Read Online Highlander's Hope by Collette Cameron - Free Book Online
Authors: Collette Cameron
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to marry in the immediate future.”
Her gaze dropped to the towel. “ When did you say you and Miss Stapleton were to be . . . ?”
A pounding on the door drew everyone’s attention. Yvette sighed in relief. The viscount was spared from having to weave another thread into his web of deceit.
The worried voice of Myles Quimby called, “Mrs. Pettigrove, Miss Stapleton, are you well? I heard a scream.”
“Mrs. Pettigrove, please answer the door and assure him you are safe. I have to leave, but I shall return shortly.” The viscount had already reached the door between their rooms as he spoke. He paused, his hand on the knob. Returning to where the women sat, he addressed the older woman.
Yvette plucked at the shawl. What is he about?
“When I return, please allow me to escort you to breakfast. We shall dine in one of the private rooms below.” Bowing, despite the scant bit of linen, he raised Mrs. Pettigrove’s dimpled hand to his lips and bestowed a chaste kiss upon the back of the plump appendage. “I would be grateful if you would act as Miss Stapleton’s chaperone.”
Good Lord. For all of Mrs. Pettigrove’s declarations of affection for her misplaced spouse, she’s looking at Lord Sethwick as if he’s a tasty, filled pastry, and she’s about to gobble him up.
“ Anything I can do to assist, your lordship, will be my pleasure,” gushed Mrs. Pettigrove.
The door rang with another series of urgent knocks. She shoved to her feet, then waddled to the door and unlocked it. She cracked it open two inches.
“Yvette,” Lord Sethwick took her hand in his, giving it a small squeeze, “all will be well . ”
Studying his intent gaze, she saw his sincerity, even as she recognized his eyes revealed something else, an intensity that sent her pulse skittering again.
“Will you trust me?”
His deep, soothing voice penetrated the fog encompassing her mind. Trust him? Not Likely. She didn’t know him. Casting a sideways glance at Mrs. Pettigrove at the chamber door, Yvette whispered, “I left my dagger under the pillow,” instead of answering his question.
Astonishment registered on his face. “Your dagger?”
“Yes,” nodded Yvette, casting Mrs. Pettigrove a wary glance, “under the pillow.”
“Eh, what’s that?” demanded Mrs. Pettigrove, her curious gaze swinging between them after she closed the door on Mr. Quimby.
Ewan flashed a smile at her. “Miss Stapleton left an article in my chamber.” He looked to Yvette. “I’ll see that it’s returned to you.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“Call me Ewan. After all, we’re betrothed,” he whispered, smiling mischievously.
Yvette’s turned her lips upward despite her misgivings. Lud, he was charming.
Raising her hand to his firm lips, his thumb caressed her palm. He placed a lingering kiss on her fingertips. The roughness of his unshaven face sent ripples of pleasure skipping across her flesh.
“Dress and wait for my return. Promise you won’t leave this room.”
“I promise, my lord.” She was unable to deny his request to stay in her chamber, yet hesitant to address him by his given name.
He chuckled and released her hand. “My name is Ewan.” Striding to the adjoining door, he gave her one last penetrating look, then left, closing the door behind him.
Miss Pettigrove pried her gaze from his closed door and turned her beady stare on Yvette. Pursing her mouth she asked, “Precisely how long have you and his lordship been affianced?”
Chapter 7
Less than three hours later, three hours in which Yvette repeatedly dodged Mrs. Pettigrove’s questions about her betrothal to Lord Sethwick, he rapped on their door.
Her emotions fluctuated between bewilderment and peckishness at both Mrs. Pettigrove’s snooping and his betrothal claim. How dare he assert they were betrothed, especially to a rumormonger like Mrs. Pettigrove? To be fair, he didn’t know she was loose-lipped, yet, he had created a fine bumblebroth with his
Her gaze dropped to the towel. “ When did you say you and Miss Stapleton were to be . . . ?”
A pounding on the door drew everyone’s attention. Yvette sighed in relief. The viscount was spared from having to weave another thread into his web of deceit.
The worried voice of Myles Quimby called, “Mrs. Pettigrove, Miss Stapleton, are you well? I heard a scream.”
“Mrs. Pettigrove, please answer the door and assure him you are safe. I have to leave, but I shall return shortly.” The viscount had already reached the door between their rooms as he spoke. He paused, his hand on the knob. Returning to where the women sat, he addressed the older woman.
Yvette plucked at the shawl. What is he about?
“When I return, please allow me to escort you to breakfast. We shall dine in one of the private rooms below.” Bowing, despite the scant bit of linen, he raised Mrs. Pettigrove’s dimpled hand to his lips and bestowed a chaste kiss upon the back of the plump appendage. “I would be grateful if you would act as Miss Stapleton’s chaperone.”
Good Lord. For all of Mrs. Pettigrove’s declarations of affection for her misplaced spouse, she’s looking at Lord Sethwick as if he’s a tasty, filled pastry, and she’s about to gobble him up.
“ Anything I can do to assist, your lordship, will be my pleasure,” gushed Mrs. Pettigrove.
The door rang with another series of urgent knocks. She shoved to her feet, then waddled to the door and unlocked it. She cracked it open two inches.
“Yvette,” Lord Sethwick took her hand in his, giving it a small squeeze, “all will be well . ”
Studying his intent gaze, she saw his sincerity, even as she recognized his eyes revealed something else, an intensity that sent her pulse skittering again.
“Will you trust me?”
His deep, soothing voice penetrated the fog encompassing her mind. Trust him? Not Likely. She didn’t know him. Casting a sideways glance at Mrs. Pettigrove at the chamber door, Yvette whispered, “I left my dagger under the pillow,” instead of answering his question.
Astonishment registered on his face. “Your dagger?”
“Yes,” nodded Yvette, casting Mrs. Pettigrove a wary glance, “under the pillow.”
“Eh, what’s that?” demanded Mrs. Pettigrove, her curious gaze swinging between them after she closed the door on Mr. Quimby.
Ewan flashed a smile at her. “Miss Stapleton left an article in my chamber.” He looked to Yvette. “I’ll see that it’s returned to you.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“Call me Ewan. After all, we’re betrothed,” he whispered, smiling mischievously.
Yvette’s turned her lips upward despite her misgivings. Lud, he was charming.
Raising her hand to his firm lips, his thumb caressed her palm. He placed a lingering kiss on her fingertips. The roughness of his unshaven face sent ripples of pleasure skipping across her flesh.
“Dress and wait for my return. Promise you won’t leave this room.”
“I promise, my lord.” She was unable to deny his request to stay in her chamber, yet hesitant to address him by his given name.
He chuckled and released her hand. “My name is Ewan.” Striding to the adjoining door, he gave her one last penetrating look, then left, closing the door behind him.
Miss Pettigrove pried her gaze from his closed door and turned her beady stare on Yvette. Pursing her mouth she asked, “Precisely how long have you and his lordship been affianced?”
Chapter 7
Less than three hours later, three hours in which Yvette repeatedly dodged Mrs. Pettigrove’s questions about her betrothal to Lord Sethwick, he rapped on their door.
Her emotions fluctuated between bewilderment and peckishness at both Mrs. Pettigrove’s snooping and his betrothal claim. How dare he assert they were betrothed, especially to a rumormonger like Mrs. Pettigrove? To be fair, he didn’t know she was loose-lipped, yet, he had created a fine bumblebroth with his
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