Lucy and Her Scottish Laird by Margo Maguire Read Free Book Online Page A

seemed to be quiet in the house as Lucy walked the short span to her aunt’s bedroom. She opened the door quietly and saw Sinclair sitting
    silently next to the bed where her aunt and uncle rested peacefully. The maid got up from her chair and came to Lucy in the doorway.
    “Miss Stillwater, you should be asleep.”
    “I wanted to check on my aunt and uncle.”
    “They are fine. Both sleeping.”
    “Are you sure?”
    Sinclair nodded. “I gave Lady Kildrum a small dose of laudanum a while ago when she cried out in pain. She’s comfortable now.”
    “I can stay if you want to go to bed.”
    “Oh no, Miss,” Sinclair said. “You were dead asleep when Lord Broxburn carried you to your bed. Miles and I were not in the accident, but
    you were. You need your rest. Miles will take my place in a couple of hours.”
    “But I—”
    “I believe I am right in this, Miss,” Sinclair said firmly. “’Tis what your aunt would want.”
    Lucy hesitated for a moment. “All right, then. If you’re sure…”
    “Yes, Miss,” Sinclair said firmly. “Now, go. You’ve had quite a day.”
    “Thank you for loosening my stays, Sinclair. I would not have been able to undress without you.”
    “’Twas not I, Miss,” she said, turning back to Arden. “It must have been one of the castle maids. Aileen, perhaps.”
    Lucy left her aunt and uncle’s room, but startled at the sight of a tall figure approaching her from the dark end of the corridor. The man
    she’d seen in her dream moved quickly, taking hold of her elbow to steady her.
    “All is well, little Sassanach?” he asked in a low tone.
    Lucy could not find her voice, not when the sensation of being caressed by this man still resonated so deeply within her. She nodded.
    “Shall I escort you back to your room, then?”
    “Wh-what are you doing up?” she asked, but when he firmed his hold on her elbow, her breath caught.
    “Are you interested in my sleeping habits, Miss Stillwater?”
    Lucy felt her face heat. “Of course not. It’s just that it’s late.”
    “Yes, it’s late.” He took the candle from her and opened her door, indicating that she should go in first.
    It would be wrong – not to mention awkward – to argue, so Lucy went ahead and turned to take the candle from him. He evaded her, walking to the
    bedside to put the candle on the stand.
    His shirt was open at the collar, and he wore no coat. Lucy’s eyes were drawn from his chest to his mouth, to the sensual promise of her dream. She
    felt her nipples tighten and wondered if his mouth was as warm and pliable as it had felt in her dream.
    “Be careful, Miss Stillwater, or I might get the impression that you don’t entirely hate me.”
    * * *
    Miss Lucy Stillwater was a puzzle. She was a sharp-tongued harpy one moment, and a kind, concerned niece the next. Ian supposed he’d deserved her
    cutting retorts at Glencory. He’d been atrociously rude to her at first meeting.
    He grinned. He had yet to meet a Scotswoman who could hold a candle to this fiery English lass. Who would have thought he’d be so tempted by a
    dark-haired vixen?
    She was beautiful, and he was as drawn to this vulnerable side of her as he was to the fierce lass he’d met at Glencory.
    His thoughts darkened. He had pressing matters weighing on his mind, and Miss Stillwater was a momentary distraction. The welfare of Craigmuir’s
    tenants depended heavily upon whether or not Ian would figure out a way to pay them for making the tiles that had been ordered during his Selkirk trip. The
    worst thing would be to act precipitously – until he knew exactly how dire the Craigmuir finances actually were.
    Ian knew his peers might look askance upon Craigmuir’s business ventures. But the world was changing, and tenant rents were dwindling. The Broxburn
    and Craigmuir lairds had been running the brick and tile making business for a couple of centuries, and this laird was not about to stop.
    Especially now. If Henderson was correct,