Read Online Claimed by the Laird by Nicola Cornick - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Nicola Cornick
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course she did not, although he was willing to wager that she burned to turn around and check if he was watching her.
He was. He could not take his eyes off her. He watched her all the way to the house. She did not hurry, but she did tilt her parasol back to block his view of her face. He would swear that was deliberate and nothing to do with the angle of the sun. The parasol was made of spotted damson muslin and trimmed with lace to match her gown. It looked frivolous but she was not a frivolous woman. Everything about her, from her height to her authoritative manner spoke of cool, calm competence.
He estimated that she was about a half dozen years older than he, not a grandmother, but not a debutante, either. He could see now why people might overlook her, because most people judged on appearance and Christina MacMorlan did nothing to enhance hers. Her hair was shades of brown, coiled into a no-nonsense bun in the nape of her neck. She dressed plainly. A man could make the mistake of thinking her features were unremarkable. Yet Lucas could see they were not. Her skin was flawless, pale cream and pink rose, a true Scottish complexion, scattered with endearing freckles. Her blue eyes had a sleepy gaze that was both misleading and sensual. When she had looked him in the eyes he had felt the impact like a punch through his whole body. But it was her mouth that was so potent, full and lush, reminding Lucas of her kisses. He shifted slightly. He found Christina MacMorlan ridiculously seductive and he was quite at a loss as to why that should be the case. But it might be useful. Christina’s was quite evidently the hand that steered the Kilmory estate whilst her father dabbled in whatever outlandish project took his fancy on any particular day. She was also the leader of the whisky smugglers, and he was convinced now that they had had a direct involvement in Peter’s death.
Over to the west, beyond the clipped hedges of the parterre, he could see the Duke of Forres wandering through the rose garden. He appeared to be talking to the plants, which was a curious thing to do. Lucas watched as the duke strolled over to the sundial in the middle of the garden and leaned over to check the time. It was quite clear that the man was an eccentric, in a world of his own. Lucas thought it unlikely that the duke was aware of anything that went on in his household, let alone that his eldest daughter ran a smuggling gang.
He had been lucky that the duke had offered him the job. Lady Christina certainly would not have yielded to his blackmail. The minute he had applied a little pressure she had come back with plenty more of her own. It was an unfortunate coincidence that Sidmouth’s clerk had given him Sir Geoffrey MacIntyre as a reference when Lady Christina was acquainted with the man. But actually he doubted everything that Christina had said and suspected she had made up the entire tale of financial impropriety simply to be rid of him.
His lips twisted in wry appreciation. It would not do to underestimate Lady Christina MacMorlan. She was strong, determined and clever, more than a match for him.
She would be entirely capable of covering up a murder.
He had to remember that and not let the fierce attraction he had to Christina MacMorlan cloud his judgment.
He watched the front door close behind her. He was forgotten. A small smile touched his lips at the lordly way in which the duke’s daughter had dismissed him. It would be useful if she considered him beneath her notice. Servants were meant to be invisible; he could go about his investigation whilst remaining unobserved.
Beyond the tall pine trees that bordered the terrace he could see the corner of a building and the glitter of the sun on long glass windows. That must be the hothouse where he would find Hemmings, the head gardener. Being outside, laboring in a physical job was far preferable to him than being indoors, catering to the whims of the nobility. Lucas straightened and
He was. He could not take his eyes off her. He watched her all the way to the house. She did not hurry, but she did tilt her parasol back to block his view of her face. He would swear that was deliberate and nothing to do with the angle of the sun. The parasol was made of spotted damson muslin and trimmed with lace to match her gown. It looked frivolous but she was not a frivolous woman. Everything about her, from her height to her authoritative manner spoke of cool, calm competence.
He estimated that she was about a half dozen years older than he, not a grandmother, but not a debutante, either. He could see now why people might overlook her, because most people judged on appearance and Christina MacMorlan did nothing to enhance hers. Her hair was shades of brown, coiled into a no-nonsense bun in the nape of her neck. She dressed plainly. A man could make the mistake of thinking her features were unremarkable. Yet Lucas could see they were not. Her skin was flawless, pale cream and pink rose, a true Scottish complexion, scattered with endearing freckles. Her blue eyes had a sleepy gaze that was both misleading and sensual. When she had looked him in the eyes he had felt the impact like a punch through his whole body. But it was her mouth that was so potent, full and lush, reminding Lucas of her kisses. He shifted slightly. He found Christina MacMorlan ridiculously seductive and he was quite at a loss as to why that should be the case. But it might be useful. Christina’s was quite evidently the hand that steered the Kilmory estate whilst her father dabbled in whatever outlandish project took his fancy on any particular day. She was also the leader of the whisky smugglers, and he was convinced now that they had had a direct involvement in Peter’s death.
Over to the west, beyond the clipped hedges of the parterre, he could see the Duke of Forres wandering through the rose garden. He appeared to be talking to the plants, which was a curious thing to do. Lucas watched as the duke strolled over to the sundial in the middle of the garden and leaned over to check the time. It was quite clear that the man was an eccentric, in a world of his own. Lucas thought it unlikely that the duke was aware of anything that went on in his household, let alone that his eldest daughter ran a smuggling gang.
He had been lucky that the duke had offered him the job. Lady Christina certainly would not have yielded to his blackmail. The minute he had applied a little pressure she had come back with plenty more of her own. It was an unfortunate coincidence that Sidmouth’s clerk had given him Sir Geoffrey MacIntyre as a reference when Lady Christina was acquainted with the man. But actually he doubted everything that Christina had said and suspected she had made up the entire tale of financial impropriety simply to be rid of him.
His lips twisted in wry appreciation. It would not do to underestimate Lady Christina MacMorlan. She was strong, determined and clever, more than a match for him.
She would be entirely capable of covering up a murder.
He had to remember that and not let the fierce attraction he had to Christina MacMorlan cloud his judgment.
He watched the front door close behind her. He was forgotten. A small smile touched his lips at the lordly way in which the duke’s daughter had dismissed him. It would be useful if she considered him beneath her notice. Servants were meant to be invisible; he could go about his investigation whilst remaining unobserved.
Beyond the tall pine trees that bordered the terrace he could see the corner of a building and the glitter of the sun on long glass windows. That must be the hothouse where he would find Hemmings, the head gardener. Being outside, laboring in a physical job was far preferable to him than being indoors, catering to the whims of the nobility. Lucas straightened and
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