Page 18 of What a Scot Wants
Sorcha’s words came back to haunt her. The Duke of Dunrannoch was proving to be more difficult to chase away than she’d expected. Imogen ran her hands over her gown. If she was to succeed, it would take more than a few dreadful ruffles.
Much,muchmore.
Chapter Five
It was difficult to up the stakes when one’s adversary refused to put in an appearance.
It’d been five days, nearly a week, since Imogen had heard a peep from her fiancé. While a part of her had fantasized that he’d hied off to the Highlands with his tail tucked between his thick, strong legs, she knew it was wishful thinking. If she’d discovered anything, it was that he was as mule-headed as she. No, the rotter was biding his time and plotting. Driving her bloody crazy with nerves, wondering how and when he would strike.
Ringing for Hilda, she climbed out of bed and pulled on her dressing gown. Normally she would be at the shelter, along with Emma and the other women, with enough work to keep her hours filled. To say she’d grown dispirited by what was becoming an insurmountable obstacle to her future was an understatement. She couldn’t marry the duke. She couldn’t lose. She simplycouldn’t.
Imogen wasn’t admitting defeat, but she needed to reassess the situation. Rethink her position. And her silly brain wasn’t cooperating. No, all it wanted to obsess about were broad shoulders and square jaws. Thick thighs, muscled arms, and low raspy brogues that sounded indecent in public. What would it be like to have him whispering those filthy nothings to her in bed? Caging her in with that big, honed body and bracing sinewy, bare legs against hers.
Heat scorched her breasts and settled low in her belly.
Gracious, how shameless!
Rattled and overheated, Imogen tugged at the collar of her robe and drew cool breaths into her lungs. She stared at her reflection when she sat for Hilda to brush and braid her hair. Her cheeks were unnaturally red, her chest rising and falling. She was ill, she had to be. It was the only explanation for feeling so feverish.
“Hilda, have Cook prepare some willowbark tea with my breakfast, will you? I think I’m coming down with a cold.”
“Yes, my lady.” The maid peered at her, clucking at her red face. “You might have a fever. Perhaps the tea and some fresh air will do you good.”
After breakfast and two bracing cups of willowbark tea, Imogen called for her carriage. But first, she sent a footman to the Glenross residence with her card and an invitation for the duchess to tea in the next few days. She needed ammunition, information she could use. She would pretend she was interested in giving it a chance, as the Lady Glenross had graciously suggested. A twinge of discomfort at deceiving the woman bled through her, but she ignored it. This was war, after all, and Imogen needed every available weapon in her arsenal.
The carriage stopped at the shelter, and as her driver let her out, a small dirty waif stepped out from behind one of the columns flanking Haven’s entrance.
“Ye’re lookin’ fine today, Lady Im,” the grimy-faced child said.
A pair of bright amber eyes and a mischievous smile peered up at her as Imogen approached. She smiled back fondly, pleased to see Rory, the leader of a pack of street urchins that she and Emma had met a year or so back while collecting a patient in Leith Wynd. The gang of children had surrounded them, with their quick fingers turning out coins and handkerchiefs from Imogen’s pockets and an entire swatch of lace from Emma’s cuff. Rory, however, had ordered the items returned when she realized what the pair of women were in the poorer part of the city to do—help one of their own.
Rory was a girl, though she hid it well. Imogen suspected she was about twelve. The fact that she was female had only become apparent in the last year, when the urchin had started asking odd questions about the female body. At first, Imogen had been amused, thinking the lad had taken a fancy to girls, but the questions had had a more curious slant.
What are a woman’s courses? How large do breasts grow?And even more curious,can they be squashed or made to go away?
Rory had soaked up the answers like a sponge, and Imogen had been surprised at the child’s natural intelligence. When the questions kept coming, Imogen kept answering. In the end, it’d been Emma who’d ferreted out that Rory was not a lad but a lass.
Imogen worried for the girl. Living in a flash house was hard enough, and Imogen knew what became of many of the children who were girls. They ended up in workhouses or, worse, on their backs, trading use of their bodies for coin. A handful of the women at Haven came from being abused in brothels.
“How have you been, Rory?” Imogen entered the terrace house, glancing over her shoulder to make sure Rory was following at her heels. A part of her wanted to clutch the girl close, but she knew from experience that forcing her would push her away faster than a bee would sting. “Have you been practicing your letters?”
Rory shrugged, her amber eyes glinting. “Stormie had us workin’ on somethin’ else.”
Imogen schooled her features. Stormie was a flash man who made her blood crawl, and she hated that Rory worked anywhere near him. Even as a boy. Imogen didn’t want to think of what could happen if that piece of filth suspected she was a girl.
“Oh? What’s that?”
Before Imogen could blink, Rory held up a bracelet.Imogen’sbracelet. She hadn’t even felt the girl’s fingers on her wrist. She held out a hand, palm up, and Rory deposited the jewelry in it with a smirk.
“Stealing? You don’t want to end up in jail, do you?”
Rory gave an unrepentant grin. “Ye only go ta jail if ye get caught, Lady Im.”
Emma bustled in, her brows raising meaningfully, and Imogen shooed Rory off to eat some bread and broth with some of the women in the kitchen. “That one doesnae have much time before Stormie finds out what she’s hiding.”
“I worry for her,” Imogen admitted. “But I can’t force her to stay here. I’ve offered her honest work in the kitchens, and she’s refused.”
“Pride,” Emma said with a glance to the handful of children. “And position. She’s the leader of the pack. Better a ruler in a kingdom of thieves than a servant.” She sent Imogen an encouraging smile. “Keep at it. She’ll come around, and the most important thing is that she has a way out. That’s what ye created Haven for, after all.”
