The Pretender by Jaclyn Reding Read Free Book Online Page B

waiting for her to go on.
    “I should like to speak with you directly if you don’t mind, about a proposition I should like to make to you.”
    Now what was all this about? “A proposition, my lady?”
    “Yes, sir. A business proposition. I should like to employ you, Mr. MacKinnon.”
    “Employ me?”
    “Yes. It would only be for a short while. You see, I should like you to be my betrothed.”
    Betrothed? Of all the things she could have said to him—hundreds, thousands of things, really—this was the very last thing Douglas would have ever guessed.Surely he had heard her wrong. Surely he was dreaming this whole thing. Surely the whisky was making his head think fantastical thoughts.
    “I beg your pardon? Did you just say ‘betrothed’?”
    “Yes. As I said, it would only be for a short while. You wouldn’t, of course, really, truly marry me, but would just pretend that we were to wed. I promise you would be handsomely rewarded for your effort.”
    She was speaking of money, he knew, but somehow Douglas found his gaze straying to where the ribbon drawstring of her chemise trailed downward between the curve of her breasts. He pulled his gaze away.
    “You’ve had too much to drink, lass. You dinna know what you’re saying.”
    “No, sir,” she answered quite seriously. “I know precisely what I am proposing to you.”
    “But you dinna even know me. I am a stranger to you. Why in the name of heaven would you want me to do this?”
    Elizabeth simply stared at him and the motivation behind her proposal hit him in the next moment like a ton of stone. His clothing, his speech, his grubby appearance . . . what she saw when she looked at him was an uneducated, impoverished, backward Scottish farmer. In other words, she wanted to buy him, to be her diversion for whatever reason for a time, as easily, as thoughtlessly as she would buy a new pair of stockings. She no doubt expected he should be on his knees thanking the heavens for this inimitable bounty. And when she was through with him, when he no longer held any appeal, like those stockings, she would toss him aside just as easily.
    Anger, as fierce and sharp as a broadsword, sliced through him. “I dinna think so.”
    “ What? You are refusing me?”
    Douglas seriously doubted she had ever been refused anything in her life. Until now. “Yes, I am.”
    “I am offering to make you a rich man, Mr. MacKinnon. All you have to do is give the pretense of wanting to wed me. It wouldn’t even be for all that long. All you need to do is come with me to my home and meet my fa—” she corrected, “meet the rest of my family, announce our betrothal, then you may continue on your way to Skye a much richer man.”
    So that was it. She wanted him to meet her family. Her father in particular. He recalled the conversation with her sister in the taproom. Something about a Lord Purf-something and their journey north. She must have a wealthy da whom she sought to devastate for wanting her to wed and settle down with a respectable nobleman. So instead she would bring him home the most distasteful example she could find for a husband. A farmer . . . even worse than that, a Scottish farmer.
    Douglas didn’t even know the man, but already he pitied him.
    “Surely there must be some nice, young, Sassenach laddie you can find to play your game, lass. I’m not the man for the job. Good luck to you.”
    Douglas started to leave.
    “Mr. MacKinnon, please . . .” Her voice grew softer. “Don’t go. Wait a moment. There is something else you can have, too, if you’ll agree to my request.”
    Surely she didn’t mean . . .
    She left the bed and crossed the room like a briskwind, placing herself between him and the door. The light from the hall behind her set her hair aglow, made the sparse bit of chemise she wore seem all the more insignificant. Without the heels of her shoes, she stood only to his chin. It made her seem fragile to him somehow, more vulnerable. That