Read Online A Promise of Roses by Heidi Betts - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Heidi Betts
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the two flights of stairs.
People were gathered in a tight group outside his room. The mobcapped maid he'd spoken to earlier crouched in front of the door, talking through the keyhole in soothing tones. “Hush, now, Mrs. Campbell. All's well. Your husband will return directly, I'm sure."
A frightfully calm voice drifted out of the room. “You'd better hope to hell he doesn't come back, because when he does, I'm going to rip out his liver and feed it to him for supper.” Less than a second passed before Megan started screaming again. “Lucas McCain, you bastard, let me loose!"
"I warned you that she gets confused,” Lucas said, annoyed that she'd used his real name when he was trying to maintain a modicum of anonymity in this town.
The maid whirled around. “Oh, Mr. Campbell, your wife's been hysterical for nearly an hour now. We've tried to calm her down, sir—told her you'd be back in a wink—but nothing seems to work. She must be out of her mind again, Mr. Campbell, calling you horrible names."
He could imagine. A high-pitched screech sounded, followed by the most foul language Lucas had heard in a long time. Where had Megan learned to talk like that?
"Thank you for trying to help,” he said, pulling the room key out of his pocket. “Some packages should be delivered soon from the mercantile. When they arrive, will you please bring them up? And I think it would be best if my wife and I remained in our room this evening. Could you please send two steak dinners up within the hour?"
The onlookers remained, wide-eyed, waiting to see what he would do. “If you don't mind. I'd rather not deal with this in front of an audience,” he said.
"So sorry, sir,” the maid said with an amateur curtsy, waving the others away. “I'll make sure you get your meals and parcels. Just leave your dirty laundry in the hall, and I'll take care of that, too."
Lucas turned the key in the lock, took a deep breath, and opened the door. He wasn't sure what he thought he'd see, but he sure as hell hadn't expected Megan to be standing in the middle of the room completely naked. Her position was awkward, hampered as she was by the handcuffs.
"You son of a bitch! How dare you lock me up like some rabid cur! "
He didn't respond. The carpet was soaked from the water that had sloshed over the sides when she'd tried to move the heavy tub. She had obviously jostled it considerably more than he'd expected. His gaze drifted from the wet rug to the handcuffs attached to Megan's arm. Her wrist was red from her struggle to get free.
He tried to keep from looking at the rest of her, but it was damn hard to avoid doing so. Her veil of hair didn't cover even a portion of what he shouldn't be seeing. Hills and valleys of creamy flesh. The slight scent of roses drifted in the air.
With a low oath, he crossed to the bed and ripped off the coverlet, throwing it at her. “Cover yourself."
She flung the quilt aside, standing as straight as possible. “Unlock these damn cuffs."
He turned to face her, his body buzzing with unleashed tension. “If you're smart, you'll wrap up in that bedspread before I forget I'm a gentleman."
She glared at him, her maple-syrup eyes shooting daggers. “Gentleman? Hah! You'd better sleep with one eye open, Lucas McCain, or you may wake up dead."
He cursed and stalked over to the discarded bedspread. He draped it around her, pulling it about her neck. “Hold this,” he said, bringing her free hand up to the bunch of fabric. He kept her fingers in place and retrieved the key to the handcuffs, holding it up as a peace offering.
She set her jaw, and Lucas crouched to remove the cuff from the tub.
Megan straightened, and he released her wrist from the shackle. Rather than rubbing at the marred skin, she gathered the bedspread about her and regally stalked away.
Lucas watched as she climbed onto the bed and propped herself with wounded dignity against the pile of pillows. “I'm sorry about the cuffs,” he said.
People were gathered in a tight group outside his room. The mobcapped maid he'd spoken to earlier crouched in front of the door, talking through the keyhole in soothing tones. “Hush, now, Mrs. Campbell. All's well. Your husband will return directly, I'm sure."
A frightfully calm voice drifted out of the room. “You'd better hope to hell he doesn't come back, because when he does, I'm going to rip out his liver and feed it to him for supper.” Less than a second passed before Megan started screaming again. “Lucas McCain, you bastard, let me loose!"
"I warned you that she gets confused,” Lucas said, annoyed that she'd used his real name when he was trying to maintain a modicum of anonymity in this town.
The maid whirled around. “Oh, Mr. Campbell, your wife's been hysterical for nearly an hour now. We've tried to calm her down, sir—told her you'd be back in a wink—but nothing seems to work. She must be out of her mind again, Mr. Campbell, calling you horrible names."
He could imagine. A high-pitched screech sounded, followed by the most foul language Lucas had heard in a long time. Where had Megan learned to talk like that?
"Thank you for trying to help,” he said, pulling the room key out of his pocket. “Some packages should be delivered soon from the mercantile. When they arrive, will you please bring them up? And I think it would be best if my wife and I remained in our room this evening. Could you please send two steak dinners up within the hour?"
The onlookers remained, wide-eyed, waiting to see what he would do. “If you don't mind. I'd rather not deal with this in front of an audience,” he said.
"So sorry, sir,” the maid said with an amateur curtsy, waving the others away. “I'll make sure you get your meals and parcels. Just leave your dirty laundry in the hall, and I'll take care of that, too."
Lucas turned the key in the lock, took a deep breath, and opened the door. He wasn't sure what he thought he'd see, but he sure as hell hadn't expected Megan to be standing in the middle of the room completely naked. Her position was awkward, hampered as she was by the handcuffs.
"You son of a bitch! How dare you lock me up like some rabid cur! "
He didn't respond. The carpet was soaked from the water that had sloshed over the sides when she'd tried to move the heavy tub. She had obviously jostled it considerably more than he'd expected. His gaze drifted from the wet rug to the handcuffs attached to Megan's arm. Her wrist was red from her struggle to get free.
He tried to keep from looking at the rest of her, but it was damn hard to avoid doing so. Her veil of hair didn't cover even a portion of what he shouldn't be seeing. Hills and valleys of creamy flesh. The slight scent of roses drifted in the air.
With a low oath, he crossed to the bed and ripped off the coverlet, throwing it at her. “Cover yourself."
She flung the quilt aside, standing as straight as possible. “Unlock these damn cuffs."
He turned to face her, his body buzzing with unleashed tension. “If you're smart, you'll wrap up in that bedspread before I forget I'm a gentleman."
She glared at him, her maple-syrup eyes shooting daggers. “Gentleman? Hah! You'd better sleep with one eye open, Lucas McCain, or you may wake up dead."
He cursed and stalked over to the discarded bedspread. He draped it around her, pulling it about her neck. “Hold this,” he said, bringing her free hand up to the bunch of fabric. He kept her fingers in place and retrieved the key to the handcuffs, holding it up as a peace offering.
She set her jaw, and Lucas crouched to remove the cuff from the tub.
Megan straightened, and he released her wrist from the shackle. Rather than rubbing at the marred skin, she gathered the bedspread about her and regally stalked away.
Lucas watched as she climbed onto the bed and propped herself with wounded dignity against the pile of pillows. “I'm sorry about the cuffs,” he said.
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