Read Online Moonlight on My Mind by Jennifer McQuiston - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jennifer McQuiston
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peeking over her shoulder. Patrick was staring at her, an unreadable expression on his face.
The good vicar, however, was glowering. “Miss Baxter, wasn’t it? You certainly seem at home here, for someone who is merely visiting a spell.”
“Jul— that is, Miss Baxter is not staying,” Patrick said quickly. “I had planned to deliver her to the Blue Gander so she can take a room for the night.”
Ramsey smiled nastily. “It is clear she has assisted you with something here this afternoon, Mr. Channing, and I’ll wager it’s something more than surgery. Although I suppose the Gander is as good a place as any for a tryst. It’s a veritable den of iniquity.”
Julianne had heard enough. She slammed the cupboard door shut and conjured the frosty Society miss she kept bottled for special occasions. “There has been no seduction, Reverend, no matter your slavering imagination on the topic.”
Patrick took a step toward her. “Miss Baxter—”
Julianne dismissed him with a sharp wave of her hand. “I shall forgive you for not knowing that this man is the new Earl of Haversham, given that the news has not yet reached Moraig. However, from this point on, you will address him as my lord, as is his due.”
The vicar began to sputter.
“Julianne—” Patrick said, more sharply this time.
“And next time you choose to question my virtue, you might consider averting your eyes. I am sure the good Lord would not wish you to risk permanent damage to your vision.”
The vicar’s face turned a frightening shade of red she had only ever seen in overripe berries. He looked from Julianne, to Patrick, back to Julianne again. And then he stormed out of the kitchen, leaving the dog to its admittedly brighter fate.
Patrick exhaled loudly as the bang of the front door echoed faintly from the front of the house. His gaze settled awkwardly on her mouth, which had the unexpected—and unwelcome—effect of making her skin flush warm, no matter the travesty of her cold, wet bodice. “You’ve quite the tongue on you, Julianne.”
She bit back a smile at his automatic use of her first name. “A consequence of my education at the hands of the ton , I’m afraid. That man is a bully.”
He nodded slowly. “Aye. He is that. But I’m afraid Reverend Ramsey also holds the ear of every rumormonger in town.”
She tucked an errant curl behind one ear, wincing as she realized exactly how much of her hair was springing free. She probably did look as if she had just tumbled out of bed. Still, she doubted Reverend Ramsey held quite as much sway in the town as Patrick credited him. “Honestly, the man is a lecher. And if you’ve been able to hide in plain sight for eleven months, it suggests the information flow in Moraig is predominantly circular.”
“Still, I suspect everyone here will know of this by morning.”
Julianne smiled tightly. Even should the information leak forth, she could not imagine it reaching London. “How fortuitous, then, that we shall not be here come morning.”
His lips tipped downward. “Oh?”
She nodded. “We’ll be on the coach to Inverness, and then on to Summersby.”
Patrick’s eyes probed hers, suddenly cold for all their rich brown color. “I’ve agreed to nothing of the sort, and well you know it.”
Julianne looked away first and smoothed an uncomfortable hand over the front of her ruined bodice. No, blast the man. He’d not agreed to it. Not yet.
And that had her very, very worried.
Chapter 5
P atrick left Julianne at the Blue Gander in the hands of the innkeeper whose eyes had brightened at the arrival of a moneyed guest from London, even one wearing a filthy, wet dress. Guilt trailed him for depositing her there, but he told himself he wasn’t abandoning her. For Christ’s sake, she’d traipsed across the entirety of Scotland without a chaperone. She could survive a bloody night on the Blue Gander’s sheets.
At least here she’d find servants to order about. Indeed, as
The good vicar, however, was glowering. “Miss Baxter, wasn’t it? You certainly seem at home here, for someone who is merely visiting a spell.”
“Jul— that is, Miss Baxter is not staying,” Patrick said quickly. “I had planned to deliver her to the Blue Gander so she can take a room for the night.”
Ramsey smiled nastily. “It is clear she has assisted you with something here this afternoon, Mr. Channing, and I’ll wager it’s something more than surgery. Although I suppose the Gander is as good a place as any for a tryst. It’s a veritable den of iniquity.”
Julianne had heard enough. She slammed the cupboard door shut and conjured the frosty Society miss she kept bottled for special occasions. “There has been no seduction, Reverend, no matter your slavering imagination on the topic.”
Patrick took a step toward her. “Miss Baxter—”
Julianne dismissed him with a sharp wave of her hand. “I shall forgive you for not knowing that this man is the new Earl of Haversham, given that the news has not yet reached Moraig. However, from this point on, you will address him as my lord, as is his due.”
The vicar began to sputter.
“Julianne—” Patrick said, more sharply this time.
“And next time you choose to question my virtue, you might consider averting your eyes. I am sure the good Lord would not wish you to risk permanent damage to your vision.”
The vicar’s face turned a frightening shade of red she had only ever seen in overripe berries. He looked from Julianne, to Patrick, back to Julianne again. And then he stormed out of the kitchen, leaving the dog to its admittedly brighter fate.
Patrick exhaled loudly as the bang of the front door echoed faintly from the front of the house. His gaze settled awkwardly on her mouth, which had the unexpected—and unwelcome—effect of making her skin flush warm, no matter the travesty of her cold, wet bodice. “You’ve quite the tongue on you, Julianne.”
She bit back a smile at his automatic use of her first name. “A consequence of my education at the hands of the ton , I’m afraid. That man is a bully.”
He nodded slowly. “Aye. He is that. But I’m afraid Reverend Ramsey also holds the ear of every rumormonger in town.”
She tucked an errant curl behind one ear, wincing as she realized exactly how much of her hair was springing free. She probably did look as if she had just tumbled out of bed. Still, she doubted Reverend Ramsey held quite as much sway in the town as Patrick credited him. “Honestly, the man is a lecher. And if you’ve been able to hide in plain sight for eleven months, it suggests the information flow in Moraig is predominantly circular.”
“Still, I suspect everyone here will know of this by morning.”
Julianne smiled tightly. Even should the information leak forth, she could not imagine it reaching London. “How fortuitous, then, that we shall not be here come morning.”
His lips tipped downward. “Oh?”
She nodded. “We’ll be on the coach to Inverness, and then on to Summersby.”
Patrick’s eyes probed hers, suddenly cold for all their rich brown color. “I’ve agreed to nothing of the sort, and well you know it.”
Julianne looked away first and smoothed an uncomfortable hand over the front of her ruined bodice. No, blast the man. He’d not agreed to it. Not yet.
And that had her very, very worried.
Chapter 5
P atrick left Julianne at the Blue Gander in the hands of the innkeeper whose eyes had brightened at the arrival of a moneyed guest from London, even one wearing a filthy, wet dress. Guilt trailed him for depositing her there, but he told himself he wasn’t abandoning her. For Christ’s sake, she’d traipsed across the entirety of Scotland without a chaperone. She could survive a bloody night on the Blue Gander’s sheets.
At least here she’d find servants to order about. Indeed, as
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