Home > Her Scottish Scoundrel (Diamonds in the Rough #7)(5)

Her Scottish Scoundrel (Diamonds in the Rough #7)(5)
Author: Sophie Barnes

As expected, his mouth dropped open. Caramel-colored eyes turned a darker shade of chocolate. The frown he’d been wearing since she’d suggested hiring him deepened. “What the devil do ye want me to do, lass? Kidnap someone and hold them hostage?”

“Don’t be silly.” She chuckled, dismissing his suggestion with a wave of her hand. Should she be concerned that this was where his mind had gone? She decided not to let it affect her. “What I need is much simpler than that. Less taxing too, I imagine.”

The pause that followed was so long it almost caused Charlotte to lose her nerve. Until he suddenly asked, “How so?”

She squared her shoulders and straightened her spine to hide her discomfort. “What I need is an escort who can ensure my safety.”

A smirk tugged at his lips, affording him with a roguish sort of charisma that did something odd to her insides. “Ye seem quite capable of protecting yerself.”

“Nevertheless, having a strong and capable man accompany me when I travel about the City would be the sensible thing to do.”

He studied her, allowing his gaze to sweep the length of her body with unabashed interest. “How long would ye need me for?”

“Oh.” Charlotte’s heart jolted. If he was asking her this, then he must be thinking of accepting her offer. The very idea sent a thrill through her veins. “I don’t know. What if I hire you on a monthly basis?”

He tilted his head, appeared to ponder the suggestion, and finally stuck out his hand. “Very well. Ye have yerself a new employee. When would ye like me to start?”

She clasped his hand while doing her best not to look too relieved. Warmth wrapped itself around her skin at his touch, forcing an almost inaudible gasp from her lips. Desperate to add some distance, Charlotte cleared her throat and promptly released his hand.

She took a step back. “Tomorrow. Shall we say ten o’clock at Number Two Berkley Square?”

“Indeed, Miss…”

“Russell.” She raised her chin. “And you are?”

“Mr. Blayne MacNeil.”

She forced herself to hold his gaze while allowing that piece of information to settle. Good lord, she’d heard of this man. He’d been Windham’s lieutenant before the duke had been domesticated. A strained smile stretched the muscles in her cheeks while she fought for composure. This was the man who’d be coming into her home tomorrow – the man she would have to introduce as her newly employed servant?

“A pleasure,” she said while doing her best not to wonder about the number of men he’d possibly tortured and killed over the years. No backing out now. She’d rather die than show him an ounce of fear or weakness. Instead, Charlotte turned and rushed out the door, eager to depart before she saw reason and ended their arrangement before it had even begun.

 

 

What the hell had he just agreed to?

Walking into Mayfair like a bloody idiot, that’s what.

Blayne stared at the door through which Miss Russell had vanished. Slight of build with glossy black hair peeking out from beneath the brim of her bonnet, a pair of piercing green eyes, and the prettiest mouth he’d ever seen, she’d been like a tiny package of dynamite, exhibiting the sort of authoritative command one might expect from a general.

Christ have mercy.

He swiped one hand across his brow. The only reason he’d even considered her offer was because the ridiculous sum of money she’d mentioned would let him start over somewhere else a lot quicker. But the truth was he should have turned her down. He would turn her down. Tomorrow, when he went to meet with her, he’d apologize, offer his deepest regrets, and leave before he got more involved with a woman he had no business associating with.

By God. Just the memory of her sweet fragrance when she’d leaned toward him was more than enough to make him wish he’d demanded something extra from her as payment. A kiss, perhaps? He shook his head. No, she would not have allowed such a thing anymore than she would an unwelcome touch to her thigh. Blayne’s hands clenched at the memory. He’d been prepared to intervene the moment he’d seen what was going on. Indeed, he’d had a brief vision of cutting off Mr. Evans’s hand so he’d never do something like that again, only to watch him flee seconds later as if he’d encountered a ghoul.

Damned if Blayne hadn’t been proud of Miss Russell for handling herself so well, even if her coming here to begin with had been remarkably foolish. This neighborhood wasn’t safe. Certainly not for an upper-class lady dripping with wealth and prestige. He’d have to have a word with her about that when he called on her. It was the least he could do to ease his own conscience before putting an end to their brief acquaintance.

“What the devil are you doing?”

Blayne started. “What?”

Claus, a much shorter and younger man whom Guthrie had hired a few years earlier and who now helped Blayne run The Black Swan, studied him with open curiosity. “You’ve been standing here staring at that door for the past five minutes.” A cheeky smile curved the edge of his lips. “Something to do with that fine piece of muslin you were cozying up to?”

“Bugger off,” Blayne muttered. He stepped around Claus and headed toward the back of the building. Surely some accounts needed settling – anything to distract him from the nightmare he was presently living. He’d have to deal with it tomorrow, but for now, he’d no desire to think of the reason why he couldn’t help Miss Russell.

“She’s quite pretty,” Claus said, following Blayne into the office. “And I was very impressed with how she handled Mr. Evans. Scared the hell out of him with that pistol of hers.”

“Ye saw that, did ye?” Blayne dropped into the armchair behind his desk and pretended indifference by busying himself with some of the papers he’d left there.

“Aye.” Claus folded his arms and leaned one shoulder against the doorjamb. “She’s a rare find, Blayne. If you don’t ask her to marry you, I surely will.”

Blayne snapped to attention. “What?”

Claus grinned. “Christ. She really made an impression on you, didn’t she?”

“Ye’ve got scrambled eggs for brains,” Blayne muttered. He found a ledger and opened it with a frown. “Now get out so I can get on with my work.”

“All right, all right.” Clause straightened. “No need to get your unmentionables in a twist.”

Without even thinking, Blayne snatched up an empty coffee cup and hurled it directly at Claus’s head. Claus caught the projectile with ease, his ensuing laughter so raucous it stayed in the air for a good while after he’d taken his leave.

“Idiot,” Blayne muttered, only to wonder if the word might not be better suited to himself when he glanced at the clock an hour later and realized he’d just been sitting there, unable to focus on his work because of the female who’d taken up residence in his head.

All the more reason to end their arrangement before it began in earnest. Today he’d been taken off guard, which was something he never allowed to happen. But damn if the feisty little vixen hadn’t convinced him to agree to something he would have walked away from right away if he’d been given a moment to think. Tomorrow he’d be more prepared because he’d know what to expect. And there was no way in hell he’d let her talk him into keeping the job he’d accepted.

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