The Heart of Love (The Book of Love #9) - Meara Platt Page 0,1

I won’t have you showing up in your condition.”

He reached up and caressed her cheek. “Heather,” he said, pronouncing it Heether in his thick brogue, “I canno’ go, lass.”

“Why, Robbie? Are you still angry with me?” She wanted to cry, for his presence mattered to her more than she would ever dare admit.

He did not appear quite so drunk as he gazed at her with gorgeous eyes the green of a lush, Highlands glen. She had expected to find them reddened and dissipated, but they were surprisingly alert and clear. This was Robbie, somehow always looking splendid even when he ought to look like something the cat dragged through a fetid alleyway.

Even now, despite the gray light of dawn, a lone sliver of sunlight managed to shine down on his head so that his beautiful mane, cropped short at the sides and thick on top in military fashion, appeared golden.

This was one of his most irritating qualities, his ability to look as glorious as a Scottish sun god no matter what befell him.

He caressed her cheek again. “I could never be angry with ye. Why would ye think such a thing?”

“Because you left town so suddenly after the new year, and we never got to read that book together. You also stormed off after rescuing me the other day at Dahlia and Ronan’s house. Now my sisters are worried because they think I’ve put a hex on myself by not reading the book with you, as I promised I would.”

He closed his eyes and moaned. “Och, The Book of Love. I have it in my pouch. That’s why I came here. I meant to return it to ye.”

She glanced around. “I don’t see your pouch.”

“Bollocks. It’s on the other side of the wall.”

She rolled her eyes. “The one you almost broke your neck climbing over?”

He sat up slowly. “Aye, that one. My friends were supposed to toss it to me.”

“Some friends,” she muttered. “Were they the ones who heaved you over? You might have broken your neck.” She suddenly gasped and scrambled to her feet. “What have they done with the book? Do you think they took it? They can’t! I need it back.”

She had no sooner said the words than an object came flying at her head and struck her cheek. She reeled and would have fallen had Robbie not caught her in his arms. “Pixie, are ye hurt?”

He sounded quite shaken and did not appear at all drunk now.

She was surprised by how quickly the pouch smacking her in the face had sobered him up. He’d shot to his feet with such speed, she realized he could not have broken any bones, or else he would never have been able to move so fast.

Thank goodness for small mercies.

He held her in his arms and was now stroking her hair, possibly to calm himself as much as it was to calm her. Her hair was in a loose braid down her back and probably unkempt since she hadn’t bothered to brush it before coming down here this morning.

She hadn’t expected to encounter anyone.

“I’ll be all right in a moment.” But she had to rest her head against his chest when she suddenly felt lightheaded.

Her heart was still racing from the shock of being hit, but as she was now pressed to his chest, she could hear the rapid pounding of his heart and knew he had been rattled as well. “I’ll kill them if they put a mark on ye.”

She eased back and touched her cheek to the spot that was now throbbing. It also burned lightly and felt moist. She suddenly realized why. “Robbie, am I bleeding?”

The blaze of fire in his eyes and the gentle sweep of his thumb across her cheek was all the answer she needed.

“Tilbury’s grand ball!” She would now be facing her guests—and worse, her betrothed—with a bruised cheek. What if it was swollen, too? How was she to appear elegant when she looked as though she’d been caught in a street brawl?

“We’ll fix it, Heether. Ye’ll look like a beautiful pixie, as ye always do.” He glanced at the pouch that had landed at their feet, the straps now loosened, causing it to fall open to reveal the book’s red leather binding peeking out.

He bent to retrieve the pouch and then surprised her by also lifting her in his arms. “What are you doing? I can walk. You’re the one who needs carrying.”

He laughed softly, a deep, glorious rumble. “Och, lass. I’d