Kat looked down at the account books. She’d been trying to stay busy so that she wouldn’t think too much about St. John and his devastating smile. Though she hated working on the accounts, it was an absorbing business and should have kept her mind busy and off things better not thought about.

It hadn’t worked. Instead she’d spent a good hour alternately staring out the window and drawing little horses representing her upcoming ride with St. John.

Sighing heavily, she put away the quill and closed the books. It was nice having something to look forward to other than work. Not that she didn’t enjoy the glassmaking. But there was something special in being pursued.

It really wasn’t that she’d been totally without masculine attention. Malcolm had enough of his Edinburgh friends to visit that she’d had numerous occasions to slap hands and kick shins. Like Mr. St. John’s. But none of them had really pursued her, taken the time to get to know her, asked her questions, even something as simple as offering to take her for a ride…

She sighed and rose, making her way to the front door. St. John’s offer to go riding had been so unexpected, so…pleasant. And while she knew she should have said no, she also knew that she would have regretted saying the word. Some of it, she suspected, had to do with Mr. St. John’s blue eyes. They had a way of looking at one as if he understood everything there was to understand, a curiously empathetic look for one so obviously spoiled by life.

“Hmph,” she told the air as she stepped outside, “he’s probably still in his room, sitting on his bed, waiting for his valet to come and dress him.”

“Whot’s that?” Douglas asked, looking up from the wagon bed. He was Simon’s right-hand man, and as suspicious as they came.

Her face flushed. “Nothing. I was just talking to myself.”

Simon nodded. “Bad habit, that.”

“Indeed it is,” she agreed. “Fortunately I only do it when faced with extreme circumstances.” Before he could ask anything more, she said, “Did the new glass make the journey?”

Simon brightened. “Indeed it did, Miss Kat. Donald got us a right good price for it, too.” He unlashed the canvas and lifted it, standing back to say with great satisfaction, “I’ll wager you’ve never seen a prettier blue than that.”

She leaned over the edge of the cart and ran her finger down the large sheet of glass. It was a deep, rich blue. Simon was right—it was beautiful. But she had seen a blue just this color—in the eyes of the man who had held her in his arms not a week hence. “It’s a lovely color.”

Douglas grunted. “’Tis fair. Would like to see more green glass, but that is neither here nor there.”