Read Online My Lady Below Stairs by Mia Marlowe - Free Book Online

filled quickly. Lady Sybil obviously didn't have many female friends, but she was undeniably popular with the men in attendance.
    Sybil's cunning embroidered slippers might have been all the crack for fashion, but Jane's feet ached by the time the musicians laid aside their bows for a short break. The quartet of matrons playing whist at a table in the corner gave her directions to the ladies' retiring room and she started toward one of the doors that led away from the ballroom. She hoped with her whole heart that real ladies were sensible enough to take off their pinching slippers for a good foot rub.
    She somehow doubted it
    But before she made good her escape, she noticed someone lounging by the doorway who made her forget she even possessed feet.
    He was leaning against the thick mahogany panels, his manner completely at ease. But his dark eyes watched her with the intensity of a cat before a mouse hole.
    His slim dark trousers, gray cutaway jacket, and waistcoat embroidered with silver threads looked like they'd leapt from a fashion plate. Barring the indifferently tied cravat tumbling from his high collar, he was as well turned out as the marquess himself.
    He smiled slowly at Jane. As she walked toward him, his crooked grin fisted her heart. She tamped down the flutter in her belly.
    “Ian Michael MacGarrett,” she hissed. “What do you think you're doing here?”
     
     

Chapter Eight
     
     
     
    “For a bright girl, Janie, ye're a bit daft this evening. It's plain as the nose on your face what I'm doing here. I'm looking at ye, of course.” Ian's hot gaze traveled down her form and back to meet her eyes again. “Ye're well worth looking at, lassie, all flushed and rosy. Ye should wear red all the time.”
    “Never mind that.” Her voiced rasped with irritation, even though his admiration sent a tingle spiraling into her belly. She stepped closer to him so no one would overhear them. Ian didn't smell of fresh stable straw now. A solid whiff of sandalwood emanated from his fine clothes, along with his own masculine scent. “How did you get that suit?”
    “Same way you got what you're wearing.” He folded his arms across his broad chest and leaned toward her to whisper, “I borrowed it.”
    “That much I figured,” she whispered back, so she had to move even closer. Or was he drawing her in? “From whom?”
    “Well, it was more trouble than I expected, I'll grant ye. I counted on being able to waylay one of these dandies hereabouts. These fancy gents make frequent trips out to the garden to smoke and... other things, but most of them are on the puny side and for the longest time I didn't see any whose clothes I thought I could fit into,” he said, clearly enjoying stringing out the tale. “Then I re membered that Lord Hartwell is a goodly-sized fellow—”
    “ Oh, Ian!” Jane's stomach turned a backflips. “Tell me you did not steal from the marquess.”
    “Borrow,” he corrected. “Borrow from the marquess.”
    “Borrow then, you stupid, big Scot.” Jane suppressed the desire to pound her fist on his chest beneath the messily tied cravat. That sort of violence might be frowned upon in polite society, though if any would dare flout society's rules, it would undoubtedly be Sybil. Jane struggled with the urge for another couple of heartbeats, then continued in a furious whisper. “Why would you do such a thing?”
    The musicians started a softly yearning tune in three-quarter time. Ian's eyes darkened as he looked at her.
    “Maybe I wanted to dance with ye, love.”
    His husky voice sent a shiver over her. Her heart pounded as if she'd run up three flights of stairs with an armload of washing. With infinite slowness, he slid a hand along the side of her waist, the silk of her gown rustling, almost purring, beneath his touch. Ian took her hand and the fight sizzled out of her.
    “Waltz with me, Jane.”
    She didn't speak. She didn't need to. Her body answered for her. Jane found herself