Page 25 of For a Scot's Heart Only

“Still, I cannot accept what you’re suggesting. The war...” She swallowed hard. “The war was enough.”

Cecelia reached for Mary’s hand, her fingertips light and reassuring. “Ours has not been an easy life. Just look at the bruises on your wrist.”

This time Mary didn’t bother to cover them. “Time for my confessional?”

Cecelia’s warm hand retreated.

“Tell me how you got them. Anddo notedit your tale.”

The bed creaked, the fire crackled, and the silence crawled. Just how much would she tell? Her unchaste confessional to a certain scarred hero came to mind. What a saucebox she’d been. She’d not sharethat.

“You’ll be pleased to know,” she began, “last night taught me that I am not as skilled as you at subterfuge.”

“Learned that, did you?”

Mary’s place had always been a supportive role in their league. Arranging for a dray to haul barrels ofgold, waiting in the shadows dressed as a man to hide the barrels, and later melting those gold coins little by little behind her shop’s workroom. Common, needful duties done patiently, efficiently, in the background, as was her way.

“Don’t let my fine praise go to your head,” Mary said. “You failed to mention the distinction between masked and unmasked women at Maison Bedwell.”

“But you managed all the same.”

“I did.”

Cecelia flopped back against her mound of pillows. “What’s your plan for returning to Bedwell’s? Will you play the masked spinster seeking adventure?”

“I was thinking about renting a room in Maison Bedwell.”

Cecelia’s eyes rounded.

“You, renting a room for an assignation? My, how far you’ve fallen, Miss Fletcher.”

She touched her lips as if to hide her smile. “It does feel wanton.”

“Because it is, but a sound idea all the same.”

“I’ll have to use the last of our French livres. A purse full... that’s what’s left of our league funds.”

Cecelia’s mouth curved a knowing smile. Pale blond wisps fell around her cheeks, carefree and girlish on the worldly Scotswoman.

“The more interesting question is do you plan to use the room?”

“As a meeting place only.”

“Well, I’m sure Mr. MacLeod—”

“Stop,” Mary said firmly. “Our priority is to find the gold, and oh, by the way, decide what to do about a bloodthirsty countess.”

Which sounded overly prim to her ears.

“Silly of me to consider pleasures of the flesh at a time like this.” Cecelia spoke in such even tones it was clear she didn’t think it silly at all. “Though I can’t countenance why you’re so determined to hunt down the last of the gold.”

“Because we should leave no stone unturned.”

Cecelia wasn’t sold on the explanation. The blonde drummed her fingers on the pillowy counterpane with the softesttaptaptapuntil she closed the conversational gap.

“Tell me how you came by those bruises.”

Mary glanced down, relieved. Anything to steer Cecelia away from talking about rented rooms and lust-fueled assignations.