Highland Awakening Read Free Page B

along, dear. Let’s go to my private sitting room. I’ll order some tea, and we can talk.”
    She allowed Mrs. Trickelbank to lead her out the door. But she couldn’t resist casting a quick glance over her shoulder.
    Mr. McLeod was gazing at her, those piercing blue eyes offering both a promise and a threat:
This isn’t over.
    “Goodbye, Esme,” he said softly, and Mrs. Trickelbank closed the door.
    She would never see him again, she reassured herself.
    That should have been a relief. So why wasn’t it?

Chapter 3
    Esme woke late the next morning—well, “early afternoon” would be more accurate. She hadn’t arrived home until after four o’clock in the morning, but no one in Trent House was aware of that. As far as the household knew, Esme had been dreaming away in her bed since ten o’clock the night before.
    Her brother and sister-in-law never said so outright, but Esme was certain they thought she was lazy. Esme wished she could tell them the truth about what she did—if she wasn’t off researching in secret late at night, she was penning her stories. But that would only lead to more shame on her family’s part—they’d been shamed more than enough in the past few years—and ultimate heartbreak for her. Her brother would want her to stop writing, and Esme wouldn’t risk that, because she
couldn’t
stop writing.
    No doubt damaging her reputation with her family even more, Esme remained in her room for another two hours, writing and daydreaming, before she rang for her maid to help her prepare for the day.
    As she waited for Polly, she rested her chin in her palms and gazed at the wall.
    Last night had been…
inspiring
.
    No, it had been more than that. She couldn’t stop thinking about the wicked, handsome Scot. Lord, how she wanted to see him again. But that was unlikely. She did plan to visit Mrs. Trickelbank’s establishment again next week to complete her research, but it was doubtful he’d be there. Although it
was
possible…
    He was so different from her kind and gentle brothers. He was forceful and commanding. He was the kind of man who knew exactly what he wanted, and he went after it with single-minded intent.
    And last night, he’d wanted
her.
She’d felt his desire for her shimmering around them both. He’d wanted shy, stuttering Esme, the shamed, awkward spinster who could never say anything appropriate for the moment. He’d wanted her even while she wore a dull brown cloak and with her messy braid lying loose down her back.
    The man knew nothing of Lady Esme Hawkins, who wore silks and furs and glittering jewels and whose brother was the Duke of Trent, one of the most influential men in England.
    She’d have to be that Esme tonight, unfortunately. Trent was hosting a grand dinner party—he’d invited twenty people, mostly prominent politicians and their wives. It was going to be excruciating. It was going to take everything Esme had not to embarrass her brother and his wife, Sarah.
    Sighing, she dropped her arms and glanced down at the open page of her notebook. Today would be a busy day, and she’d already spent most of it locked up in her room.
    He gazed down at her, his eyes such a piercing, light blue, they reminded her of ice reflecting a clear winter’s sky…
    She stared at the line, her mouth dropping open. She’d written her hero, the Duke of Rockwell, to have brown eyes. When she’d been writing this morning, she hadn’t been imagining Rockwell at all but a certain blue-eyed Scottish rogue who’d held her in his arms last night…
    Her maid knocked softly on her door, and Esme slammed the notebook shut, vowing to fix the mistake later. She had to push all thoughts of Mr. McLeod—and Rockwell—out of her mind, for now. Those two men belonged in her secret life, which never overlapped with her real life as the youngest sibling of the House of Trent.
    —
    An hour later, dressed in a white muslin day dress, Esme entered the drawing room, where she found her