Page 58 of A Scot Is Not Enough

“If I couldn’t get tickets to Swynford House, would you still enjoy the pleasure of my company?”

His question slammed her.

“As in, choosing me,” he added with emphasis.

The world spun oddly. She was glad for the plank’s solid support.

“I—I cannot let entanglements distract me.”

His eyes narrowed a fraction. “Interesting. You bear a striking resemblance to a woman who told me entanglements don’t get in the way. Emotions do.”

She raised her tankard in salute. “If we were playing chess, I’d say check.”

“Not checkmate?”

“No.”

Arguments about the wrongness of them together bubbled up. She’d already told him too much. Her hunter needed a gentle setdown, one she’d give except a man in black positioned himself at the end of the bar.

His dark holes-for-eyes watched her.

Mr. Wortley! The Countess of Denton’s chief cutthroat.

Icy sweat pricked her skin. She was in Southwark the first time she laid eyes on him. She’d hid in an alley after hearing him ask about Anne and Will. Warehousemen later told her Wortley and his men had meticulously searched the partially burnt Neville Warehouse with Lady Denton.

And here he was under the same tent.

She stared, unable to look away.

Wortley touched the brim of his tricorn, a cold smile cracking his visage. Revulsion swamped her, the sensation akin to being trapped in a room rapidly filling with water.

Mr. Sloane’s back was to the man, his attention on something behind her. Hands jittery, she turned.How to get away?The countess’s rabid dog had to know where she lived. He was here to scare her. It worked. She squeezed her tankard until her knuckles whitened.

Wortley wouldn’t try anything, not midday at Artillery Ground.

But, he would come nightfall.

She swallowed hard. An appeal to Mr. Sloane was on the tip of her tongue, except a peculiar expression was on his face. Shock, disbelief, dismay. A Mermaid Brewery barrel was stacked high on another. Daylight showed a brand on the barrel’s belly.

Mr. Sloane squinted at it. “The mermaid on that barrel... is that... you?”

Chapter Fifteen

Miss MacDonald was a vision in turquoise, the bodice dipping low. Between a heart-shaped patch on rouged cheeks and red-paste earbobs dangling from lobes he’d like to suckle, there was much to distract. All a fair excuse for missing the obvious.

The mythical woman branded on Mermaid Brewery barrels bore a striking resemblance to the goddess of Swan Lane.

The same flowing locks he’d seen when her hair was down. The same side smirk, wide eyes, and pert nose. The only feature he couldn’t definitively match was her bosom. The mermaid burned into the barrel boasted two small breasts. Crescents with a dot above them.

His gaze dipped from the mermaid to Miss MacDonald’s bodice and back to the mermaid.Bloody hell!Her breasts were on display for everyone.

“I am a partner in the brewery,” was her blunt explanation.

Anger, hot and thick, flooded him.

Miss MacDonald’s blinking gaze shifted to the endof the bar. “It was a chance to put my stamp on the business.”

“Doesn’t every woman of business do the same?”