Read Online Rogue with a Brogue by Suzanne Enoch - Free Book Online Page B

Lord Delaveer could sit beside her. At least he wasn’t trying to match her with Charles. She certainly didn’t view Roderick … romantically, but at least she didn’t feel the need to bathe after speaking with him. In fact, she didn’t feel much of anything. Was that because she’d only seen him as part of the pack of potential beaux? If she set her mind to it, could Roderick stir her pulse as … Oh. No, no, no. That … No. She wasn’t smitten with Arran MacLawry. That feeling was only nerves, because she wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near him.
    Roderick took the vacant seat beside her, and she jumped. “Good evening, Mary, Miss Elizabeth.”
    â€œHello, Lord Delaveer,” Elizabeth returned, smiling. “I didn’t know you enjoyed Shakespeare.”
    â€œI enjoy the company.”
    â€œI enjoy Shakespeare,” Charles put in from directly behind Mary. “Especially the tragedies.”
    The light, mostly absent brogue in his voice annoyed her. Previously she was certain she’d barely even noted it, but tonight it sounded as though he couldn’t decide whether he was English or Scottish. “What an odd thing to say,” she returned.
    Perhaps that accent indecision was what made her hesitate about Roderick, as well; wherever she lived, she felt like a Highlander down to her toes. Arran, even if he hadn’t had a deep, delicious brogue, could never be mistaken for anything but a hot-blooded, fearless Highlander. There was nothing mild or hesitant about him. On the other hand, Roderick had likely never unsettled a butterfly. And Charles probably pulled off their wings.
    Charles furrowed his narrow brows. “How so?”
    â€œSaying you prefer the tragedies is the same as saying you prefer death and murder and betrayal to love and happiness.”
    â€œPerhaps it’s merely that I find the tragedies more realistic.” He sank back in his seat, turning his gaze not toward the stage, but in the direction of the boxes at the far side of the theater. “You waltzed with Arran MacLawry.”
    Her first thought was to tell Charles that who she danced with was none of his business. It wasn’t really, but her cousin had already had several run-ins with Lord Glengask this Season, before the truce. And she had no intention of ruining that days-old truce by saying something flippant. “We were both wearing fox masks, and he had no idea who I was. I wasn’t going to cause a scene.”
    â€œDon’t dance with him again.”
    Mary took a breath and held it until she could hear the beat of her heart. “I don’t know why I would,” she returned. “Out of curiosity, though, are we not at peace with the MacLawrys?”
    â€œWe’re not killing them. That’s a pause in battle. Not peace.”
    She was still debating how to respond to that when Roderick chuckled. “Don’t mind your cousin, Lady Mary. I enjoy peace. It provides some surprising—and welcome—opportunities.”
    â€œAye,” Charles countered, his voice lower and flatter. “Whereas war favors other individuals.”
    Now that was interesting. And disturbing. Was Charles Calder so against this truce with the MacLawrys because of what her father had mentioned—that the MacAllisters would help bolster their ranks, but they didn’t wish to be pulled into a conflict? Because if the Campbells and MacLawrys drew blood again Charles would be the one the clan wanted her to marry? A shiver ran down her spine.
    So she seemed to be doomed either way, truce or not, and it was only a narrow window that made her groom Roderick rather than Charles. Who, though, was pushing her and Roderick together? Her father, or her grandfather? The Campbell himself seemed a more likely force, as he was the one who’d agreed to the truce. Which meant, she supposed, that she had another reason to be grateful to her