Can't Help Falling In Love (30 page)

An Excerpt from

by Katharine Ashe

In this delightful novella from award-winning author Katharine Ashe, a young matchmaker
may win the laird of her dreams if she can manage to find husbands for seven Scottish
ladies—in just one month!

I
t would have been remarkable if Teresa had not been quivering in her prettiest slippers.
Six pairs of eyes stared at her as though she wore horns atop her hat. She was astounded
that she had not yet turned and run. Desperation and determination were all well and
good when one was sitting in Mrs. Biddycock’s parlor, traveling in one’s best friend’s
commodious carriage, and living in one’s best friend’s comfortable town house. But
standing in a strange flat in an alien part of town, anticipating meeting the man
one had been dreaming about for eighteen months while being studied intensely by his
female relatives, did give one pause.

Her cheeks felt like flame, which was dispiriting; when she blushed, her hair looked
glaringly orange in contrast. And this was not the romantic setting in which she had
long imagined they would again encounter each other—another ballroom glittering with
candlelight, or a rose-trellised garden path in the moonlight, or even a field of
waving heather aglow with sunshine. Instead she now stood in a dingy little flat three
stories above what looked suspiciously like a gin house.

But desperate times called for desperate measures. She gripped the rim of her bonnet
before her and tried to still her nerves.

The sister who had gone to fetch him reappeared in the doorway and smiled. “Here he
is, then, miss.”

A heavy tread sounded on the squeaking floorboards. Teresa’s breath fled.

Then he was standing not two yards away, filling the doorway, and…

she…

was…

speechless.

Even if words had occurred to her, she could not have uttered a sound. Both her tongue
and wits had gone on holiday to the colonies.

No wonder she had dreamed
.

From his square jaw to the massive breadth of his shoulders to his dark hair tied
in a queue, he was everything she had ever imagined a man should be. Aside from the
neat whiskers skirting his mouth that looked positively barbaric and thrillingly virile,
he was exactly as she remembered him. Indeed, seeing him now, she realized she had
not forgotten a single detail of him from that night in the ballroom. She recognized
him with the very fibers of her body, as though she already knew how it felt for him
to take her hand. Just as on that night eighteen months before, an invisible wind
pressed at her back, urging her to move toward him like a magnet drawn to a metal
object.
As though they were meant to be touching
.

Despite the momentous tumult within her now, however, Teresa was able to see quite
clearly in his intensely blue eyes a stark lack of any recognition whatsoever.

“W
eel?” The single word was a booming accusation. “Who be ye, lass, and what do ye be
wanting from me?”

It occurred to Teresa that either she could be thoroughly devastated by this unanticipated
scenario and subsequently flee in utter shame, or she could continue as planned.

She gripped her bonnet tighter.

“How do you do, my lord? I am Teresa Finch-Freeworth of Brennon Manor at Harrows
Court Crossing in Cheshire.” She curtseyed upon wobbly legs.

His brow creased. “And?”

“And…” It was proving difficult to breathe. “I have come here to offer you my
hand in marriage.”