Moon Dreams by Patricia Rice Read Free Book Online

to study her. She threw an
uncertain glance at Lady Campbell, who merely shook her head. Alyson returned
his rude stare.
    His clothes had certainly improved since she’d seen him last.
He was wearing one of the new elegant coats with the narrower skirt, and the fashionably
short vest emphasized his narrow hips and flat belly. The dark blue velvet of
the coat contrasted nicely with the paler blue of the vest and breeches, and
the freshly starched lawn jabot and lace at his cuffs accented the dark
coloring of his face and hands. He looked every inch the Maclean tonight, and
that included the silver hilt of the sword at his side.
    The smile forming on the lips of his tousled angel as she
returned his rude stare nearly turned Rory’s tongue to mush. Deirdre had warned
him of the change, but nothing could prepare him for this. The innocent cherub
who had slept in his arms had become a much more worldly angel in satin and
bows, but to Rory she still appeared to have wings and a halo. Where before she
had been all heather and mist, now she was the sparkling, crystalline drifts of
Ben Nevis in winter. My God, he was taking leave of his senses, and she had not
yet said a word!
    Grateful for the first time in his life for the polite
rituals of etiquette learned at his mother’s knee so long ago, Rory took her
hand in his own and bowed over it. Small fingers curled trustingly around his
rough ones, and when he straightened, he could see the misty moors in her eyes
again. Homesickness welled up in him, but he had learned to deal with that
emotion long ago. Bracing himself, he smiled coolly.
    “Miss Hampton, I can scarcely credit it. Are you certain you
are the same person who shared bannocks and spelding with me in a public coach?”
    Alyson lifted her fan to her chin. “No, sir, that was some
other man, I do believe. Should I know you?”
    Lady Campbell laughed. “Lady Alyson Hampton, may I make
known to you my roguish nephew, Lord Rory Douglas Maclean, who has consented to
come out of hiding to escort you tonight.”
    Knowing of the heiress’s questionable ancestry, he raised a
skeptical eyebrow at her title, but he wasn’t so indiscreet as to question it.
Instead, Alyson did it for him, amazingly reading his mind when she could
seldom answer an openly phrased question.
    “Mr. Farnley said I was legally adopted, and Lady Campbell
insists on the formality. I think the theory is that if I wear a cloak of
respectability, then I must be respectable. Would you agree?”
    So she was not simpleminded at all. That was a relief. He
had difficulty making light conversation as it was. To do it with a simpleton
was beyond his capabilities.
    “My lady, if it is respectability you strive for, you have
found the wrong escort. Shall I make my bows now and leave you to more suitable
admirers?”
    She made a wry face. “I fear we are in every way suited, my
lord, both of us hiding behind false fronts. Bow out only if Deirdre has
coerced you into this against your better judgment.”
    Rory took her hand and slid it through the crook of his
elbow. “If you think I’ll let you out of my sight, you must think me a lunatic.
Shall we go, ladies?”
    He offered his other arm to his aunt, who accepted it. The
wide hoops of the women’s skirts swayed like thistledown, making it nearly impossible
for him to stay at their side, but Rory managed the maneuver without disgracing
himself.
    ***
    Rory noted that his notoriety ensured that Alyson was engaged
all evening with whispered questions that stopped as soon as he approached. Her
rumored wealth certainly kept him occupied with the gentlemen after dinner.
London society was fully engaged in sorting and placing them in appropriate
niches.
    Finally disengaging from a trio of gallants who had gone
beyond asking Alyson’s antecedents, to impertinent questions concerning her
present situation, Rory shoved his way through his aunt’s overcrowded ballroom
with irritation. Spying Alyson waiting for her dance