Wicked Company by Ciji Ware Read Free Book Online Page B

to captivate, bewitch, or beguile. Today, however, the charmer who stood in the book shop with his two companions was completely self-assured and treated her like the little sister he had alluded to when first they met.
    “Well, wee one… I’ve come to thank you for telling the town so eloquently of my impending concert.”
    “How many tickets have you sold?” Sophie inquired.
    Hunter erupted into laughter.
    “Did I not tell you the lass is a canny merchant?” he chortled to Boswell and Creech. “Bozzy, here, heard me sing at Fortune’s Tavern last night and has promised to write a boast for me in the Edinburgh Courant the day before the concert.”
    “But have you sold any tickets yet?” Sophie persisted anxiously. “’Twould be disastrous if you find yourself owing David Beatt forty pounds, or so.”
    Her words seemed to give Hunter a moment’s concern, but then he shrugged. “Creech tells me the lads will line up in droves on the day of the performance.”
    “Perhaps the young bucks who frequent the tavern will,” she replied tartly, “but you must entice ladies of fashion as well. Otherwise you’ll not get the necessary gentlemen to plunk down the siller for the entrance fees.”
    “The lass is probably correct in that,” Boswell said thoughtfully, pulling a book from the shelf and thumbing its pages.
    “We could always take him to Miss Nicky’s cotillion tonight,” Creech grinned at Sophie. “If the ladies saw him in satin breeches, they’d swarm to hear him sing.”
    “I’ve no satin breeches, I can tell ye that!” Hunter laughed.
    “I could lend you a pair,” Boswell said, looking up from the pages of the book he was scanning, his eyes alight with mischief. “With your height, they might be a wee bit tight,” he added, “but that would be all to your advantage, I suspect!” At that, the three young men laughed heartily, exchanging knowing glances.
    “He’ll have to be able to do the minuet,” Sophie said primly. “Miss Nicky insists any newcomer be sponsored by someone known to her, and that he be able to dance properly.”
    “Do you know the minuet, Robertson?” Boswell asked Hunter. His questioning look reflected his evident doubt that a rough Highlander could have acquired any drawing room refinements.
    But before Hunter could admit that he knew nothing of that complicated confection imported from France, Sophie announced, “I can teach him.”
    “By tonight?” Creech said skeptically.
    “God’s bones, I think she could!” Hunter laughed. “She danced some flimflam with me the other day on the street without even knowing the steps.”
    Sophie was relieved to see that Hunter took seriously the advantages of making a public appearance at the cotillion to drum up a paying audience for his concert.
    “Mr. Boswell,” Sophie entreated, “would you sponsor Hunter at Miss Nicky’s and lend him proper attire? And Willie, would you sing his praises to the ladies of the town?”
    Boswell pulled his gaze from the book he had been skimming, a volume written by an English traveler to Italy. “I shall present him to the sister of the Earl of Mansfield only on condition that you can make him a presentable dancer of the minuet by six o’clock this evening,” he replied. “I mean it, Robertson,” he added slyly. “I’ll never hear the end of it from my father if I sponsor some hairy Highlander who makes a fool of himself at Miss Nicky’s Assembly. ’Twould destroy my reputation.”
    “And your reputation is so unblemished, Bozzy,” Creech interjected sardonically, adding, “I’ll champion the lad.’’
    Boswell’s soft, round cheeks took on a rosy hue and he swiftly returned his attention to examining an engraving of Roman ruins. Shortly thereafter, Hunter’s new acquaintances departed, and between infrequent appearances of customers in the shop, Sophie drilled Hunter all afternoon in the basic steps of the minuet.
    By five o’clock, Hunter, with his natural musical