A Midsummer's Kiss (Farthingale Series Book 4) Read Free Page A

that sounded remarkably like two squirrels scrambling after the same acorn. She never realized her throat had the ability to make such an inane sound. “Well done again, sir. By Midsummer?” Titter, titter. “Why, that’s merely a month away.” She made those hideous squirrel sounds again. “What a jolly jester you are!”
    But Laurel knew by his steadfast green-eyed gaze that he was in earnest. Her heart sank into her toes. Please! No! Devlin wasn’t going to like this one bit. Nor was her family… she hoped. As for her family, she had the two smartest Farthingales at her side right now. Surely they’d think of something to rescue her from this scrape.
    Laurel leaned forward, eager to hear Lily’s thoughts as her young sister cleared her throat and prepared to spout her wisdom. Please, Lily, come up with an answer. But her sister’s mouth was agape and her big blue eyes were wide as saucers, which did not look promising at all. “You’ve really done it this time, Laurel. Whatever possessed you to give him your sacred promise? And we all heard you—”
    “Be quiet, Lily. What do you know of marriage proposals anyway?” Laurel winced at the pettiness in her own tone. Lily wasn’t the one who’d blundered her way into this predicament. “Sorry, Lily.” She turned to her uncle, whose shocked expression mirrored Lily’s.
    Oh, no. Not Uncle George, too? He was unflappable, the calm and brilliant Farthingale who always helped incompetent family members out of their misadventures.
    She gazed at him with pleading eyes.
    Her uncle sighed in resignation and shook his head. “This isn’t a matter to be discussed on the street. Let’s put off further conversation until you’ve both recovered from the scare.” He studied Lord Moray. “I’m afraid you’ll be in quite a bit of pain these next few days, my lord. You’ll need laudanum until the worst of it passes.”
    “So will Laurel, by the look of her,” Lily commented.
    “Be quiet, Lily,” she and her uncle said at the same time.
    Lily shrugged. “I was merely stating the obvious.”
    Dillie returned just then. “Eloise’s footmen will be along shortly.” She paused a moment to catch her breath and glance at all of them. “What’s going on? Have I missed something? Laurel, your complexion is as green as your riding habit.”
    “She’s getting married,” Lily said.
    “I am not!” Laurel dropped her hands to her sides and curled them into fists, wishing to beat sense into Lord Moray even though she’d already caused him enough harm. If only Brutus had knocked him unconscious! Their conversation would never have happened and he would not have asked her to marry him.
    In truth, he hadn’t asked.
    She had begged him. Anything. Anything, my lord. Ooh, please! I give you my sacred promise!
    And the cur had taken her up on it!
    Said cur now leaned on his elbows and turned toward her, his every movement causing him obvious agony. “Does your oath mean so little, lass?”
    “Of course not! I keep to my word, but I… you… it isn’t possible.” A gentle breeze blew through her curls, but the light wind ruffling her hair and brushing against her hot cheeks did little to calm her down. Nothing would calm her down until that big Scottish oaf released her from her promise. And if he thought he’d just won himself a biddable wife, he’d have a big surprise coming.
    “She gave Lord Moray her sacred promise,” Lily added, “so there’s no going back on it without risking eternal—”
    “Hot, buttered crumpets!” Dillie gasped. “And I missed all that?”
    “You didn’t miss anything.” Laurel gritted her teeth. “It’s all been a silly misunderstanding. I’m not about to give up my life and happiness over a broken leg that will heal in a couple of days.”
    Lily shook her head. “It’ll take far longer than that. And you ought to be grateful that Brutus only managed to shatter his lower leg, the tibia and fibula.”
    Laurel winced.