Page 24 of The Scot Who Loved Me
“Ignore that.”
Of course, he wouldn’t. Will rested an elbow on the mantel, a cocky smile wreathing his face. Her vision narrowed on him.Hades is gloating.It had a maddening effect because shedidneed him, and Will, full of swagger, was dangerous fun, a glimmer of the man she once knew.
“There’s the matter of getting into her home,” he said. “The countess is no’ going to welcome me with open arms.”
She cocked her head. What an interesting morsel of information. Her ladyship and Will at odds? She’d save that for consumption later.
“The countess is presently in the countryside, hunting grouse and not expected to return to London until the day before hosting her art salon.”
“I recall...” he said vaguely rubbing his chin. “She likes the hunt.”
For treasure and men. Especially if that treasure doesn’t belong to her.Hands folded neatly, she tamped down her ire. Will was not a commodity to fight over, especially with that womanfrom his past. Facing him, Anne acknowledged another disconcerting truth: she belonged to his past too.
Three sharp knocks and the salon door flew open. Cecelia bustled in, a gray cloak in hand.
“Anne, we must go.” Pensive eyes sought the darkening window. “We’re late.”
Will stepped away from the mantel. “You havena told me how I’m getting inside the house.”
“I will tomorrow morning.”
Cecelia handed over the cloak. “He could meet us tonight.”
Oh, Cecelia.She almost groaned aloud.
Cecelia flashed a mischievous grin. “It makes perfect sense.”
Will and her at a public house? Horrifying. They’d have to converse. Socially.
“Tonight is business,” she said.
“Every night is business with you, Anne. I worry about you. You need some fun.” To Will, “We shall be at the White Lamb on Crown Alley. Do you know it?”
“Do I know it? It’s a den of thieves and cutthroats!”
“Indeed, it is.” Cecelia winked at him and fairly danced her way out of the room, a flurry of white petticoats.
Anne tossed the cloak over her shoulders. People depended on her. Of course, duty to the clan came first. She’d not apologize for it.
“The idea has some merit. You could meet Mr. Horatio Styles.”
Will’s brow puzzled.
“Our means of entry to Lady Denton’s hometomorrow,” she said, looping the frogs under her chin. “Meeting him might make you feel better about working with me.”
“Me going with you now. That would make me feel better.”
Will’s moody glower softened her. She itched to brush clean the tension framing his mouth. A man worrying over her was adorable, though Will would chafe at being told as much. She could tell him their clan chief hadn’t fretted over her since the ’45. Neither had her father, or her brothers, bless their clodhopper souls. She’d grown used to her strength and independence for seven years and counting; change was impossible.
“At the moment, Aunt Flora is laboring in the kitchen to make sure you’re well fed. I’m sure you’ll have no trouble obliging her, and the Fletcher sisters need you here.” Her gaze led his to the sea chest. “Some alterations will be necessary.”
“I don’t like it.” His voice was a deep, protective rumble.
“I shall be fine. Your cousin will be with me.”
“That’s supposed to make me feel better?” he scoffed. “My cousin thinks the White Lamb is an adventure.”
Something akin to delight flickered inside her, a treacherous little flame that needed watching. Will wasn’t trying to stop her. She was more than capable of taking care of herself. Will grasped that. Even better—and this was the alarming part—was how he handled her authority. He was fierce but respectful. Will didn’t swoop into the league, the proverbial male taking over andshowing the females (the lesser sex, of course!) how things should be done. She had a keen mind, and Will didn’t try to stop her from using it.
