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of Innerleithen, was a dress-up affair. I was grateful that I’d thought to include in my travel wardrobe a form-fitting dress of fine wool with a v neck. I’d been told the deep cherry color with its white border was flattering to my hair and eyes. The look on Ian Douglas’s face when I came down the stairs was worth every minute of the time I’d spent in preparation.
    “You look lovely, Miss Murray.”
    His old-world formality was endearing, but I was ready to do away with it. The man had kissed me, for heaven’s sake. “Please call me Christina.”
    “All right, Christina. We’ve reservations for seven-thirty.”
    We were the only ones patronizing the restaurant that evening. The conversation remained light as the proprietor ushered us into what looked like a formal drawing room where large comfortable chairs were arranged around the fireplace. Ian ordered a drink while I looked over the menu.
    “I recommend the salmon,” he said, a hint of laughter in his voice. “There is enough of it to satisfy even your appetite.”
    “Well then,” I replied, determined to remain as cool as possible, “I’ll take it.”
    “Two poached salmon dinners with dill sauce, Angus. Have you any criachan today?” Ian asked the waiter.
    “Kirstie was here first thing in the morning making it, sir. It’s the best of the lot, if I do say so myself.”
    “We’ll have some of that as well. Miss Murray loves sweets.”
    “What makes you say that?” I asked.
    “Three raspberry scones gave me a small hint.”
    Heat rose in my cheeks.
    “Surely you know I’m teasing, Christina?” His eyes were clear and contrite. “I admire the fact that you don’t pick at your food. There isn’t anything more aggravating than buying an expensive meal for a woman, only to have her eat two bites and push it away.”
    It was obvious that he spoke from experience. “I’ll try not to disappoint you,” I said.
    His gaze swept over my figure, lingering on my legs, crossed and visible below the hem of my skirt. “I don’t think that’s possible,” he said dryly, swallowing a healthy portion of his drink.
    “Actually I’m not supposed to have sweets,” I reminded him. “I’m a diabetic. The raspberry scones were a rare treat.”
    He looked startled. “Good God! I never even connected it. Why on earth did you eat them?”
    I laughed. “I’m only human and I love sugar. When I indulge, I pay for it. Fortunately I’m not tempted often or easily.”
    I leaned my head back against the chair and closed my eyes. The room was lovely. The warmth of the fire and the intimate flickering lights wove their spell. I felt mellow and slightly drowsy, otherwise I would never have said what I did. “I’d like to think you invited me here tonight because you were bowled over by my charms. But I don’t really believe that.”
    He looked at me curiously. “Why not? You’re not exactly the type a man would overlook in a crowd.”
    Again, I could feel the color in my cheeks. “Thank you,” I murmured, clearly uncomfortable with the way the conversation had turned. “I wasn’t begging for compliments.”
    “I know. That makes you even more appealing.” He studied me thoughtfully. “What was your husband like?”
    “I beg your pardon?” Whatever I had expected of the evening, it certainly wasn’t this.
    “He must have been the worst kind of fool to make a woman like you unaware of her appeal.”
    My stomach knotted in that twisting, painful way it always did when I thought of Stephen. I couldn’t discuss him. Not yet. “He wasn’t a fool,” I said quickly. “We just wanted different things. What about you?” I remembered the beauty seated beside him in church. “Are you married?”
    He grinned, and the pain in my stomach disappeared. “Shame on you, Christina. Would I be here if I were?”
    “I hope not,” I answered, “but I don’t really know you.”
    “That can be remedied. In answer to your question, no, I’m not married. I