Page 11 of My Highland Rogue
Abigail always whined in a genteel fashion. If she wasn’t entirely certain Ellen had heard her, Abigail repeated her complaints.
She really should fire the woman, but Abigail had been with her for a great many years. In addition, she was certain that her maid had nowhere else to go. She was not about to send the woman out in the snow when her only sin was a dour personality. Ellen could be the same herself from time to time. At least Abigail never complained about her moods.
Today, however, Abigail was outdoing herself. So far, the day was excessively chilly, the meal had disagreed with her stomach, and she was certain that Fortune would not smile on this errand. Ellen thought that Fortune held more prominence in Abigail’s life than God.
She didn’t disagree with her maid about this errand. However, there were times in life when one must do what one must do. This was one of those occasions. She was about to trade on her reputation as the widow of a substantially wealthy man in order to bring Mary Adaire’s son to heel.
Last week she’d received a letter from her goddaughter, and in it Jennifer had explained that Harrison’s wife was due to give birth in a month or so. You would think that such an event would have interested the sixth Earl of Burfield. However, Jennifer was certain that Harrison was still in London, living a hedonistic life as he tried to empty the Adaire coffers with his gambling habit.
Harrison had never impressed her as having much sense, even as a boy.
She had a great deal of influence, and she intended to bring all of it to bear against the owners of Harrison’s favorite gaming establishments. So far, she and Abigail had visited three, with the owner of the last one giving her the information that the Mayfair Club seemed to be Harrison’s latest haunt. To that end, she had sent word of her intention of visiting that business. Now the carriage stopped in front of an exceedingly proper-looking building. In fact, if she hadn’t known itspurpose, she would have thought that this entire row of buildings was given over to town houses, and quite lovely architecture it was, too.
Her home was in Edinburgh, but she also had a house in London. In fact, she had houses in seven large cities, thanks to Mr. Thornton, who had gone on to that great salmon fishing river in the sky.
Colin had been a great deal wealthier than she’d realized when she agreed to marry him. The fact that he was as rich as Croesus hadn’t entered into their union at all. She had liked him, at first. He’d amused her, then charmed her, and once they’d become friends, she’d found herself anticipating his presence.
“You are insidious,” she’d told him once. “You’re very sneaky. I find myself depending on your counsel and craving time with you. I don’t know how you do it.”
“It’s a secret,” he responded. “I’m not about to tell you how. Then you might learn that I am but an ordinary man, worshipping at the feet of a goddess.”
She’d laughed at the time, but that’s exactly how he had treated her in the seven years of their marriage—like a goddess, or an angel. As if she could do no wrong and even when she did make a mistake, he forgave her so quickly and easily that she fell in love even more.
When he died, she hadn’t thought she’d recover from the loss. It had been Mary who’d made her see the joy of life again, or at least the possibility of it.
If Mary could make her life have meaning, then surely she could.
It was for Mary that she was here now, preparing for an encounter with the owner of the Mayfair Club.
She turned to her maid. “I’d prefer that you remain in the carriage, Abigail. Especially given the delicate state of your digestion.”
Just as Abigail was about to begin a new litany of complaints, no doubt accompanied by comments about how Fortune would not look kindly on her being left alone, Ellen hurried out of the carriage.
Her driver, who’d taken on the position of bodyguard—or duenna, as she secretly thought—since Colin died, preceded her up the stairs and insisted on announcing her arrival. Instead of using the brass knocker, he pounded on one of the black panels. Since Harry was a man of considerable girth, she was very much afraid the door was going to lose in this battle of brawn.
Fortunately, it was opened a moment later by the porter, a man looking every bit as proper as someone employed in a duke’s household. The previous three establishments had not boasted of a man so tall, thin, and possessed of a shock of white hair like a barrister’s wig.
“I am Mrs. Colin Thornton,” she said, before Harry could say a word. “I believe I’m expected.”
The porter bowed from the waist at the same time he sent a frown in Harry’s direction. For the next two minutes the two men scowled at each other.
She shook her head at both of them. She understood Harry’s possessiveness. He’d worked for Colin for years, and once he’d died, Harry had transferred his loyalty to her. It wasn’t difficult to understand that the porter might have some pride in his own position as well.
The problem was, their mutual antipathy was preventing her from accomplishing her goal. Namely: finding Harrison Adaire and taking him home.
“Would you please announce me? I need to speak with your owner,” she said before turning to Harry. “If you’d go and make sure Abigail is all right?”
There, she’d given each man a task, and after one last fulminating look, they went to do just that.
Chapter Four
Five years had passed since he’d seen Jennifer and, although Gordon had expected her to change, he hadn’t anticipated that she would grow more beautiful. Even her voice was different, soft and musical. When she’d spoken his name, it had been a honed weapon, sliding into his heart.
She was... His thoughts ended in an odd blankness. He didn’t know what the word was to adequately describe her now. It seemed to him that it waslush, although that didn’t quite fit, either. Her lashes were thicker. Her lips were fuller. The color on her cheeks was not quite pink but closer to coral. Her figure was different, too. There the wordlushfit perfectly. Her waist looked as small, but her breasts were larger.
The desire to take her into his arms and greet her properly had been so strong that he’d found it easier to avoid looking at her.
He’d wanted to touch her, to feel the shape of her back again as well as the slender beauty of her arms. Most of all he’d wanted to kiss her, even if everyone stared. Let them stare. After an hour or so he’d have enough of kissing Jennifer, but only for a while.
