In the Heart of the Highlander by Maggie Robinson Read Free Book Online

help.”
    Green fire flared in Mary’s eyes, but vanished in an instant. “Yes, my lord.”
    Oliver snorted but wisely said nothing.
    “So,” Mrs. Evensong smiled, “tell me about tonight. I believe Mary omitted all the most interesting things.”

Chapter

    5
    M ary sat fuming and drinking as Lord Raeburn told Aunt Mim about the evening and his encounter with Bauer. Well, not
all
about the evening—he did not mention how he ogled her bosom and said inappropriate things to her as if she were a Florodora Girl. It was obvious he thought she was no better than she should be, but Mary was damned how she could convince him otherwise. She was posing as a seductress, after all, although it didn’t seem to take much to get in Josef Bauer’s good graces. Sunday!
    The smarmy, smirking lout.
    Mary was not exactly sure to whom she referred. Bauer, she supposed. She could see where his courtly Viennese manners might sway a susceptible female, but he’d left her quite cold. Lord Raeburn, on the other hand, had made her feel itchy and warm. Those butterflies in her stomach had picked up speed and had battled and batted away through seven courses. If wine had been served, she would have tried to drown them.
    No, she’d better keep her wits about her. She and Aunt Mim always shared a bedtime brandy as they discussed agency business, but she put the glass down and tried to relax without it. She looked out the window at the darkening mountains and counted a sprinkle of stars in the pearl-gray sky. She estimated the number of studded nails on the ottoman where Aunt Mim’s foot rested. Mary looked everywhere around the room except where she wanted. She would not meet Oliver’s eye, for that scamp must know exactly what she was thinking. Oliver was sensitive to changes in atmosphere after being the youngest of six brothers. He’d escaped many a beating with his good instincts.
    Damn it all. Despite Lord Raeburn’s warm language and untoward familiarity, she was . . . smitten. Under all his wickedness, she knew he was vulnerable. And much too handsome for his own good.
    It was only because she lacked sufficient experience, she assured herself. The last time she’d worn a regular dress, it had been covered with a capacious grocer’s apron. None of the customers—most of them women or servants—had noticed her femininity, and her brother, Albert, had discouraged her from walking out with any young gentlemen, not that there were many who had asked. It suited Albert to keep Mary occupied with the store or his household, and she had no choice, not having finished her education or having any money of her own. If she left her brother’s employ, she’d only have to drudge for some stranger.
    When Aunt Mim had written, Mary didn’t have to think twice. But the freedom she had hoped for in London never materialized. It was remarkable how much time it took to solve other peoples’ problems, and how little was left at the end of the day, brandy or not. Mary kept meaning to go to plays or concerts, but somehow the opportunity never presented itself. When she did leave Mount Street, it was always for business—to straighten out some domestic tangle, for which her Mrs. Evensong uniform was necessary.
    She brushed her silk skirts with a fingertip. Her gloves had been discarded first thing, and the feel of the material was heavenly. How delightful it was to have bare hands, and how delicious it would be to bury them in Lord Raeburn’s beard.
    Where had such a thought come from? She didn’t even
like
beards. Mary kicked herself, a real, true kick of right kid shoe to left stockinged ankle.
    “What do you think, Mary?” Aunt Mim was looking at her sharply over her spectacles.
    “I—I’m afraid I was appreciating the view and lost track of the conversation.”
    “It’s for your own good, lass. Get in, get out, and then you’ll be safe and can go about your business, whatever that is. Young Oliver and I will be hiding in his room,