Nonsense, Evie snapped at herself. Simply enjoying the beauty of the stars. It meant nothing.
Did watching every twitch of Jamie’s fingers, every slide of tartan over his thigh mean nothing at all either?
Evie forced her gaze from the plaid folds and pretended to study the road as Jamie guided the car through the abundance of carriages and carts packing the London street. She could not keep her interest away, however, the kilt drawing her eyes.
His coat covered its waistband, so she could not see how it fastened, though a silver pin flashed above the hem on the kilt’s right side. The plaid was of a deep blue and green pattern, with a single red and single white band working through the darker colors. The cloth was faded, the colors no longer bright, as though Jamie wore the kilt in the rain, wind, and sunshine.
He’d always favored a kilt at Cambridge, no matter how much his fellow students ragged him about it. The mockers had learned to cease, knowing he’d defend his choice masterfully with his fists.
They rounded Regent Street’s crescent, the tall golden-colored buildings rising majestically along its curve. Jamie continued around Regent Circus at Oxford Street, and not long later, navigated the car into a drive in front of one of the largest hotels Evie had ever seen. Their usual hotel her mother had tried to book them into, and even their fine lodgings in New York, shrank into insignificance beside it.
“Mr. Mackenzie.” Mrs. McKnight leaned forward to tap Jamie’s shoulder. “I said nothing too extravagant. This is the Langham, for goodness sake.”
Jamie lifted his hand to a uniformed porter who sped out to them. “Only place in London with an empty suite today,” he answered Evie’s mother, unperturbed.
The hotel reared its way up to the evening sky, seven stories that Evie could count, plus a square tower that rose higher still. A profusion of windows peered at her, rectangular ones on the ground floor, arched windows in the upper floors, square ones near the top story, and above those, round-windowed dormers flanked by many chimneys.
A carpet stretched from the car to the front door, which a doorman held open to reveal the glittering glory of the hotel’s lobby.
“It’s beautiful,” Clara whispered in awe.
Evie marveled more at the way men and women poured out of the hotel to greet Jamie and almost beg him to tell them what he needed. Several youths in red suits with pillbox hats soon had all the bags pulled out of the car, with trollies rolling to collect them.
“The suite is ready for madam, of course.” The hotel’s majordomo had glided out and now smiled beneficently at Jamie. “I have sent maids upstairs to make sure all is dusted, with clean bedding installed.”
Evie and her family weren’t allowed to touch a bag. As she, her mother, and sisters strolled, dumbstruck, through the wide expanse of the lobby, swarming pageboys guided their many pieces of luggage through a narrow door and out of sight.
In very little time, Evie found herself in a gilt-doored lift, operated by a stately uniformed man, the box gliding them smoothly upward.
They did not go far—the lift doors opened to let them out two floors above the lobby. A grand staircase, which they could have easily ascended, spilled downward not far from the double-doored suite the majordomo led them to himself.
Evie and family had not received such a welcome even in New York, where they did not have the money or titles to garner much attention. Now Mrs. McKnight and three daughters were ushered into a high-ceilinged and well-furnished sitting room as though they were royalty.
Not for our sakes, Evie realized forcefully, but because we are Jamie Mackenzie’s guests.
Marjorie, for once, was speechless at the grandeur. Mrs. McKnight stood awkwardly under the splendor, but Evie could see she was grateful. It would have been a long, arduous railway journey northward, if they’d even been able to find a train, with no guarantee that anyone would be on hand to fetch them and their mountain of luggage from the station.
Clara gazed, enraptured, at the sitting room’s silk wallpaper and plush chairs then wandered to the open doors of the three bedrooms that surrounded the sitting room. Clara dreamed of marrying a wealthy man who would give her everything she wanted, and perhaps she was deciding that this was the sort of thing she had in mind.
Evie wanted a man who would let her explore the world. One who would let her be herself and arrive at the serenity she sought. She’d found him in Hayden—hadn’t she?
She firmly turned from these thoughts. “I understand why your uncle stays here,” she said to Jamie, who lounged near the front doors, watching them admire the place. “This hotel must have everything one could need.”
Jamie shrugged. “Uncle Cam prefers to be in the country, in the mud with his horses. He tolerates Town only so long.” He chuckled. “When I was a lad, I dreamed of being a jockey and riding his beasts in all the races. Steeplechase, flat—didn’t matter to me. Too bad I shot up so tall so fast.” He smiled down at her from his lofty six foot and a few inches height.
“There is an advantage to being tall,” Evie babbled from a foot or so beneath him. “You can reach things on the upper shelves.”
Clara gaped in horror at this rudeness, and her mother sent her a frown of disapproval, but Marjorie giggled, and Jamie’s deep laughter rang out. “So says my mother when she needs my assistance,” Jamie said. “My sisters too take full advantage.”
His laughter brushed heat down Evie’s spine, no matter how hard she tried to banish it. “I trust your parents are well,” she said quickly, for something to say.
“Oh, aye, they usually are.” Jamie pushed himself from the doorframe. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. Anything you need, you ask, and the staff will be happy to fetch it for you.”
Did he sound reluctant to go? Or did Evie only hope that were so? And why on earth should she be pleased that he wished to stay?
Mrs. McKnight stepped in front of Jamie. “The bill shall be sent to me,” she said severely.
“Of course.” Jamie spoke with compliance but shot Evie a wink. He sketched them all a salute before he grinned and ducked out of the room.
Evie heard him loudly greet someone in the hall, and then a maid shut the double doors, and Jamie was gone. She did not at all like how far her heart sank as Jamie’s voice faded into the distance.
Jamie breezed out the door of the Langham, calling good-byes to the staff who returned the farewell as though they were sending off a beloved brother. They enjoyed waiting on Mackenzies, any Mackenzie. Aunt Ainsley had won them over, beginning the day Uncle Cam had brought her here as his wife.
Jamie cranked the waiting car to life once more and slid into the driver’s seat, revving the engine. As he did so, his unguarded thoughts slid back to the humid day on the river when he’d kissed Evie McKnight.
Her lips had been parted in consternation as he’d emerged from the water. She’d upended her oar once Jamie had ceased using it as a handhold, planting its end on the ground and clutching it like a spear. Jamie, torn between hilarity and outrage, hadn’t suppressed his wild need to kiss her.
He’d cupped Evie’s face, which she’d turned up to him without hesitation. Her dark blue eyes had gone soft, a flare of desire filling them. Her first experience of desire, Jamie had realized.