Read Online Patricia Rice by All a Woman Wants - Free Book Online Page A

London agent off on the
evening mail coach, shoved his hands in his pockets, and contemplated
the all-male camaraderie of Digby’s tavern.
    Light poured through the ancient mullioned windows,
and loud voices and laughter beckoned. The ex-butler had evidently found
some means of opening the most profitable part of the inn despite the
continuing renovation.
    Stopping in for a drink or two was infinitely
preferable to returning to a household of women and screaming children.
Perhaps someone at the inn could help in his search for a nursemaid who
was willing to travel.
    He had to do something soon. His London agent had
reported that the children’s father, Viscount Simmons, had come around
asking questions of Mac’s whereabouts. If the sot thought anything of
his children at all, it would be only a matter of time before he set the
authorities after him.
    The flames of the tavern fire licked up the chimney
as Mac stepped into the smoky room. Everyone turned to watch him enter,
but he had no problem with that. He was accustomed to the company of
men. They didn’t mind if he spoke gruffly or didn’t speak at all. They
didn’t expect flattery or flowers. He liked it that way.
    He greeted Digby, ordered an ale, and nodded
congenially at the bespectacled curate. The thatcher stopped by to
discuss further repairs, and another tankard or two later, someone had
introduced him to the brother of some lordling who had stopped in to
check on one of his smaller estates. He seemed a convivial sort, and
they raised another mug to the caprices of weather and crops and settled
into a deep discussion of how railroads and industry were the hope of
the future.
    Not until he heard the church bell toll eleven did
Mac realize how late it was. Miss Cavendish would be impatiently
awaiting his return. The children were no doubt turning the house into a
barn. Heaving a self-pitying sigh, he made his excuses and stepped into
the chilly mist, listing only slightly to starboard as he trod the lane
toward the court.
    He’d never thought to be burdened with the onerous
responsibility of children. If they weren’t Marilee’s, he’d be off for
the coast in the morning.
    Instead, he was stuck here in the mud of the distant
past. He glared at the candlelit windows of the mansion looming at the
end of the drive. No gaslights in this rural outpost. They didn’t even
have running water. No wonder she had a dozen servants. Half of them
must be required for pumping and hauling.
    His wayward thoughts leapt to imagining Miss
Beatrice Cavendish of Cavendish Court stepping into a steaming hip bath
scented with lilacs. He could almost see her creamy complexion heating
to a rosy glow in the lapping water. If he imagined those magnificent
breasts bobbing on the surface, he’d cripple himself. She might be
self-centered and ignorant, but Miss C was one fine figure of a woman.
    Mac looked up to see that fine figure flying toward
him. He might like to pretend she offered an eager welcome for his
return, but even through the pleasant haze of ale, he recognized the
onset of disaster. Trying not to stagger, he broke into a run, and
promptly tripped on a rut in the road.
    “You’re drunk!” Appalled, she halted as they met in the drive. “You stink of ale and smoke.”
    “I don’t get drunk,” he growled in protest. “And you smell of lilacs and talcum.”
    Momentarily taken aback, she raised a hand to her splendid bosom. “You, sir, are inebriated ,” she retorted. “And perfectly useless.”
    As she started to turn back, he caught her waist and
lifted her feet off the ground. “I, madam, am slightly tipsy but far
more useful than your London fribbles.”
    She screeched and grabbed his shoulders for balance as Mac swung her into his arms and placidly carried her up the drive. He liked having the physical ability to put her where he wanted her. And he
wanted her somewhere private, preferably supplied with a bed. Her
breasts