How to Seduce a Scot Read Online Free PDF

her advancing years of eight and thirty, her mother was still a lovely woman. Catherine said a small prayer to the Holy Mother to keep scoundrels and their ilk far away.
    â€œI am pleased that handsome Scotsman sent those primroses for you, little miss.”
    â€œYes, Mama.”
    For some reason, Catherine did not want to talk about Mr. Waters. She felt herself blush again and sipped her tea, trying to force her mind into the calm, bland waters of Lord Farleigh—and failing.
    â€œHe’s a fine-looking man, but foreigners are never ideal. Still, he may be rich. I’ll make inquiries among my acquaintances. Perhaps he is worth looking at.”
    Catherine choked on a bite of scone. Margaret hit her forcefully between the shoulder blades.
    â€œI don’t think Mr. Waters is appropriate, Mama,” she managed.
    Mrs. Middlebrook smiled, licking the butter off her lips like a cat just out of the dairy. “Indeed, my dear, I agree with you. There is little about Mr. Waters that is appropriate. Men like him, once tamed, make the best husbands.”
    â€œHe is not a hound dog, Mama, or a spaniel.”
    â€œHeavens no, dear. But all men must be tamed before you let them in the house, or you’ll have nothing but mayhem and trouble all your life. No woman of sense wants that.”
    â€œNo indeed,” Catherine agreed, trying desperately to make her blushing stop. She had never learned to control her coloring, and she supposed she never would. She had better get all her blushing done and out of her system, for they were due to take tea with the Waterses at five o’clock.
    She swallowed a sip of tea and this time did not choke. “Margaret will have a fine time meeting your new friend, Miss Waters, this afternoon,” Mrs. Middlebrook said. “What a merry party we shall make!”
    â€œMaybe they have a puppy,” Margaret said.
    â€œScotsmen always keep dogs. No doubt they have a dozen.” Her mother offered this sage bit of wisdom while adding clotted cream to another scone.
    â€œI am sure only Miss Waters will be there,” Catherine said.
    Mrs. Middlebrook cut her eyes at her eldest daughter. “Are you indeed? We will see, little missy. We will see.”

Four
    Catherine sat drinking tea in the Duchess of Northumberland’s drawing room, listening to Margaret play Beethoven’s Appassionata on a nicely tuned pianoforte. The duchess herself was not in residence, but Catherine’s mother sat with Robert Waters, Mary Elizabeth’s older brother, regaling him of tales of Devon and the growing of roses there—as if a Scotsman, or any man for that matter, might care about such things. It seemed Robert Waters was a gentleman, for he feigned interest so well that Catherine could not quite tell if he was really a secret gardener or not.
    She listened with half an ear as Mary Elizabeth spoke beside her of the coming Season and all the dancing to be had among the ton . The other half of her attention was taken up with wondering at the most beautiful room she had ever entered in her life, much less taken tea in. The house was swathed in velvets at the windows, with no thought whatsoever to the fact that such expensive cloth would soon be ruined by the sun. The settee she perched on was covered in watered silk of a deep burgundy hue, a color a man might choose if he were left to his own devices and allowed to decorate a parlor.
    Catherine found her mind wandering to the question of whether or not Alexander Waters might like it and where he might be at that moment. She tried to focus on what her friend was saying, but as she took a sip of the fine Darjeeling, she could not think of anything else but Alexander and the heat of his dark eyes.
    She was brought abruptly back to the here and now when Mary Elizabeth spoke without preamble, changing the subject from the next dance they would both attend. “We must find you a good husband.”
    Catherine blinked.