do so. Before seeing her, he’d thought she wasprobably just getting old. Tired of the bustle of London andlooking to summer somewhere cooler and quieter …

Now he didn’t know what to think.

Ian hadn’t imagined the marchioness like thisat all. Looking at her now, so wounded and still, Ian cursedhimself for not arriving on time to pick her up from the trainstation. The marchioness had left word that she’d taken a hotelroom in Glasgow, but on his arrival there he’d found only thelady’s father and servants, who had directed him to the Exchange.Ian had arrived just in time to see Lady Ayr’s maid and coachmanracing across the road.

A chill had run up his spine when he had seenthe lady lying in the street. If he’d been more prompt, theaccident might never have happened at all. Guilt weighed heavilyupon him.

The marchioness drew in a deep breath at thatmoment. Her chest rose and her breasts strained against the bodiceof her gown. She turned her head toward him, her eyelidsfluttering, and Ian held his breath. A moment later, he foundhimself drowning in eyes that were a mosaic of flecks of pure greennear the center melding into azure blue at the edges of her irises.Those mesmerizing eyes flared as she stared at him much as he wasstaring at her, and for a moment, Ian felt his heart stop. Neverhad Ian felt more like a fool than he did gawking at the young ladybefore him, but he could not bring himself to look away.

“Am I dreaming?” she asked in low dulcettones that caused a shiver of pleasure to cross his skin, leavinggoose bumps in its path.

“No. I am Ian Conagham. The Conagham of Ayr.The marquis. Lord Ayr, take your pick. Your husband was my cousin,”he clarified, forcing the arousal aside. Surely she would expecther husband’s heir to treat her with detached respect, not tetheredlust.

“I’m not … I don’t feel right,” she went on,moistening her lips with the tip of her tongue in a gesture thatclenched every muscle in Ian’s body. “Like I’m dreaming orsomething. Foggy. Disoriented. I can’t explain it. Are you a dreamnow? You’ve always been a dream before.”

“I apologize for not getting to the Exchangeearlier so that this incident might have been avoided,” he told herwith clear regret, not knowing how to interpret her words. Was shesaying that she had dreamed of him? Or that everything now seemed adream? “You were hit by a wagon.”

“That’s what I’ve heard.”

Her response was so dry that Ian stifled achuckle of amusement. It must have shown on his face, though,because the corner of her mouth drew up just a bit as well. “Do youremember who you are? Where you are?”

Mikah truly didn’t know how to respond as shestared up at his beguiling face. On one hand, she was awash withconfusion, while on the other, with him in her sights, all feltright with the world. As it should be.

As it was meant to be.

Ian, he had said. Lord Ayr. She finally had aname to put to the face she had known for so long. He was abeautiful man. So handsome she wanted to touch him and make certainhe was real. He had fairly dark skin, as if he were Spanish orItalian, but not olive toned so much as … swarthy. The word was oneshe was certain she had never used before, yet was equally certainshe had. The dichotomy brought a furrow to her brow, but she pushedthe nagging confusion away to study the handsome lord somemore.

His face was angular, with smoothly planedcheeks and a strong jaw and chin that held the shadow of a beard hecould never entirely shave away. There were crow’s feet at thecorners of his eyes and lines around his mouth that indicated helaughed often; his thick brows arched low over dark eyes thatseemed permanently narrowed as if against a bright light. His lipswere full and held that same indication of humor in the corners. Hewas lovely in a masculine way, with his dark hair broken by a lightsprinkling of gray, premature most likely, as he appeared to beonly in his early to mid-thirties.

He was almost Clooney-esque, Mikah thought,though the thought made no sense at all even as it did. It was asif half of her understood the reference while the other halfwallowed in confusion.

She couldn’t understand why her thoughts wereso jumbled; yet perhaps the blow to her head explained it all.“What did the doctor say?” Mikah whispered softly, as if she wassuffering a hangover and loud words might make her head burst.

“He thinks you’ll be fine,” Lord Ayranswered. “He could find no other damage beyond the single injuryto your head. He worries about the memory loss.” The marquisreached out and took her hand in his. The intimate contact startledher and she looked down at her small pale hand in his large one,his tanned skin sprinkled with dark hairs. The feel of his roughfingers against her palm fascinated Mikah and she was embarrassedby her schoolgirl response to him. It was like being thirteen allover again and coming face to face with your teen idol. Giddy,jittery, silly … and horrifying in retrospect. She could only hopehe wasn’t aware that she was nearly awestruck by him.

“Do you know who you are?” he prompted kindlywhen she remained silent.

Grateful for the distraction, Mikah focusedon the problem at hand and analyzed his question much as she hadeverything in the few hours since the accident. Did she know whoshe was? That question had been perplexing her, causing this warwithin her fog-ridden brain until it had almost shut her down toshield her from the world around her.

She knew the answer.

The problem was, there were two answers.

She was Mikah Bauer, but the Mikah within herseemed to be constantly struggling against the someone elsethat she was as well. It made no sense at all and Mikah couldn’tseem to focus in either direction. Her brow wrinkled as she triedto push through the mist engulfing her mind and choose a direction,and her