Seduced By A Scot. Julia London

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СКАЧАТЬ out of this house once Mr. Rumpkin had fallen into unconsciousness with his fingers wrapped tightly around a bottle. But then she’d grown sullen, for spring was too far away, and there was an entire winter to endure.

      She needed to devise another, better plan.

      She had only a few coins, some shoes that were worthless for anything other than dancing or strolling around manicured gardens, one decent gown and one serviceable gown. The third gown she’d been allowed to leave Stirling with was the one lying in a heap on the floor.

      As she lay there contemplating, she heard a sound that she would have thought was a rat scurrying by had it not come from outside the window. She slowly sat up, staring at the window. It couldn’t be. He wouldn’t, this Mr. Nichol Bain. Maura shot up from the chaise and hurried to the window. She opened it slightly, just enough to see out.

      All she could see was an auburn head of hair as the man picked his way up the thick vines that covered the tower.

      Bloody bounder. Mr. Garbett must have paid him handsomely to ferry her off to yet some other hell. She closed the window and latched it shut. If he thought she would open it to him, he was a fool. She went back to the chaise and plopped down onto her back, one bare foot on the moldy carpet, one arm slung across her body, waiting for the inevitable moment that he pounded on the window demanding entrance. She hoped he fell and landed on his arse. She hoped his fingers ached so much that it brought a tear to his eye.

      She did not expect him to punch his fist through the glass, but that’s what he did, shattering the pane into a rain of chunks. That same fist reached through the opening for the latch and swung the window open. Maura was so stunned by this that she couldn’t move, and watched, dumbfounded, Mr. Nichol Bain’s acrobatic entry into her room. He paused just inside, brushed off his clothes, ran his hand over his bobbed hair, and then leveled a gaze on her that suggested he was quite perturbed at having to make an entry in this manner.

      Neither of them said a word. Maura didn’t know what stunned her more—his bold entrance or his fine looks. His eyes were the palest green, his hair the shade of autumn. He stood well over six feet, and broad shoulders that looked even broader in a greatcoat tapered into a trim waist. He was perhaps one of the most handsome men she had ever seen.

      But his expression was thunderous as he surveyed her lying there—she was still incapable of movement—and said, in a deeply timbred voice, “Feasgar math.”

      He had just wished her a good afternoon in Gaelic. Maura stared at him. Had he come from the Highlands, then?

      “Now I see what caused Adam Cadell to lose his mind,” he said, and bowed gallantly.

      For the love of Scotland! Men were degenerates, the whole bloody lot of them. Whoever this man was, or whatever he wanted, Maura didn’t care. She had gone well past the point of caring in Stirling and straight into unyielding fury with the world and everyone around her. She did not want to be reminded of Adam Cadell, that bloody coward. She sighed with impatience, cast her arm over her eyes, and silently willed this handsome stranger from her room.

      He did not leave her room. No, he was moving about, pausing here and there. When he next spoke, she realized he’d walked the entire breadth of the room to the other window. “Allow me to introduce myself again, aye?” he said coolly. “My name is Mr. Nichol Bain.”

      She didn’t care what his name was. Did Mr. Garbett think she would trust anyone at this juncture?

      “I understand you must be mistrustful.”

      Mistrustful? Aye, sir, mistrustful and furious. She was teeming with raw, unabated fury. She had no wish to discuss what she was or thought and muttered under her breath, “Sortez maintenant, imbécile,” telling the fool to get out of her room.

      There was a long pause before he said, “Pas avant que vous n’écoutiez ce que j’ai à dire.”

      Not until you’ve heard what I have to say. Surprised, Maura removed her arm and turned her head to look at him.

      He had squatted down onto his haunches a couple of feet away from her and was watching her closely like a hawk, his eyes sharp and focused, his movement very still.

      Maura pushed herself up on her elbows and glared at him. All right, so he’d been schooled in French, too. He thought himself clever, she could clearly see it in his eyes. “Mir ist es gleich was Sie zu sagen haben.”

      She gave him a very pert smile. She’d just told him that she didn’t care what he had to say, and silently thanked her late father for insisting her education include languages.

      Mr. Bain’s smile was slow and almost wolfish. “Aye, you have me there, lass. My German is no’ as good as that. Nevertheless... Wollen Sie von hier fortgehen?”

      She gasped softly. This man, whoever he was, was a formidable opponent. She sat up, putting both feet on the floor, her hands clutching the edge of the chaise on either side of her knees. She gave him a good look, appraising him, before she answered his question. “Aye, I want to leave here,” she said. “But no’ with you.”

      Mr. Bain stood up, clasped his hands behind his back and said calmly, “At present, that would seem your only choice.”

      “It is no’ my only choice. I could leap from the window you’ve so graciously opened for me, aye?”

      He shrugged. “If you meant to leap from the window, I suspect you would have done so on the day you felt it necessary to barricade yourself in this room.”

      Well, then, he was a perceptive man. He should be heralded for it among women—Look here, lassies, all of you, a perceptive gentleman! Come quick, for you’ll no’ see this again!

      Maura stood up. She was at least a full head shorter than him; he had to look down. And when he did, he unabashedly looked directly at her bosom before lifting his gaze to her eyes.

      She glared at him. “What do you want, then?”

      “To take you from these...accommodations, first and foremost.”

      She folded her arms across her body. “And then? Where do you mean to take me? To Mr. Garbett? Or am I to have the pleasure of visiting yet another cousin?”

      He glanced at her mouth. Maura considered kicking his shin. “To Luncarty,” he said.

      “Luncarty. What the devil is a Luncarty?”

      “It is a small village and an estate. It is also an opportunity.”

      She laughed at him. An opportunity! How naïve did he think she was? “Is it? What sort of opportunity would it be, then, Mr. Bain? Am I to defend myself against the advances of another man I’ve never met?”

      “Pardon?” he said, and had the decency to at least look slightly horrified. “Did Rumpkin—”

      She clucked her tongue at this fool. All men were fools.

      But this fool’s expression turned slightly murderous. “I would no’ put you in a situation that might cause you harm, Miss Darby. There is a house in Luncarty that I think you would verra much like. A big wealthy house.”

      “Ah. Someone’s mistress, then.”

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