Highland Rogue, London Miss

“McSweeney, you old dog!” MacLachlann cried as they started up the steps. “I thought you must be dead by now.”

“As you can see, my lord, I am not,” the butler replied, sounding exactly like an undertaker in a house of bereavement.

“Nor hired by another family?” MacLachlann asked.

“I was, until your solicitor inquired about the possibility of my return to Dubhagen House, my lord.”

“He offered you a pretty penny, too, I don’t doubt. That’s a solicitor for you, always ready to spend a client’s money.”

Esme’s grip tightened at the insult, but MacLachlann ignored her as they continued into the house.

MacLachlann glanced over his shoulder as the butler ordered the coachman to drive around to the mews, then whispered with obvious relief and delight, “McSweeney didn’t bat an eye. If we can fool him, we can fool anybody.”

She was relieved, too, but she couldn’t share his confidence. For one thing, he’d been raised to his role. She had not.

Nor had she grown up in such opulent surroundings. A round mahogany table with an enormous oriental vase full of roses stood in the center of the marble-tiled foyer, their scent lost amid the stronger odors of beeswax and lemons. Pier glasses hung on sea-green walls decorated with ornate white plaster work.

Two middle-aged maids holding brooms and dustpans were in the corridor leading to the back of the house, a hall boy with an empty coal scuttle lurked by a door that probably led below stairs, another footman in scarlet livery waited by the door to what was likely the drawing room and three more maids peered down from the landing above, reached by a wide hanging stair.

“See that our baggage is unpacked at once,” MacLachlann ordered with a casual flick of his hand. “I’ll show her ladyship to her bedroom myself. I trust it’s ready?”

“Absolutely, my lord,” the butler replied. “Your solicitor has hired a most excellent housekeeper, so all is quite prepared despite the lack of time.”

MacLachlann turned on the butler with a speed that was shocking. “Are you presuming to criticize me, McSweeney?” he demanded.

The poor man took a startled step back. “No, my lord. Of course not, my lord.”

“Good.” MacLachlann addressed Esme as if that confrontation had never happened. “Come along, my dear.”

He gave her that … that Look. She stiffened, waiting for a kiss. He pulled her close—and squeezed her bottom.

It took every ounce of self-control Esme possessed not to slap him, especially when she saw the sly look of amusement on his handsome face, and his bright eyes gleaming in a way that sent the blood rushing through her veins.

Then, without a word or even a look of warning, he scooped her up in his arms and started toward the stairs.

Appalled and afraid he was going to drop her, Esme threw her arms around his neck. She was going to demand he put her down at once, until she saw the butler’s shocked expression.

She had a part to play and play it she must, so instead she whispered loud enough for the butler and other servants to hear, “Put me down, dearest ducky, or what will the servants think?”

He didn’t answer as he continued up the stairs.

Not sure what to do, she started to babble like a ninny. “Oh, you’re such a romantic fellow! I’m glad you’re so strong. And you didn’t tell me your house was so magnificent, Ducky, or I would have asked you to bring me here sooner. All that time courting me and you never said. And your servants—so very proper. I do hope they like me!”

Still he was silent as they passed the maids, who dutifully bowed their heads.

Perhaps Augustus was not a loquacious man.

MacLachlann carried her along a corridor full of portraits and paintings of landscapes, the walls behind painted sky blue, until they reached a room nearly at the end of the hall. Finally he spoke as they crossed the threshold. “This is my lady’s chamber.”

Distracted as she was being carried like an invalid, she couldn’t help noticing that it was a beautiful room. The walls were papered with a delicate design of pale green and blue, the draperies green velvet and the cherry furniture polished to a gleaming gloss.

Nevertheless, her surroundings were less important than the fact that he was still holding her in his arms. “You may put me down now.”

He did, slowly setting her on her feet. Very slowly. Her body close to his. Very close.

Suddenly his expression darkened and her heart seemed to stop beating as she wondered what she’d done.

“Who the devil are you?” he demanded, and she realized he wasn’t addressing her, but someone behind her.

She turned swiftly to see a woman in a plain gray woollen gown and white mop cap with a pillow in her hand standing on the other side of the bed curtained with pale blue silk.

She must be a maid, Esme thought, and a very pretty one, too, although not so young as Esme first supposed. She immediately hoped she didn’t have to worry about her alleged husband seducing the servants.

“I am Mrs. Llewellan-Jones, the housekeeper, my lord. I wasn’t informed you had arrived,” the woman replied with a Welsh accent as she dipped a curtsey and met MacLachlann’s genial smile with a frown.

Esme was suddenly quite sure that even if MacLachlann tried to seduce the housekeeper, Mrs. Llewellan-Jones was quite ready and able to resist him.

As she, apparently—and to her chagrin—was not.

“Ah. The solicitor hired you as well?” MacLachlann asked.

“Yes, my lord. I was recently working for Lord Raggles.”

“How is old Rags?” MacLachlann asked with one of his more charming smiles, while Esme sidled toward a huge armoire near the door.

“His lordship was quite well the last time I saw him, my lord,” Mrs. Llewellan-Jones answered evenly.

“Glad to hear it. Now if you’ll excuse us, Mrs. Jones,” he said, “my wife and I would like to rest before dinner.”

Esme darted him a sharp glance, then flushed when she saw The Look on his face.

“It’s Llewellan-Jones, my lord, and what would you like done with your baggage?”

“It can all be taken to the dressing room and unpacked—but no one should enter this room until we ring for a maid.”

Until …? What was he thinking?

“As you wish, my lord. My lady,” the housekeeper replied, her expression serene as she left the room and closed the door behind her.

Chapter Five

On guard and ready for anything, Esme waited with bated breath.

Fortunately MacLachlann didn’t come any closer. He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets and rocked on his heels as he surveyed the room. “I see Augustus hasn’t paid for any redecorating.”

Determined to act as if she were perfectly calm, Esme began to remove her gloves. “Was it really necessary to be quite so primitive? I’m not one of the Sabine women to be carried over the threshold.”

“It seemed appropriate,” MacLachlann absently replied as he strolled toward the cheval glass that was cracked in one corner. “Gad, this place is in worse condition than I imagined. Augustus should have sold it if he was going to let it fall into ruin.”