One Scottish Lass - A Regency Time Travel Romance Novella by Shea Lisa

Author:Shea, Lisa [Shea, Lisa]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2014-09-12T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

Socia tried to go back to her reading of Robert Burn’s poetry, but when she found herself reading A Red, Red Rose for the eight time without comprehending the words, she gave up and put the book down. Clearly her encounter with Jonathan had affected her deeply, and she needed to clear her head.

The thought of the tiny, mewling kittens came to mind, and her heart warmed. Surely her mother would not mind if she just checked in on them for a few minutes. They were kittens, after all. Even her mother’s calloused heart might warm when seeing their fuzzy little bodies.

She popped the last piece of cheese in her mouth, then stood. She gave a long stretch before moving out into the hallway.

The festivities were apparently quieting down – the chatter from the surrounding rooms had subdued to a hum of gentle conversation. The piano player seemed to have called it a night. And around this corner –

Sorcha pulled back with a start. Huddled in beneath the stairs was Julia and that ill-omened man she had seen in the main room. Her mind searched for a name. Felton, that was it. The second in line for the throne, as it were. The thought came to her of how wives were always instructed to pop out a “heir and a spare” – and apparently in this case Lady Davenport had failed in her mission. For if something happened to Jonathan, the wealth and title would pass away from Florentia and straight into Felton’s eager hands.

Sorcha carefully peered around the corner.

Felton had pressed Julia up hard against the back wall and was kissing her, his body pinning hers in place. She pushed him back with effort, nervously glancing around. “Not here,” she insisted. “We might be seen. We can’t jeopardize things, not when we’re so close.”

“Who cares if we’re seen,” growled Felton, grabbing at the skirts of her dress. “It’s been hours.”

“And it’ll be hours more,” she snapped. “You know what’s at stake, as much as I do. We have to be patient.”

He spat on the floor. “I’ve been patient twenty-six years,” he growled. “First, my parents hoped the Davenports wouldn’t bear any children. Then, when Lady Davenport got pregnant, they prayed it would be a girl. Later, when that horse almost trampled him, their chance was within reach. But now?”

Julia patted him on the arm. “Patience, my darling. The moon is full, and Samhain is upon us.”

He scoffed. “You and that witchcraft stuff. I want real results. I want to take down all those portraits and watch them burn in the fires, one by one. Our family should have been the one to get the title and lands. Do you know that my father was born a mere five minutes after Lord Davenport? Five minutes! If my father had just wrestled for position in that damn hag’s womb, it would be me with all the glory now.”

“And you will be, soon,” assured Julia. “Just hang in there a little while longer.

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