Page 33 of The Scot Beds His Wife
Samantha shrugged. “If ‘connoisseur’ means I like it, then I surely am. Though I confess this is the first time I’ve ever tried it.”
Lady Ravencroft’s husky, melodious laugh washed her with pleasure, though Samantha suspected it was a little at her expense. “Please, have some more, then.” She gestured to a servant with skin the color of dark exotic pine, clad in an outfit so startlingly vibrant, she’d have said he was wearing a desert sunset if she didn’t know any better.
“I, um, did try some Ravencroft Scotch the other night. It was mighty good.”
“Won’t Laird Ravencroft be glad to hear it?” There was that smile again, one completely charming, but lacking in any amount of artifice. “Pray, tell me about yourself, Miss Ross. What are your interests and accomplishments?”
Samantha froze. Perhaps she’d made a gigantic mistake coming here. She’d already known passing herself off as a San Franciscan socialite was a stretch, but thus far, she’d only had to convince a bunch of unobservant men who would barely know silk from wool unless they had to wipe their asses with it.
A lady, though… would see through her in a New York minute.
She should have anticipated that.
“I… can’t say I’ve accomplished much of anything to speak of, yet, my lady,” she answered vaguely.
“Call me Mena, please. We are neighbors, after all,” Mena admonished through another good-natured laugh. “What I meant to ask was, what is it that you do in America, Miss Ross? Do you paint, stitch, or study anything in particular?”
Stymied, Samantha shook her head.
Mena’s smile lost a bit of its sparkle. “Do you sing, perhaps, or play an instrument?”
“Not where people can see or hear me.”
They each took another drink before the marchioness tried again.
“I’ve heard that Americans are also very fond of the waltz…”
Samantha knew she’d failed to keep her panicked expression from her features when Mena’s sentence trailed away. The Smiths, who’d raised her, believed dancing was of the devil. She’d never so much as been to a barnyard reel.
“Do you favor more physical pursuits, I wonder?” Mena persisted, abandoning her wine to a delicate table at her elbow. “I enjoy all things equestrian, and we host a fantastic stag hunt in the summer.”
The gold velvet of her delicate settee abraded the wool of her jacket as Samantha straightened. “I can ride, it’s about all I’m good at.” She nodded a bit too enthusiastically, she feared. “And I can shoot.”
“Wonderful!” Mena clapped two delighted hands together and leaned forward, as well. “I was raised on a small baronetcy in the southwest of England. I’ve always counted riding among my favorite pastimes. We simplymustschedule a riding afternoon.”
Delighted that she shared common ground with a marchioness, Samantha almost blurted that she, too, had been raised in the southwest. But she swallowed the admission just in time.
“Every afternoon is a riding afternoon for me,” Samantha explained. “I spend my time with a few hired hands rounding up the herd that’s taken a decade to scatter from here to perdition.”
“Perhaps I can come visit you at Erradale, then,” Mena suggested. “Come to think of it, with the harvest long over and the distillery rather quiet until spring, more than a few local men would enthusiastically accept an offer of employment at Erradale, if you’re in need of extra help gathering your cattle.”
“I might just do.” Samantha abandoned all sense of suspicion at this point, though whether because of the disarming Lady Ravencroft or the two glasses of port, she couldn’t be certain.
Darting her gaze to the gilded framed canvases and delicately painted china, she asked, “Can you do all those other things you mentioned? Do you have those other… accomplishments?”
“Yes. Indeed, all of them.” The grand lady had the grace to look discomfited at her admission of skill, and cast her gaze down at the lush carpets while stained with a soft peach blush. Suddenly she straightened, as though struck by an idea. “Are there any that interest you? The winter months can be lonely here in the Highlands, and we weren’t exactly planning on going to London for Christmas, as my husband’s duties tie him to Ravencroft this year. Perhaps when the weather permits, you can call and I could… tutor you in something? I was a governess for a while, before marrying Laird Ravencroft. Do you have a notion of what your proclivities would be?”
Not in the least. “Um—what’s your favorite thing?”
“I’ve always adored dancing.”
Shit.Samantha had to wipe suddenly clammy hands on her dress. She hadn’t expected to be invited over on theregular. Besides, should she be dancing with the enemy? Weren’t they enemies? Because right now, Mena Mackenzie looked very much like a friend.
But… so was Alison Ross. She had to remember that. She wasn’t here to play like a princess, she was here to hide from her adversaries, from her sins, and look after Erradale.
She was saved from committing herself to anything when a footman informed them that the marquess would be much longer than expected, and certainly not back in time for Samantha to return to Erradale before dark.
“Oh dear, I’m terribly sorry your call was wasted,” Mena lamented. “Is there any atonement I can offer? Sometimes, since I am the Lady of Clan Mackenzie, Laird Ravencroft asks me to hear certain matters and advise him in those respects. I’m especially familiar with civil disputes, if that is your particular need.”
