Seduced By A Scot. Julia London

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      “Marry the laird.”

      She gasped with shock. And then laughed with sheer delight as she gathered her tangled hair and pulled it over her shoulder. “You must be mad! Or you must believe I am mad.”

      “What I am is determined to find a suitable situation for you.”

      “Well, that is no’ one!” she said, and laughed again, this time with a twinge of hysteria. “I will no’ marry someone I’ve no’ met!”

      “Of course you will meet him before you decide,” Mr. Bain said with the patience of a parent. “The gentleman is an acquaintance of mine. He’s kind, he’s in need of a wife and he will treat you like a princess.”

      “I suppose you think that’s all that is required!”

      Mr. Bain shrugged. “What more would you like, then?”

      “What more? Love? Compatibility?” All the things she was desperate to know, given that she’d spent the last twelve years of her life searching for even the slightest bit of love or compatibility. For the slightest hint of affection. Since her father died, Mr. Garbett was the closest she’d had to knowing any sort of affection, and even that was sporadically applied in the way of a pat to the head or a squeeze of the shoulder.

      “Love and compatibility,” he scoffed. “All verra lofty goals for a lass who is locked in a tower with no prospect of anything more than servitude.”

      Maura’s breath caught in her throat. Her fury and disbelief dulled and she felt the truth in his words settle like a weighted mantel about her shoulders. She sagged, dropping her arms.

      “Will you at least allow me the opportunity to explain?” he asked.

      “By all means,” she said dryly. “You’ve gone to the trouble of climbing the wall and smashing the window after all.” She walked away from him, to her wardrobe. She pulled out a shawl and wrapped it around her shoulders. The broken window was letting in a north wind and flakes of snow. “You were saying, Mr. Bain?”

      “Dunnan Cockburn is heir to Scotland’s largest linen manufacturer. He lives in a grand house with only his widowed mother. He is a good man.”

      Maura eyed him with skepticism. “Why has he never married, then?”

      “He is no’ particularly adept with the fairer sex.”

      What did that mean? Was he hideously ugly? A happy drunkard? “I would guess that you manage the fairer sex with aplomb, aye?” she said. “Perhaps you ought to instruct him.”

      One corner of his mouth tipped up. “I am hoping that you will come along and make that task unnecessary, Miss Darby.”

      “What if I agree to meet him? When will I leave this wretched place?”

      “Tonight.”

      That caught her attention—she could leave tonight? A flurry of thoughts began to race through her mind, not the least of which was that she had a way out of this house. That was the first step. She didn’t know what she intended to do once she was freed from this prison, but she did not intend to marry some faceless man.

      What she wanted was to get her mother’s necklace back. That necklace was the proverbial straw that had broken the camel’s back. Maura had done everything the Garbetts had ever asked of her, including moving to the small servant’s room at the end of the hall to be “out of the way.” She’d remained at home when she and Sorcha had been invited to parties so that Sorcha could shine. She’d tried to keep to the shadows when company came. She’d said please and thank you, had never asked for anything, had done everything she knew to do to be a grateful, accommodating girl. And for that, they’d accused her, called her a liar and, the ultimate insult, had taken her necklace.

      They should not have taken it, and Maura should not have let them. She’d done nothing wrong. It was all she had to her name, and she intended to have it back.

      She didn’t have a plan for that, either, but the first step was getting out of the hell Mr. Garbett had sent her to, and Mr. Bain was offering her a way out.

      Whatever would come next, Maura couldn’t guess. But it would not include marrying a man in Luncarty who was “not adept with the fairer sex,” whatever that meant. But in order to escape, Mr. Bain had to believe that she would be foolish enough to agree. So she mustered up all the charm she could manage, looked into the pale green eyes of the man standing before her and said, “Aye, all right.”

      His brows dipped into a dubious frown. “All right?”

      “I’ll go.”

      “Just like that?”

      “Is that no’ what you wanted? I’ve changed my mind.”

      His frown grew even more dubious, but he said, “Have you a bag? Anything to carry your things?”

      She nodded.

      “Fill it with what you can carry. Clean yourself up and meet me in the drive when you’re ready.”

      “Any other commands, your highness?”

      “Aye. Dress warmly.” With that, he turned away from her, easily pushed the bureau from the door, unbolted it, and strode out.

      Maura’s heart was suddenly beating with excitement. It occurred to her that this opportunity could disappear, and she could be prevented from escape. She had not a minute to spare and ran to her vanity.

       CHAPTER FOUR

      NICHOL WAS NO stranger to the dithering of young ladies at their wardrobe, and had expected to be kept waiting a good hour or more for Miss Darby. But here she came after only twenty minutes, bundled in a cloak lined with fur, with her hair bound haphazardly at her nape, and her leather bag—stuffed to the gills by the look of it—banging against her leg.

      On her heels was Mr. Rumpkin, who had found a pair of trousers and a coat. He had not found the waistcoat or neckcloth, but at least he’d removed the offending soiled nightshirt.

      “Is this how you’ll take your leave, then? Without so much as a fare thee well?” he’d shouted at Miss Darby as she strode toward Nichol.

      She ignored him. Did not pay him the slightest heed. This woman. Nichol didn’t know if he ought to be appalled by her lack of civility or impressed with her courage to stand up to Rumpkin. And to him, for that matter.

      She arrived before him and dropped her bag. He glanced at her shoes. Silk, by the look of it. “Those will no’ do for a long journey, Miss Darby,” he said, nodding in the direction of her feet.

      “They will have to do, Mr. Bain. They are all I have. When I was banished from the home I’ve known for a dozen years, I was no’ permitted the luxury of time to consider all that I might need, aye?”

      Nichol’s СКАЧАТЬ