Page 110 of For a Scot's Heart Only
“Sometimes I do.”
“Mr. West is a loose variable for me. But...” Cecelia’s shrug was worthy of a Frenchwoman. “If you can manage your tasks, who am I to question what you do after dark?”
Mary idly traced her collarbone. Manage her passion for Thomas? Clandestine kisses under a banana tree came to mind. A sweet stolen moment, thoughit paled in comparison to a peacock feather stroking her skin. Yet, being with him was more than a string of randy assignations.
Words tumbled in her mind—sweet, enjoyable, a ray of happiness. Wonderful things, but not... love.
She rose from the chair, restless.
Cecelia watched her like a cat.
“Sooner or later, everyone faces their worst enemy. For you, Mary Fletcher, it is yourself—your own pleasure.”
Fearing her own pleasure?That bordered on absurd. Mary opened her mouth with a suitable retort but voices drifted up the stairs. Aunt Maude was in the entry, speaking to Jenny.
“Are you expecting Aunt Maude?” Mary asked.
Cecelia uncurled from the chair. “No, but I suppose we ought to go down and greet her. While I’m at it, I’ll give Mr. West the gimlet eye,” she said with mock bravado. “And I’ll tell him no one trifles with Mary Fletcher’s heart.”
“Oh, you’ll have him shaking in his boots.”
Cecelia laughed sweetly. “Of course, I will.”
Mary headed downstairs with Cecelia in tow. Thomas was in the salon doorway, witnessing their hugs and greetings. Introductions were quickly made, and Aunt Maude, who’d come to deliver a tincture for Cecelia, didn’t bat an eye to the whaler’s presence. The curmudgeonly spinster actually beamed at him and made polite inquiries.
“I understand you’re selling your goods at Neville Warehouse. Did that begin yesterday?”
“It began today, ma’am.”
“Are the sales going well?” Aunt Maude asked.
“I expect so.” He grinned like a man who knewhe ought to be at the warehouse rather than whiling away the morning in Dowgate. “Mr. Anstruther is in charge today, which allowed me to escort Miss Fletcher this morning.”
“Mingling with the merchants, is it?” Aunt Maude winked at him.
The stout spinster swathed in black was taking a shine to Thomas. This pleased Mary. She looped her arm with his and said to the room, “Mr. West has graciously offered to help me educate Margaret on the intricacies of bones and baleen.”
A tiny stretch of the truth since she hadn’t asked this of him yet, but she’d meant to.
Jenny, the maid, snorted. “Eh, whale bones. A fascinating topic, I’m sure.”
“I, for one, think it’s an excellent idea.” Aunt Maude peered into the salon. “And where is wee sweet Margaret? Is she here? Or waiting for you at the warehouse?”
Confused, Mary looked at Cecelia and then Aunt Maude. “No. She’s spending this week with you at Neville House.”
Aunt Maude shook her head. “Margaret’s not at Neville House, dear. She sent a note last night, saying she couldn’t come after all.”
Mary’s throat clogged, but she managed a whispery, “That can’t be. Miss Dalton sent her off in a hack yesterday.”
Yesterday she had enjoyed a ride on a pleasure barge with Mr. West. Yesterday she had toured a garden and sneaked kisses with Mr. West. And yesterday something happened to Margaret.
She took a step forward, white-hot fear seizing her.
DearMargaret...
The knot in her throat was growing, truth coming with it. The entry was cramped and not a soul said a word, their worried glances bouncing from one to another. Mary took another step, but nothing was stable. She slumped against a small table, the bowl on it rattling.
She clapped a hand over her mouth. “Margaret is gone.”
