Must Love Highlanders (15 page)

“I hope you’ll like this place,” Liam said, winging his arm at her, though nobody walked down the street in New York arm in arm.

What did that matter? Louise took Liam’s arm, though they were in the skyscraper canyons of the Financial District. By day, all would be sunlight reflecting off of new construction, and bustling crowds of sharply-dressed professionals exuding stress and self-importance in equal measure.

“In here,” Liam said, gesturing to a discrete, formal façade in the middle of a block. A limousine waited by the curb.

Maybe the restaurant was in the basement or on the roof?

Louise walked with Liam past a reception area where a guard at a desk asked for their names. Louise was too busy studying the frescoes and paintings on the walls to pay much attention.

“This place is gorgeous,” she said, when Liam would have hauled her over to the elevators. “Can you imagine what that stained glass looks like in daylight?”

“It’s magnificent,” Liam said, “and the patterns the window glass makes on the floor on a sunny afternoon are intended to dance with the inlays on the tiles. We’ll come back and admire it someday.”

A note in his voice caught Louise’s attention. They’d have a someday, a lot of somedays, of that Louise was increasingly certain. She didn’t need pretty words when she had that steady, tender regard in Liam’s blue eyes.

“Let’s go to dinner,” she said, taking Liam’s hand. “We’ll do the Met tomorrow, assuming I let you out of bed.”

“We’ll do the Met,” Liam answered, kissing her on the mouth. “Or whatever you please.”

He was dangerously good-looking in his finery, not simply because he was a handsome guy. He knew
how
to wear Highland formal attire, knew exactly where the sporran ought to rest, knew the feel of the kilt draped against his thighs.

“I still want to sketch you,” Louise murmured as they stepped off the elevator. “Without your clothes, Liam.”

They were in another lobby of sorts, a mezzanine space that stretched for much of the floor. People milled about here, and to one side of the area, a buffet had been set up.

The flowers along the buffet were gorgeous without being too showy. Purples and greens with the occasional dash of yellow or red.

“Liam? This does not look like a restaurant.” It looked like a reception… or a
showing.
Louise’s gaze returned to the flowers, beautiful, understated and vaguely disquieting.

“There’s plenty to eat,” Liam said. “I made sure of that, and the bar’s in that corner. Let’s have a look at the main attraction, though, shall we?”

Restaurants did not have main attractions. One of Louise’s former professors, a woman who’d done quite well with textiles, waggled her fingers at Louise and disquiet threatened to coalesce into anxiety.

“Robert’s here,” Louise said, her middle abruptly recalling the bleak feel of Culloden Battlefield. “I never wanted to see him again, Liam. Why would you ask me to get all dressed up just so you could take me someplace where I’d have to deal with
him
?”

And God help her, Larry O’Connor, the grand old man of studio art reviews was over at the bar.

“Robert has come to practice his skills as a hanger-on,” Liam said. “The show is public, so I couldn’t keep him out even after what Jane had to say about him when I interrogated her yesterday. You needn’t speak to him, but you might enjoy his groveling.”

Through a set of glass and chrome double doors, somebody moved and Louise caught a flash of a tall vase on a white stand. All manner of blues and greens blended and swirled in the glazes, gold lurked at the edge of every color, and light seemed to pour from the surface.

“Liam Cromarty, what have you done?”

O’Connor waved, a jovial little troll of a man who’d spoken to Louise’s classes about art criticism throughout history.

“I have put right a wrong I did nearly a decade ago,” Liam said.

His hold on Louise’s hand was all that kept her from bolting for the elevators.

“You’re not an art critic,” Louise said, her heart feeling the pull of the blue and green vase, and whatever else might be behind those double doors. “You have nothing to do with why I went to law school.”

“I had everything to do with it, Louise. I was among those Saxe hauled to your showing, to sneer at and ridicule student works, some of which were brilliant. The phrase ‘major in Teacher’s Pet’ originated with me, as did other disparaging remarks. Even as I uttered them, I was baffled at how a student, an undergraduate struggling to emulate her more experienced teacher, could so thoroughly surpass his results.”

Liam had both hands wrapped around Louise’s fingers. “Then the next morning, I saw my own words in print,” he went on, “casual, snide, half-drunken comments meant only for a small, snide, half-drunken group. That day was a turning point for me, the lowest point in a long, stupid fall from decency and self-respect. I am sorry, Louise. The harm was unintentional, but entirely my fault. Do you accept my apology?”

Two thoughts crowded into Louise’s mind, the first was that Liam needed to shut up. Whatever he was blathering about, they could discuss later.

The second thought, more of a compulsion, was that her best work, her very best work, properly displayed before a segment of New York’s most discerning appreciators of art, lay beyond the doors.

She didn’t give a damn about the people, but her art—

“I want to see,” she said, dragging Liam across the room. “I have to see them.”

Liam went peacefully, a few people calling greetings. When they reached the double doors, Louise was abruptly, unashamedly terrified. She buried her face against Liam’s throat, his lacy jabot tickling her cheek.

“I thought they’d been d-destroyed,” she whispered. “I asked for them back, from the galleries that had agreed to take them on commission, though it took me weeks to find the nerve. They all said the pieces were ‘no longer in inventory.’ I got a check, when what I wanted was my art back. I’ve always wanted my art back. I thought they’d all gone in d-dumpsters—”

“Look, Louise,” Liam said softly, arms around her. “Every piece is whole and safe, and they’re all here, except for one vase that I sent to a friend drowning in grief.”

Louise couldn’t hold on to Liam tightly enough, could not contain the singing, soaring joy, or the terror, of what he’d done.

“Show me, Liam.”

An attendant opened the double doors, and Liam escorted her into a carpeted expanse of light and quiet. Her best work—vases, bowls, a whimsical teapot, a fan made of clay and northern lights, a dish wide enough to serve as a grinding stone, a matched set of tea cups…. Every piece accounted for, every piece perfectly lit to show off form and finish.

Louise knew which one Liam had sent to his friend: A vase about six inches tall that she’d named Consolation. In this room, Liam had assembled all of the rest. Her past, her future, her heart, all on display.

“They’re beautiful,” Louise said, wiping a tear away with the back of her wrist. “I was never sure. I thought maybe I’d not seen clearly, maybe memory played tricks, maybe merely pretty is all I’m capable of.”

“You’re capable of gorgeous, insightful, brilliant work, all of it,” Liam said. “Not a runt in the litter, Louise Cameron, not a second best, not a single item that falls below the standard of the rest. You’re not only a genius with color and shape, you’re consistent. Larry O’Connor agreed when he was given a private showing this morning.”

Louise leaned into Liam and wept, and she laughed, and she dreamed up all manner of new shapes and approaches to try. She was still giddy with sheer joy two hours later as the attendants began to discreetly murmur about the bar closing soon, and there being time for one last trip to the buffet.

“I don’t want to leave this room, Liam,” Louise said as she accepted a piece of tablet from him. “
I made this
, I made all of this, and it’s good.” She kissed him as sweetness suffused her. “You know what else, Cromarty?
I can make more.
I know that now. Purple is calling to me, like the heather. Purple and green have a lot to say to each other.”

And Louise had more she’d say to Liam, when all these smiling, well-dressed people left them some privacy.

“Let’s find a glass of champagne,” Liam suggested, “because this was a successful show if ever I saw one.”

“Larry O’Connor winked at me,” Louise said, slipping out of her shoes as the textile artist waved good-bye. Louise was tipsy, though she’d not had even a glass of wine. “I want you to understand something, though, Liam Cromarty.”

Liam collected her shoes. “Say my name like that in bed. You’ll like the results.”

He led her from the display room to the bar. Louise waited for their drinks while Liam found a place to stash her shoes.

“I feel like we should waltz on the roof or something,” Louise said, passing Liam his champagne. She touched her glass to his. “To Scotland, the brave.”

Liam kissed her, then took a sip, and set the drink aside. “I asked you earlier if you accepted my apology, Louise. May I take it you’ve responded in the affirmative?”

Louise had become like one of her vases, a pillar of grace and beauty, illuminated from within, imbued with motion even when she stood still.

“Let’s find some ferns to hide behind,” she said, taking Liam by the hand. “Understand this: You are being daft, and I love you for it, but enough is enough.”

“I am daft,” Liam said as they wound past the buffet and into a conversational grouping away from the brightest lights. Across the mezzanine, people were putting on wraps, security guards were looking relieved, and a wonderfully successful show was coming to an end.

The press had attended, and Liam would have a few more clients for this evening’s work, about which, he cared not at all.

“I was mean to Robert,” Louise said, stretching luxuriously.

“You were quite civil to him,” Liam countered, lowering himself to the carpet beside her chair. “You asked about his latest publication then dodged off to say hello to the reigning queen of textile art.”

Larry O’Connor had been trapped in a discussion of the symbolism of fur in colonial portraiture for another fifteen minutes while Liam had stayed at his lady’s side.

“Naughty me,” Louise said, admiring her own bare toes.

She could light up the Orkneys on New Year’s Eve with that smile.

“Might I interrupt your naughtiness to trouble you for your opinion on another artist’s work?” Liam asked.

Louise stroked his hair, the gentlest caress. “I’d give you pretty much anything you asked for, Liam Cromarty. I hadn’t realized how I’d been grieving, not knowing what had happened to my art. Without the actual pieces, I had no evidence I’d ever created anything. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. The managing partner for the law firm that hosted this shindig asked if I accepted private commissions.”

“You’ll soon be wealthy if you said yes.” And how pleased Liam would be, to see Louise’s career restored to her in such abundance.

Louise dropped a kiss on his crown. “I am wealthy. I have good health, a ton of ideas, and good people in my life. The rest doesn’t matter.”

She didn’t reiterate that she loved him. She’d lobbed that salvo at him when he’d been too drunk on the sight of her to respond, and then she’d nattered on about taking his clothes off.

Liam scooted around, so he was on his knees at her side. “You have something else, too, Louise.”

“A sweet tooth. Or a tablet tooth.”

“You have my heart,” Liam said, extracting a ring box from a pocket. “You have my love. You have my loyalty, my fidelity, and most of my tablet stash for the rest of my natural days. My cat and my uncle have already switched their allegiance to you, and my dog is sure to follow.”

Louise had gone still, her hand resting on his shoulder.

“Thank you, Liam. I love you, too. Very much.”

“We thought we were done,” he said. “You went off to law school, thinking you’d closed a chapter in your life forever. I settled into teaching and hoped I could be content. I don’t want contentment, Louise, unless I can share it with you.” He passed her the ring box. “What do you think of the setting?”

Louise opened the box and peered at the ring as if it might jump up and bite her nose. Liam kissed that nose instead.

“Will it do, Louise? Will I do?”

“Oh, Liam. Of course you’ll do, but may I have the words, please?”

He assumed a proper kneeling posture. “Louise Cameron, will you marry me? Will you become my lawfully wedded wife, my best friend, my partner, lover, and companion in all things? I come with a lot of family and a stubborn streak.”

She looped her arms around his shoulders. “Stubborn is good, Liam. Stubborn means we don’t give up, we keep trying, we find a way to make our marriage work. I’ll marry you, and you’ll have a stubborn wife, too.”

A yes, then. A beautiful, heartfelt, unhesitating yes. Louise had said yes to him, to his love, to a shared future. Liam stuffed the ring box in his pocket and slid the gold band around Louise’s finger.

“I love it,” she said, wiggling her fingers so the light caught the emerald.

“I love you.” Liam had waited weeks to say that, the longest weeks of his life. “I love you, I love you. I love you, and I want an early wedding present.”