Page 28 of A Scot Is Not Enough

He beamed. “Then it was worth every shilling.”

Silly hominess strummed her senses when she hung her cloak on the hook beside his greatcoat. She smoothed damp palms down modest panniers and faced him. Their evening together felt inevitable, the outcome not. Mr. Sloane waited, his left hand gripping the opening of his coat. A habit, she supposed. She’d seen other barristers do the same.

“We are beyond the formal bow and curtsey, aren’t we, Miss MacDonald?”

“Indeed, we are.”

Light sparked in his eyes, an invitation to explore new boundaries, and not all of them polite. Her pulse nipped faster.

The league’s business... she was here for the league’s business.

The possibility of fun—or whatever might happen—had never hampered her spirit. Why start now? With the door closed, it was just the two of them. Control could go either way, and she preferred it be hers, though it was obvious Mr. Sloane wanted the same. His smile was a dangerous slash of white in a dark room, which, if she was not mistaken, was intentionally unlit. The door to a small bedchamber was open.The bed was made, the window’s curtains open, and light from outside flushed the counterpane with a decent glow. It would be exciting to do indecent things on it.

A rush of feminine power flooded her. Mr. Sloane had invited her here: it didn’t mean she had to concede all authority.

She took languorous, hip-swaying strides forward. In the rough-scrabble world of London, confidence was her greatest asset. Better than beauty, more solid than transient money. Self-assurance was the gift she gave herself. Armed with it, she sauntered up to Mr. Sloane and drew a slow circle around a mother-of-pearl waistcoat button on his chest.

“Your note mentioned that you have something for me?”

A brow arched. “You do get right to the point, don’t you?”

“We could waste time on the preliminaries, Mr. Sloane, but I’ve found directness a more delightful alternative.”

Darkness carved hollows in his face.

“Candor, Miss MacDonald. A fine quality,” he said smooth and low. “Are there other aspects you’d like to mention?”

Tightness twisted in her chest. “My qualities?”

“Anything to do with... business?”

She stopped her bold circle on his button.

That slight pause in his question—heknewsomething.

The clever barrister had done some digging. His eyes searched her as if he wanted her to spill everything. Her secrets, her past, her plans for the future.Her heart thumped with new speed. It was the same rapid beat which throbbed in her when she stood on a ledge above the loch at home, the day she’d learned to swim. There was no safe wading in from the shore. The dare to jump and the fear that came with it was as sharp and invigorating then as now.

She willed strength into her voice. “I believe I demonstrated astonishing candor last night.”

“You did—to a point.”

“It would be unwise for me to reveal all, sir.” She pushed his button, a tender warning. “As a barrister, you should understand that.”

“I can only be of service when I know all the facts.”

She huffed softly, her hand falling to her side. He smelled of soap and seduction and of skin that wanted touching. Even his ears were kissable and attractive.

“Then let’s begin with this: my terms have changed.”

He grunted. “Have they?”

She breathed the ease at having trumped him. He gestured to the high-back settle tucked next to the fire.

“Perhaps we should discuss these new terms of yours more comfortably.”

She ambled past him and took a seat in the plain, slatted chair.

“Would you like a drink?” he asked. “I have wine, sherry—”