[MacKenzie Sally] The Naked Laird(book4me.org) Read Online Free PDF Page A

mistresses, she’d had many male “friends.”
    He glanced at her. Her face could have been carved from stone. She still would not look at him.
    He should divorce her. Caro had been teasing him to do so almost from the moment he’d first climbed into her bed. Her motivation was obvious, of course—she wanted to be his next countess. Hell would freeze over before that happened.
    Truthfully, he’d used his married status as protection, to stave off husband-hunting mamas and their daughters. Any female choosing to dally with him knew from the outset a wedding ring was not in the cards. That suited him perfectly. He had absolutely no desire to step into the parson’s mousetrap again.
    But now he was thirty. He could no longer ignore the reality of his position—he needed an heir. He had no brothers or male cousins waiting in the wings. And to get an heir he needed a wife—a real wife. A woman who would—if not welcome, at least allow—him into her bed and into her body. Obviously Nell would do neither.
    He would have Motton fix this infernal room situation and then he would avoid her for the rest of the house party. When he got back to London, he would see about ending his marriage.
    Bloody hell, his stomach felt like lead. He’d love to hit something. Someone. Perhaps Motton—he couldn’t very well hit Miss Smyth.
    The footman took one look at them and flung open the door, almost jumping out of their way.
    There was Motton, by the hearth, talking to two young women—twins. They could be trained monkeys for all he cared.
    “Motton.”
    The man raised an eyebrow. The women actually stopped their bibble-babble to gape. He had not sounded particularly polite. Well, he did not feel polite.
    “If I might have a moment of your time? We”—he gestured toward Nell—“have something of an urgent nature to discuss.”
    “Ah.” Motton’s smile remained in place, but his eyes turned watchful. He’d always been a downy one. “What—”
    “Lord Kilgorn, Lady Kilgorn, how lovely to see you.”
    Ian was certain there was nothing lovely about him at the moment. He turned to see who had spoken. A short, gray-haired woman smiled up at him.
    His frown deepened; her smile widened. Her blue eyes were actually twinkling.
    “May I present my aunt, Miss Winifred Smyth?” Motton said. He treated the woman to a very pointed look. She patted him on the arm.
    “Have a touch of indigestion, do you, Edmund? Never fear. I have just the elixir for that. I’ll give you some later, if you like.”
    “No, thank you.” Motton smiled slightly. “The last time I tried one of your quack remedies, Aunt Winifred, I had to see a physician to be cured of your cure.”
    “Fiddle-faddle. You probably took too much—or not enough.”
    Miss Smyth turned back to Ian and smiled even more brightly, if that were possible. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to welcome you when you arrived. I trust you found everything in order?”
    Motton choked on his sherry.
    “Actually, Miss Smyth, things are most certainly not in order.”
    “Oh? I’m sorry to hear that, Lord Kilgorn. What is amiss?”
    Had he entered Bedlam? “Perhaps we could discuss this in a more private location? It is an issue of some delicacy.” Not that the entire drawing room didn’t already know he and Nell were estranged. Motton definitely knew or he wouldn’t have that carefully blank expression pasted on his face. Miss Smyth must be the only woman in all of England and Scotland who was not fully aware of their marital situation— if she were truly in ignorance.
    “Of course.” Miss Smyth sounded as cheery as if they were chatting about a balmy spring day. “Let’s step into the green parlor, shall we? Edmund, why don’t you bring along the sherry?”
    “A splendid idea.” Motton grabbed a decanter and motioned Ian and the ladies to precede him.
    The green parlor was a modest room with a settee, two upholstered chairs, a scattering of tables—and not a single hint