Kathryn Caskie - [Royle Sisters 02] Read Online Free PDF Page A

yanked back at the lacing, leaving her teetering on her heels for a moment, before she lost her balance and collapsed against him.
    He ringed her slim waist with his hands to help her stand, when suddenly the door slammed open and the bedchamber was illuminated with bright light.
    “Oh…my…word.” The Countess MacLaren stood just inside the bedchamber, with two footmen, each armed with a flickering six-armed candelabra. To her left stood Apsley, and indeed several other gentlemen and ladies he had not had the pleasure of meeting.
    “Mother.”
    “Laird…what are you…oh dear God in heaven. Such shame, such shame. You promised me you had put this foolishness aside for the good of the family.” His mother swallowed hard, then steeled herself and narrowed her gaze. “Laird, who, I must ask, is this young woman sitting upon your lap? Do you even know her name?”
    Apsley stepped forward. A mischievous grin curved his lips for but a moment before he spoke. “Well, go on, man. Introduce her to your mother.”
    Laird lifted the miss from his lap and stood her on her feet, then rose and positioned himself beside her.
    The young woman glanced up at him. Her golden eyebrows were drawn, and confusion swirled in her eyes. And damned if he could not have sworn that he saw the flustered miss mouth, MacLaren?
    “I-I…” Laird sputtered. He turned from her and gazed at the countess.
    Apsley expelled a dramatic sigh. “Oh, I know it is not how you wished for them to meet, MacLaren, but it has happened. So, please, do allow me.” He crossed the room, and after casting a covert wink at Laird, took the young woman’s hand and, with a gentle tug to set her body into motion, led her directly before the countess.
    “Apsley—” Laird began, but it was too late.
    “Allow me to introduce you to”—he took a deep breath, then smiled broadly back at Laird—“your son’s betrothed .”

Chapter 3
How a Lie Becomes the Truth
    D amn you, Apsley! Laird’s head began to spin like a wagered guinea on the table.
    Color trickled from the countess’s face, along with all trace of readable expression. “I b-beg your pardon, Apsley. Did you say my son’s betrothed? Laird’s? ”
    “I did.” Apsley’s mouth spread into a satisfied grin as he gestured to Laird with the very nose that the earl fully intended to smash. “Tell her. Go on,” he prodded.
    His mother shook her head slowly, as if she hadn’t quite decided on the truth of Apsley’s inane claim. “No, no, no. This is utter folly. I am sure of it,” she finally said, though not quite convincingly enough.
    The countess lifted her quizzing glass andstudied the pale young woman standing before her. She held her words for several breaths before speaking again. “I must say, this is rather difficult to believe. Especially after—” Mindful of the crowd inside the room and hovering in the passage beyond, however, she stifled her remark—a tiny blessing for which Laird was truly grateful.
    “This cannot be true.” The lack of sureness in her statement was undeniable now. The countess shifted her gaze to rest upon Laird. The edges of her lips twitched mischievously. “But son, you have changed so much this past year…can this be true? Can it? I know you have always been one for games, but please, Laird, I must know.”
    He couldn’t meet his mother’s gaze. Damn it all . Not while the miss was looking over her shoulder at him, her golden eyes pleading with him for help.
    Sod it . Just what was he to do now? Lie to his mother? Laugh at Apsley’s poorly dealt joke and ruin the miss forever in the process?
    Hell, his mind was as blank as the Monday morning gambling slate at White’s.
    Laird blinked and opened his mouth, but then snapped it shut again. His mind was too muddled with drink. The words would not come. There was no right answer.
    “Well, then, what say you , miss?” The formidable countess released Laird from her assessing gaze and turned to the trembling