Page 21 of For a Scot's Heart Only

Mr. Sloane spoke to the others, but he was all eyes for Cecelia.

“From the moment she threatened to shoot me in the arse, I knew she was the one for me. But she’s a willful woman, our Cecelia. She’ll marry me when she’s good and ready.”

Mary pinched a pleat in her petticoat. Cecelia and her tall barrister were a sight, fingers interlocked as if holding hands was second nature. As if they craved each other’s touch and couldn’t go another minute without it. The tableau was transcendent. The beauty painful to watch, like a painting of a bright and glorious land she’d never get to visit.

No, what passed between Cecelia and Mr. Sloane was more than love. It shimmered.

She had to look away.

The rest of the room did the same. Chins dipped and the floor was studiously examined. They bore witness to something sublime—something none of them had. But Cecelia... a mother. The first of the women in their league. What a surprise.

Motherhood.She couldn’t fathom it.

Eventually, the bed ropes creaked as though announcing the transfiguration ended and they should all get down to business. Mary quit her careful study of the vinegar bowl to find Cecelia sitting up and Mr. Sloane plumping a pillow behind her back.

“I can’t decide on a rushed wedding—very soon, of course,” Cecelia said. “Or do I confirm my reputation as a wicked woman, bear my child, and wed Alexander next spring?”

Aunt Flora splashed fresh tea into her cup. “That’s for you tae decide, dear. But one thing is certain. You canna be gadding about. Not in your condition.”

Aunt Maude got up and helped herself to a biscuit. “Our thinning numbers make searching for the gold a wee bit difficult.”

“While I’m all for recovering as much of the treasure as possible, we have a bigger problem to consider.” Cecelia paused, eyeing each woman. “The Countess of Denton.”

Collective groans followed the mention of that woman’s name.

“A pox on her.” Aunt Maude sank into a chair brought up from the kitchen. “She was brazen enough tae shoot Mr. MacLeod. She’ll be coming for us next.”

Rory MacLeod, another Highlander who came into their league by accident. The Countess of Denton had shot him in the back late at night on London Bridge. Why, exactly, no one could say. For a brief time he’d been her ladyship’sprivate footman, the title given to men she hired for a lusty connection.

“Lady Denton is still in Scotland, and she doesn’t know Mr. MacLeod survived,” Aunt Flora said, between sips of tea. “But I canna say I want tae keephunting for the gold, not with Cecelia with a bairn on the way.”

Cecelia set a protective hand on her midsection. “I’m afraid we have a narrow margin of time to decide our fate. The countess must return before month’s end because she’s selling one of her business concerns.”

Mary shifted in her chair. “Which one?”

“The Chelsea Porcelain Works. Nothing of import.”

“Then we have two or three weeks,” Mary said to the room. “For one last hunt.”

But faces were long. Chasing the gold had taken its toll.

“Ladies,” Mary implored the room. “We need the last of the treasure to purchase sheep. Remember? We did promise to replenish Clanranald MacDonald’s herds. Our final task.”

Aunt Maude bit into her biscuit and chewed fast. “But who will search for the gold with you?”

“I’ll go with her,” Margaret said brightly.

“Certainly not,” Mary shot back.

“I’m not a child, Mary. I know what happens in brothels.”

Her sister’sI know what happens in brothelsset her teeth on edge. “I’ll not ask how you’ve come by this knowledge, but you in a brothel is out of the question.”

Margaret eyed her, indignant. “But it’s perfectly acceptable for you?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But it’s what you meant.” Margaret sat taller. “Must I be a dull spinster like you before I get to do anything?”