Page 60 of For a Scot's Heart Only

“You look just like her,” Margaret said, a little melancholy. “At least what I remember.”

Between them, there was only oneherspoken of in wistful tones.

Their beautiful, adventurous mother.

Margaret’s eyes burned an emphatic blue. “But you are nothing like her.”

Mary breathed in, raw and bruised. Morning was still upon them, yet days, if not years, seemed to have flown by. Life had been moving forward, and in this moment she’d looked up and noticed how far behind she was.

A very grown up Margaret ambled to a cabinet and withdrew gray gloves from its drawer.

“You are going to have a wonderful day with Mr. West and not give a single thought to the league, the shop... to anything.”

Even the gold,she decided, nibbling her lower lip. The hunt wouldn’t begin until midnight, and this might be her only chance for a daytime frolic with Mr. West.

“Me, a woman of leisure,” Mary said. “I’m not sure I’ll know what to do with myself.”

“I’m sure Mr. West has a few ideas.” Margaret winked at her and handed her the gloves.

“I think you’ve spent too much time with Cecelia.”

Margaret laughed. “You say too much. I say not enough.”

Mary took her time donning her gloves.Why was aclandestine night with Mr. West perfectly acceptable? But cavorting with him in daylight, nerve-racking?

A nighttime assignation was secretive. Deceptive. Did that make a daytime interlude frighteningly honest?

Margaret linked arms with Mary and began steering her toward the curtain. “Let’s get you into the hack, shall we?”

There’d be no fighting this. Mary let her sister lead her out of the workroom. They passed through their crammed shop. Even White Cross Street was well trafficked. The hack was mere steps outside their door. A morning breeze riffled her hair before she climbed into it. They deserved this, she and Mr. West. Some fun, some lightness in their workaday lives. Looking at Margaret’s cheery face, she realized her dear little sister did too.

“Enjoy your week in Southwark,” Mary said.

“And you enjoy your day with Mr. West. The shop will be fine.” Margaret reached in and hugged her goodbye, whispering, “You’ve nothing to worry about.”

The hack door was shut and the driver nudged the horse into the bustle of White Cross Street. Margaret’s hand lifted in gentle farewell. Mary watched her sister grow smaller and smaller until she was no more.

Chapter Fifteen

Thomas paced All Hallows Wharf. The enamel face of his pocket watch read eleven o’clock, a mere two minutes later than when he’d last checked.Bloody little clock. He jammed it into his pocket.

Where is she?

Theshein question was the gray-eyed corset maker. The woman who’d kissed him senseless in a brothel, only to leave him aching and angry. A ruinous combination. Even his hand in his smalls last night couldn’t satisfy him. He’d leaned against the wall, thinking of their cataclysmic kiss. His release had been lackluster. A dull imitation. Only Miss Fletcher would do.

He would have her.

His mouth twisted wryly. Or she would have him.

The dark-haired siren had been very decided about what she’d wanted last night—except she left with another man.

Thomas scowled. In public, Miss Fletcher was all that was polite; and in private, she promised to be all that was wanton. Trouble was getting through all her layers.Bloody complex woman.He’d worn a pathon the wharf waiting for her when he should be in Southwark, preparing goods for tomorrow’s sale.

Miss Fletcher and her saucy kiss.

“Mr. West, sir. Do you know how much longer?” The question came from Mr. Winston, climbing the wharf stairs. “It’s the oarsmen, sir, sitting at the ready all this time.”

Thomas scanned the pleasure barge, an impressive design of the shallop class. A scarlet pennant trimmed in saffron whipped smartly above the ship’s tent. Oarsmen resplendent in scarlet livery waited, their backs as broad as a barn. Six men, spines straight, gripping twelve-foot oars, the paddles pointing skyward. Royal pleasure barges did the same when they waited for Princess Caroline.