Rogue with a Brogue Read Online Free PDF Page B

feet and breathed hellfire,” she noted, stopping to peruse some hair ribbons. That was a lucky thing; for all the attention she’d paid, this might have been a cutlery shop. And the two of them in a room filled with knives would be unwise.
    â€œNae,” he returned. “It’s ten toes and air fer the lot of us.” He spoke with the same deep, teasing brogue he’d used during the waltz—when he hadn’t known who she was. Did that mean they were on friendly terms again? She rather hoped so, because she didn’t generally converse with men about whom she knew so little. Or ones as fierce as Arran MacLawry was reputed to be.
    â€œThat information might have spared me some nightmares as a child.” She held up two ribbons. “Which do you prefer?”
    â€œThe light green one,” he said promptly. “It matches yer eyes and brings oot the red in yer hair.”
    Something about the way he said it—along with the fact that this man had no reason in the world to flatter or humor her—sent pleasant little shivers down her spine. “You seem to have thought that through very thoroughly,” she commented, draping the green ribbon over Crawford’s arm and discarding the yellow one.
    â€œIt’s the truth. How long should a man take to consider it?” he said, shrugging. Then he grinned. “Aside from that, my sister says I’m the only brother with taste in other than what goes down his gullet.”
    Mary laughed. He said it so matter-of-factly. “We’ll see about that.” She produced a swatch of yellow and white muslin from her reticule. “I need a hat to match this. It’s for a walking dress.” She sent him another glance. “Unless this isn’t manly enough for you.”
    His smile deepened. “The more manly a lad, the less likely he is to complain over toting a lass’s reticule.” He took the material, their fingers brushing as he did so. The touch unsettled her, like the moments before lightning struck on a stormy day. She’d felt it last night, as well, when they’d waltzed. But today it seemed more pronounced. Perhaps because now they both knew to whom they were speaking.
    Behind her Crawford made a choking sound, and she realized they both still held the muslin. Swiftly she released it, wiping her fingers into her skirt, and turned to see the maid staring at her. “We should be getting back, my lady,” Crawford said in a too loud voice. “Your dear mother, Lady Fendarrow, will be wondering where you’ve gotten to.”
    It was more likely that Joanna Campbell would be wondering whether her only child had lost her mind. But from the expression on Arran’s face, he was aware as she was that it would be an excuse to escape his company. And she certainly didn’t wish to be seen as a coward. She was a Campbell, after all. And so her desire to remain had nothing to do with the fact that she was enjoying herself, that most men of her acquaintance didn’t challenge her wits or question her reasoning, that here she felt a certain … thrill both at the notion of speaking with a MacLawry and at the way this lean, tall, devilish-handsome man had gone well out of his way to find her.
    â€œMother isn’t expecting me until after luncheon,” she said. “And we’ve only just arrived here.”
    â€œSo ye’re nae afraid of me?” she heard him murmur, and she shook her head.
    â€œShould I be?”
    â€œToday? Nae.”
    â€œBut you’re to lunch with Lord Delaveer, my lady. Your father would be most angry if he—”
    â€œI am not,” she returned firmly. “You know quite well that I’m lunching with Lord Delaveer on Thursday.”
    â€œDelaveer?” Arran took up, his brow lowering. “Roderick MacAllister.” He paused, assessing her again. “Ah.”
    Mary glared at Crawford. She should be furious that