Elaine Coffman - [MacKinnon 04] Read Online Free PDF Page B

far as women went. It was time to call it
quits.
    Shoving his cold fingers into his pockets, he increased the
tempo of his steps, heading toward Portsmouth Square. He was hatless, and the
rain darkened his brown hair.
    He made his way back to the hotel, with his mind made up.
Tomorrow he would head north, back to the country north of Humboldt Bay. He
would forget all about this foolishness of taking a wife.
    The clerk behind the desk looked up as he entered the lobby,
his face lighting up as he smiled at Adrian. Adrian felt his cheek twitch.
“I’ll be checking out in the morning, Horace. Have my bill ready.”
    “It’ll be ready and waiting for you, Mr. Mackinnon.” Horace
paused, his round, shiny face puckered in thought. “Thought you were going to
be staying on for another week.”
    “I wrapped up my business sooner than I expected,” Adrian
said.
    “I hope you’ll stay with us again…next time you’re down this
way.” He handed Adrian a few envelopes. “These came for you today.”
    Adrian took the envelopes, not bothering to look at them.
“It may be quite a spell before I’m back in these parts again,” he said slowly
as he tucked the envelopes into his coat pocket.
    He went upstairs and paused in front of his door, inserting
the key into the lock. Once inside, he removed his coat, tossing the envelopes
on the desk. He remembered he was still half-shaved and debated finishing the
job now. He decided against it, drawing the heavy damask draperies to shut out
the light, feeling a dandy headache in the making. His head throbbed as he
leaned over the desk to light the alabaster lamp, turning it low.
    Then his eyes went to the letters. He frowned. He picked
them up and sorted through the stack, opening them one by one. Invitations. All
of them from a few overstuffed and overstarched matrons inviting him to dinner,
trying to interest him in their silly daughters.
    It hadn’t taken him long to learn he wanted a mature,
educated, refined woman for a wife, not some young featherbrain who giggled
every time he looked at her. He shook his head, tossing the invitations back on
the desk, then made his way to the bed. He couldn’t help remembering one
pleasant-looking young woman he had been seated beside at dinner two nights
ago. She had actually fluttered her eyes at him and said, “My mama said I would
make a perfect wife. Why, I have my whole future ahead of me.”
    Adrian wanted to ask her if there was someplace else she
would rather have her future, but he decided it wasn’t worth the breath to say
it. He didn’t remember much of the evening after that, for he had made a wager
with himself to down a drink every time the young woman said something
similarly stupid.
    He woke up in his hotel room the next morning, having no
recollection of how he got there.
    Without another thought, he fell across the bed and
stretched out, not bothering to remove his boots. Rolling over, he lay on his
back, staring at the ceiling. Tomorrow he would get the hell out of San
Francisco.
    He looked at the envelopes still lying on the desk. The
markings on one of the envelopes reminded him of his brother Ross’ handwriting;
slanted, large, and sloppy. He grinned at the thought and sat down in the
chair, looking more closely at the letter, his thoughts finely tuned on Ross. Who
would have ever thought it—all those years ago in that little house on the
banks of Tehuacana Creek, back in Limestone County, Texas? Who would have ever
thought that Ross Mackinnon would have grown up to go to Scotland to inherit a
title? What was he, a duke? And married for several years now. With a passel of
little dukes, or whatever they called them, running around. Adrian had stopped
counting after the fourth one.
    He rolled over and dropped his head into his hands. He
remembered the letters that came infrequently from Ross and how proud he seemed
to be of his aristocratic wife, Annabella. Best Adrian could remember,
Annabella was the daughter of an