Taken by the Laird by Margo Maguire

Author:Margo Maguire [Maguire, Margo]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Historical, General
ISBN: 0061667889
Google: 6EtHqoAQZlIC
Amazon: B002PEP4F0
Publisher: Harper Collins
Published: 2009-09-28T16:00:00+00:00

He was not in love with her. Hugh simply didn’t believe in it. But he could not ignore the niggling suspicion that he might be able to tolerate Bridget MacLaren indefinitely. He could actually foresee keeping her with him even when he returned to London, and not in separate residences, either. Hang society and what it would say about any arrangements he made with her.

Never before had he been so content with the lack of a valet and the other servants. Mrs. Ramsay had left plenty of food, and he and Bridget had managed to keep the fires burning in the two rooms they used most—the library and his bedchamber.

He hardly recognized himself, looking forward to a simple outing with her, to listening to her laugh as they cavorted in the snow down near the beach. She brought back memories of the enjoyment he used to take in simple things. He looked forward to a clearing in the weather so that he could teach her to ride. He did not doubt she’d be a spirited horsewoman.

He was waiting near the scullery for her when Mrs. Ramsay arrived with Fiona and Ronan, and two young men with shovels, all stomping snow off their boots as they came inside. The invasion of these few servants into the quiet world he and Bridget had been sharing felt like the worst ballroom crush he’d ever experienced.

“Ach, Laird, ye survived the storm! I stewed over yer whereabouts—no’ that ’tis any concern o’ mine, but then MacTavish said he’d seen ye,” Mrs. Ramsay remarked as she put down her basket and instructed the others to place the ones they carried on the table, too. To Hugh, they seemed to have brought enough food to feed a large house party for a week. “I’m verra glad t’ see you well and sound,” the housekeeper added, going right to the stove to check its status.

“We’re fine,” he said.

She looked up sharply. “Miss Munro is still here?”

“Miss MacLaren,” he corrected her. “Aye.”

Mrs. Ramsay pursed her lips and went about starting the fires in the stoves. “If ye say so.”

“What?” Hugh asked, annoyed by the housekeeper’s patronizing tone. “What do you mean?”

“ ’Tis no’ Miss MacLaren ye’ve been entertaining here.”

What did she know? “Then pray tell me who she is,” he said, leaning against the table’s edge.

“The lass came here once maybe five years ago, with her aunt—Lady Claire Dougal.”

“You’re mistaken,” he said, although the mention of an aunt—of Claire Dougal in particular—sent a frisson of unease through him. Lady Claire was a daughter of Lord Drummond. Which would make Bridget…

Dread pooled in the pit of his stomach. He had not deflowered the granddaughter of an earl. She would surely have mentioned…

Christ!

“Ach, well,” said Mrs. Ramsay. “If ye like to think so.”

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