Mary Fran and Matthew Read Online Free PDF Page A

indifferent to my own—”
    He lifted the cup close to her nose, so she could see the fragrant steam curling up and catch a whiff of rich black tea. “You have not yet taken a single bite of your breakfast, and I would not hurry you through your meal. Part of the challenge Her Majesty’s forces face in the Balkans is the simple logistical difficulty of defending our interests so far from home. This is the same factor that eventually defeated Napoleon. Drink your tea and eat a proper breakfast.”
    She took a sip. “The Russian winter had a hand in things, as I recall my history.”
    He couldn’t help but smile. “You know some military history.”
    She smiled back, a small but genuine smile that fortified Matthew every bit as much as a stout cup of breakfast tea might. “Four older brothers, Mr. Daniels, and more than a passing respect for Highland winters. I’ll see you in the stables in an hour.”
    Matthew rose, intent on changing into riding attire, but was arrested by the gaze of Ian MacGregor, Earl of Balfour. His lordship was leaning against the doorjamb to the breakfast parlor, the look in the man’s eyes speculative.
    “Daniels.”
    “My lord.” Matthew hoped that would be the end of it, but the earl ambled along beside him as Matthew headed into the corridor.
    “Ach, must we be milording so early in the day? If you’re going to flirt with my sister, MacGregor will do, or Ian, since we’ve several MacGregors underfoot.”
    The earl wasn’t just tall, he was broad, well muscled, and exuded the fitness of a man of the land. Dark hair made a handsome contrast to mossy green eyes, and his smile would have felled many a debutante in the ballrooms to the south.
    “I’m going riding with the lady,” Matthew said, pausing at the foot of the stairway.
    The earl paused right along with him. “Riding is always a nice place to start. Can’t get up to too much mischief when you’re on separate horses, can you? You will be on separate horses?”
    “For God’s sake, Balfour, your sister is hardly going to content herself riding pillion behind an Englishman.”
    “Her husband was English.” Balfour studied his big, blunt fingernails, while Matthew absorbed that Balfour was trying to warn him of something.
    “It is not a crime to be English.” And why, come to think of it, did Lady Mary Frances eschew her married name?
    “It isn’t any great advantage, either, at least not when a fellow is sniffing around Mary Fran’s skirts.” Balfour’s face creased into a grin that wasn’t exactly merry. “Enjoy your ride.”
    With that cryptic comment, the earl spun on his heel and disappeared in the direction of the breakfast parlor.
    Matthew repaired to his room, laid out his riding clothes, and tried to determine what Balfour had been telling him. The Scots were deuced canny, of necessity. By virtue of famine, clearances, service on various fighting fronts in Highland regiments, or by operation of prejudicial law, a stupid Scot was historically a dead Scot. This reality had been impressed upon Matthew by the Scottish officers he’d shared campfires with, and by his own family’s Scottish history.
    But the typical Scot was also fair-minded to a fault.
    Balfour really had been warning him, he decided. Warning him that only a stupid Englishman would do more than flirt with the fair Mary Frances.
    “Or perhaps,” Matthew told his reflection in the cheval mirror, “an Englishman who relishes a challenge and recognizes another lonely soul when he sees one.”
    Though maybe dallying with Mary Fran was the aspiration of an Englishman who was both lonely and stupid.
    ***
    “I haven’t been up to this lookout since…” Mary Fran paused to take in a great lungful of heather-scented air and tried to think back.
    “Then it has been too long. A view like this restores the soul.”
    Matthew Daniels sat a horse like a man born to the saddle. His horsemanship was a relaxed, natural thing, not a set of skills he’d