side table, then walked to the door that connected the parlor to a study. With a quick tug of the handle, he swung the door open. Gregory and Michael tumbled in from the other room, a stumbling mass of arms and legs. Connor took hold of the older man and let Michael fend for himself.
Michael caught himself on the windowsill, narrowly avoiding rapping his head against the glass pane. “Damn it, boy. Might give a man warning.”
“A man might have better things to do than eavesdrop like an old hen.” Connor let go of Gregory and held the pistols out. “Take these. Follow her back.”
No one with a pair of eyes and an ounce of sense would mistake them for a pair of highwaymen. But two finer shots were not to be found in all of Scotland.
“No call for being short,” Michael grumbled.
“Were you thinking we’d have let our lass walk home alone? On our way out the study door, we were.” Gregory shook his head and took off across the room.
Michael caught up to him, grumbling. “First he’s gone soft, now he’s touchy as a teething babe.”
“Sure and he is, on account of being sorry for bungling this business with the lass.”
Connor rolled his eyes—teething babe, indeed—and resumed his seat as the front door opened and closed. Despite the belated apology to Adelaide, he wasn’t all that sorry. He regretted she’d been hurt, but a compromising was a small slight compared to what she would have to contend with in a marriage to Sir Robert.
In this case, the end justified the means. Even when the means involved infuriating Adelaide. In fact, he’d rather liked infuriating Adelaide. She was magnificent in her anger, an absolute pleasure to watch as those soft brown eyes turned molten with fury.
Connor rolled a knot out of his shoulders. It was possible he’d enjoyed the sight a hair too much. He hadn’t intended to, but it had pricked at him to hear her make excuses for Sir Robert while she berated him. Even worse had been seeing the line of strain across her brow when he’d opened the door.
And so he’d poked at her for his own pleasure and because it was easier to see her anger than her fear. Undoubtedly, it would have been easier in the short term if he had soothed her temper with honeyed words.
There were a thousand easy lies that may, or may not, have served to appease her now . . . but would most certainly have enraged her later.
Adelaide was generous, and far too trusting for her own good, but she wasn’t a fool. She might succumb to fine speeches and false flattery for a moment, but only for a moment. In the end, she was a woman who preferred an ugly reality to an attractive lie.
Let Sir Robert fill her ears with saccharine venom and see what good it did him. For that matter, let Sir Robert fill her ears with the truth and see what good that did him. It bloody well didn’t matter what Sir Robert said now. After she spoke with her brother, the matter would be settled. Adelaide would become Mrs. Connor Brice.
She would be his. At last.
Suddenly restless, Connor rose and wandered into the study. There was a small wooden carving sitting on the desk—the perfect likeness of Adelaide as he’d known her through the bars of his cell window, with a child in her arms and the light of determination and courage on her face. Gregory had fashioned it out of oak with a small knife he’d paid a guard to smuggle in. Gregory had made a good half dozen carvings in prison and passed them off to Freddie to sell with the pretense that they’d needed the money. In truth, Gregory had been taken with Freddie and liked listening to the pretty lass exclaim over his skill.
So Freddie had sold the carving in the nearby village of Enscrum, and Connor had paid a guard to bring it back, with an extra coin to be certain the pretty lass remained none the wiser. In truth, they’d all been a little taken with Freddie.
Connor picked the carving up and turned it over in his hands. “Taken” did not begin to describe
Michael caught himself on the windowsill, narrowly avoiding rapping his head against the glass pane. “Damn it, boy. Might give a man warning.”
“A man might have better things to do than eavesdrop like an old hen.” Connor let go of Gregory and held the pistols out. “Take these. Follow her back.”
No one with a pair of eyes and an ounce of sense would mistake them for a pair of highwaymen. But two finer shots were not to be found in all of Scotland.
“No call for being short,” Michael grumbled.
“Were you thinking we’d have let our lass walk home alone? On our way out the study door, we were.” Gregory shook his head and took off across the room.
Michael caught up to him, grumbling. “First he’s gone soft, now he’s touchy as a teething babe.”
“Sure and he is, on account of being sorry for bungling this business with the lass.”
Connor rolled his eyes—teething babe, indeed—and resumed his seat as the front door opened and closed. Despite the belated apology to Adelaide, he wasn’t all that sorry. He regretted she’d been hurt, but a compromising was a small slight compared to what she would have to contend with in a marriage to Sir Robert.
In this case, the end justified the means. Even when the means involved infuriating Adelaide. In fact, he’d rather liked infuriating Adelaide. She was magnificent in her anger, an absolute pleasure to watch as those soft brown eyes turned molten with fury.
Connor rolled a knot out of his shoulders. It was possible he’d enjoyed the sight a hair too much. He hadn’t intended to, but it had pricked at him to hear her make excuses for Sir Robert while she berated him. Even worse had been seeing the line of strain across her brow when he’d opened the door.
And so he’d poked at her for his own pleasure and because it was easier to see her anger than her fear. Undoubtedly, it would have been easier in the short term if he had soothed her temper with honeyed words.
There were a thousand easy lies that may, or may not, have served to appease her now . . . but would most certainly have enraged her later.
Adelaide was generous, and far too trusting for her own good, but she wasn’t a fool. She might succumb to fine speeches and false flattery for a moment, but only for a moment. In the end, she was a woman who preferred an ugly reality to an attractive lie.
Let Sir Robert fill her ears with saccharine venom and see what good it did him. For that matter, let Sir Robert fill her ears with the truth and see what good that did him. It bloody well didn’t matter what Sir Robert said now. After she spoke with her brother, the matter would be settled. Adelaide would become Mrs. Connor Brice.
She would be his. At last.
Suddenly restless, Connor rose and wandered into the study. There was a small wooden carving sitting on the desk—the perfect likeness of Adelaide as he’d known her through the bars of his cell window, with a child in her arms and the light of determination and courage on her face. Gregory had fashioned it out of oak with a small knife he’d paid a guard to smuggle in. Gregory had made a good half dozen carvings in prison and passed them off to Freddie to sell with the pretense that they’d needed the money. In truth, Gregory had been taken with Freddie and liked listening to the pretty lass exclaim over his skill.
So Freddie had sold the carving in the nearby village of Enscrum, and Connor had paid a guard to bring it back, with an extra coin to be certain the pretty lass remained none the wiser. In truth, they’d all been a little taken with Freddie.
Connor picked the carving up and turned it over in his hands. “Taken” did not begin to describe
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