Night Storm by Tracey Devlyn Read Free Book Online Page A

was but one in a long line of female butlers for the Society. A situation Charlotte had always found odd, given the society’s exclusion of female members.
    Removing her winter wear, Charlotte handed her belongings over to Mrs. Hodder. “Has Mr. Buchanan arrived?”
    “Yes, ma’am. He’s in the library.”
    “Thank you.” Earlier that morning, she had received a message from her Scottish mentor, Angus Buchanan. He was in town for a few days and wished to discuss something with her. Although his timing could have been better, Charlotte was delighted by this chance to spend some time with him.
    Pausing outside the library, she smoothed her palms down her lavender dress and patted her hair to make sure all was in its proper place. From the first instant she’d stepped inside his shop, she’d wanted to please Mr. Buchanan.
    He was everything her father wasn’t. Warm, expressive, open. He never shied away from giving praise, nor did he balk at delivering corrective suggestions. He always treated her as an adult and often solicited her thoughts on issues, no matter how great or small. And best of all, he always had a smile for her.
    It wasn’t that her father was a cruel, uncaring man. She knew he loved and wanted the best for her. But he had always been serious and exacting, especially when it came to medicine. Until her mother’s death, that is. Now he just seemed broken.
    However, during the few months it had taken them to reestablish the business, they had worked in perfect harmony together. She wished he hadn’t retired to the country. It would have been nice to consult with him on occasion. But he had left and, as of yet, had not returned.
    Charlotte entered the library and found her mentor leaning over a large sheet of drawing paper spread across one of the long oak tables members used for research and study. “Mr. Buchanan, I’m so happy to see you.”
    He caught her outstretched hands in his and bussed her on the cheek. “And I you, Miss Fielding.”
    “You must call me Mrs. Fielding now. Or better yet, simply Charlotte.”
    “Are congratulations in order?”
    “Oh, no.” She smiled. “Even in these modern times, it is still frowned upon for a young, unmarried woman to be in business for herself.”
    “So you became a widow.”
    “So I became a widow,” she agreed.
    “Well, Widow Fielding, you may recall my nephew?” He swept his arm toward a silhouette standing near the window.
    Surprise clutched her chest. She hadn’t sensed another’s presence in the room. Recovering quickly, she said, “Of course, how could I forget my nemesis?” How indeed? No one, upon meeting Lachlan Murdoch, could ever forget those piercing black eyes, high chiseled cheekbones, unnaturally broad shoulders, and thick muscular arms and legs. He towered over his six-foot-tall uncle and had a deep, melodic Scottish burr that made one think of rolling fields of heather.
    Meeting her halfway, he lifted her hand and pressed a kiss against her gloved knuckles. “How have you been, lass? I’ve missed our chess games.”
    After finishing university, Lachlan had returned to Edinburgh to establish his law office. Once a week, his uncle would invite him and his mother and sister over for dinner, along with Charlotte.
    Inevitably, before the evening ended, Lachlan would entice her into a rousing game of chess just so he could trounce her, again and again. It wasn’t until her farewell dinner that she finally managed to win, though she thought it had been more to do with him being preoccupied than her advanced skill.
    “I’ve been well,” she said. “Do you have clients knocking down your door now?”
    “Unlike the English, Scots are far too refined to ‘knock down’ my door.” A dimple appeared in his right cheek. “Far too refined.”
    He loved to tweak Charlotte’s nose about their differences, especially the way her people mangled the English language.
    “Now that we have the niceties out of the way, shall we get