In the Heart of the Highlander by Maggie Robinson

Author:Maggie Robinson
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Penguin Group, USA
Published: 2013-08-13T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter

19

Mary Arden was extraordinary in her wrinkled dress, a small package of brazen innocence. Her pale copper hair had come loose from its pins and lay in disarray upon his pillow, her topknot a misnomer, no longer on top. Her eyes were bright with tears—happy ones, he presumed—and her cheeks pink. He wished he could see if the flush extended to the skin beneath the pleated black fabric, but he’d have to wait. It wouldn’t be too much longer.

“Until Monday then,” he replied, his voice rough. “I picked up a few other things on my travels as well.” And he would be privileged to try all his techniques on this vixenish virgin.

Alec tucked a silky strand of hair behind her ear. She would need considerable setting to rights before she left his suite, even if she was wearing a veiled hat. It would be fatal for their plan for her to be recognized. She was right—they’d been pushing limits every time they saw each other. Alec had been unable to stay away, to rein himself in. He was behaving like the veriest love-struck fool.

Blast! He was not in love. Would never be again. But he was feeling something damned inconvenient.

“I should go back to my room.”

He didn’t want her to. Alec felt as if he were sending her into danger. What if Bauer overpowered her as easily as he had?

He’d be right next door with Oliver and the others, he reminded himself. Even his weedy valet Mac was stronger than he looked.

“Let me help you.” He rolled off the bed with reluctance and picked her black straw bonnet up from the floor. Its brim had taken a beating and he smoothed it out with his clumsy hands.

It looked familiar. Alec paid attention to women’s clothes, as so often he had paid for them and wanted to see if he was getting his money’s worth. He’d seen this grim hat before, minus the veil, on Mrs. Evensong’s gray head when he went to engage her services.

Perhaps aunt and niece shared clothes. Mary was too young to be encased in black, though. He found mourning clothes to be needlessly depressing—what good did it do the dead to have their female relatives mope about like a murder of crows? It was easier for gentlemen; he’d worn his black armband for Edith, of course. It was the least he could do, after failing her so badly.

Mary sat up and tried to make some progress with her hair.

“Here. Let me.” Alec went to the shaving stand and picked up his silver-backed brush. Mac could clean the reddish hairs out of it and taunt him later. He slid the hairpins from her hair and placed them on the pillow. “Sit still and turn a little.”

Alec knelt down behind her and ran the hairbrush through the glory of her hair. She tensed over a knot, and he placed a hand on her shoulder. “Sorry. Believe it or not, I’m not used to doing this.”

Once he got the hang of it, it was comforting to perform such a domestic chore.

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