Too Scot to Handle by Grace Burrowes

Author:Grace Burrowes
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Published: 2017-07-24T16:00:00+00:00

Megan, Duchess of Murdoch, passed the whisky glass back to her husband without taking a drink.

“The scent is fruity,” she said, “in a good way. Oranges and limes, rather than lemons. An odd note of cedar too.” Her condition had made her palate and her nose extraordinarily sensitive, and her husband extraordinarily attentive.

She’d also become extraordinarily eager to reciprocate his attentiveness, even for a newlywed Windham.

“By God, you’re right,” Hamish muttered, taking a sip of the whisky. “I would have missed the cedar. Colin would have too.”

As the days since the wedding had turned into weeks, Hamish mentioned Colin more and more. The three youngest MacHugh brothers were off enjoying Edinburgh’s social season, but they’d never served in battle beside Hamish, hadn’t stood with him at the front of St. George’s, hadn’t been his second on the field of honor.

“Write to him,” Megan said. “Tell Colin you miss him, and that his business needs him.”

“Bloody correspondence,” Hamish muttered, setting the glass down. “I don’t suppose a wee note could hurt.” He took a seat at Megan’s escritoire, a delicate Louis Quinze item of fanciful inlays, tiny drawers, and shiny brass fittings.

Hamish should have made an incongruous picture seated there. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and far from handsome by London standards.

They weren’t in London, though. Megan and her spouse were lazing away a morning in her private parlor, which she’d chosen because it had both south- and east-facing windows. While London townhouses favored fleur-de-lis and gilt, Hamish’s Perthshire estate tended more to exposed beams, plaid wool, and comfort. This parlor, however, was Megan’s domain, and thus the wallpaper was flocked, the desk French, and the carpet a vivid red, gold, and blue Axminster.

The chair creaked as Hamish settled to his task. Megan took off her slippers, tucked her feet under her, and fought off a wave of drowsiness.

“Are you having a wee nap, Meggie mine?” Hamish asked sometime later.

She stretched and yawned, for indeed, she’d curled up on the sofa, and some considerate husband had draped his coat over her.

“Is this my second or third nap today?” Megan asked.

“Third, but it won’t be your last. May I read you this letter?”

Hamish read to her frequently. Her eyesight was poor, and he sought to spare her visual effort. Megan indulged him, mostly because she loved to hear his voice.

The note was chatty by Hamish’s standards, describing various weddings and birthings among the local gentry and tenants, and ending with a stern admonition to “mind the tailors don’t bankrupt you.”

“A very fraternal letter,” Megan said as Hamish sprinkled sand over the page. “Might I add a line or two?”

“I can write them for you, Meggie mine. Use wee words, though, for the sight of you asleep in the morning sun befuddles a mere Scottish duke. What would you like to say to our Colin?”

Very little befuddled Hamish MacHugh. “I had a letter from Anwen yesterday.”

Hamish stroked the goose quill with blunt fingers. Not a gentleman’s hands, but how Megan loved her husband’s touch.

“What

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.