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

young woman. She stepped threateningly closer to her.
    Somehow, though, the miss kept her footing firm. And though it was hard to know, given Laird’s less-than-choice vantage behind her, judging from the surprised expression on his mother’s face, the miss must have raised her startling gold eyes and pierced the older woman’s gaze.
    The countess dropped her quizzing glass, sending it sliding down its chain to dangle at her bosom. Her patience was at an end. “Well, gel? Have you a tongue?”
    Laird hurried forward toward the young woman.
    She did not reply immediately, but as Laird neared, he saw that her gaze frantically searched the crowd at the door before fixing upon a portly gentleman. A silent stream of words seemed to pass between them. Then the man nodded to her from amid the rapidly growing crowd of onlookers, and she nodded ever so slightly in response.
    And then it happened.
    The lass honored his mother by dropping a deep curtsy. When she rose again, a transformation had occurred, for her tone was level and sure. Gone was the quivering, fearful miss of only a moment ago, and in her place stood a strong, confident young woman.
    “I assure you, I am quite capable of speaking, Lady MacLaren.” She smiled brightly. “I am Miss Anne Royle, late of Cornwall, now residing in Berkeley Square with my great-aunt and sister.”
    Laird did not miss the quick glance Miss Royle gave him, as if making sure he had heard her name.
    “Are you my son’s intended, Miss Royle?” the countess demanded to know. “Answer me, child. Now is not the time for folly.”
    “Yes, Lady MacLaren.” She squared her shoulders then, and straightened her back. “ I am his betrothed . He asked me for a moment alone, and we came in here for but an instant—and then he asked for my hand. How fortuitous for us both that you, Lady MacLaren, have arrived to share our joyous moment.”
    “Oh yes, quite fortuitous,” Apsley chimed inas he waggled his eyebrows mockingly at Laird.
    “Joyous, are you, gel?” The countess lifted her chin and peered up into Miss Royle’s face. “Then why did you scream?”
    Miss Royle angled her head downward and looked at the much shorter countess, and then she raised her head and surveyed her audience. She laughed softly. “Oh my. I daresay, is that what drove the party up the staircase?”
    “Yes, Miss Royle,” Apsley said, “though it took a few minutes to ascertain from which chamber the cry had originated.” He brought a foot forward and leaned close. “Why did you scream?”
    “Why, from excitement, of course.” She turned, spread her arms wide, and addressed the crowd beyond. “The Earl of MacLaren is going to marry me —Anne Royle—a simple miss from Cornwall. Is there any lady amongst your numbers who would not have cried out with…um… exhilaration ?”
    Mamas looked questioningly at their daughters, husbands at their wives. And as if cued, they all shook their heads.
    “And you, Lady MacLaren. Certainly you of all gentle people would understand what a great honor your son has bestowed by offering for me.”
    Within a breath, his mother’s countenance transmogrified from pinched and angry to accepting, and finally to beaming brightly with happiness.
    Blast! Laird could not believe what he was witnessing. Was Miss Royle in league with Apsley in some grand scheme to win their wager? No, this mad string of events was beyond even Apsley’s ability.
    Damn it all.
    This is not happening.
    Ominous black specks ringed Laird’s head like a murder of ravens.
    He had been wrong earlier. The night could have gotten worse. Much, much worse.
    And by God, it had.
     
    The next hour was a complete blur to Anne. Though that was certainly for the best.
    Had she any time to contemplate the consequences of claiming to be the Earl of MacLaren’s betrothed—an act worthy of plopping her straight into Bedlam—she might have instead flung open the sash and leapt slippers-first from the bedchamber