Their Private Arrangement Read Free Page A

minds.
    Clasping her hands in front of her apron, she looked at Mr. Grant. “Is there anything else you will be requiring of me, sire?”
    Mr. Grant looked, as ever, quite different to his companion of the evening. He was a much wealthier man, for he worked for the crown, traveling about with several other men, collecting taxes for King George’s coffers. That meant that he was reviled by many, for King George was hated by the Scots, and no one liked to part with their coin at the best of times. Morag did not know much or even care about such things, for they were far beyond her experience. Folk took their work where they could, herself included. What she did know was Mr. Grant was a knowledgeable man and that he had fine clothes and dressed like a nobleman. He had been kindly to her, too.
    Tonight he was not wearing his frock coat, and his waistcoat was undone, his necktie abandoned. He still wore his powdered wig, however, as if he were recently out and about on his business. In contrast, Duggan wore knee breeches that were well worn, as were his shoes. His shirt was long and loose, hanging open across the chest. The disheveled appearance made him seem all the more attractive to her eyes, however, for he was a wild man.
    â€œBring another glass if you will, Morag.” Mr. Grant gestured at the cabinet and gave her an encouraging smile.
    Were they expecting company? Riddled with curiosity, Morag did as instructed. Mr. Grant poured wine into all three glasses, then lifted one and handed it to her. “Join us, if you will.”
    She was so startled it took her a moment to gather her senses before she reached out and took the glass from his hand. This was quite out of order, and she blushed to the roots of her hair, unsure how to respond. Her duties were limited to scrubbing, fetching and carrying, and occasionally attending any ladies who stopped there and needed help with their dresses.
    â€œThank you, sire.” She dropped another curtsy, and then glanced at Duggan. Like her, he was a worker, and she looked to him for guidance.
    Duggan still stood close to the door, with his feet placed widely and his arms folded across his chest. He looked across at her with an air of authority, as if he was the nobleman here, as if he was the one who held the power. How strange it was, and the immensity of it made her chest feel tight as a drum. It was as if the room had grown suddenly smaller and the air hot and heavy. There was a brooding expression in those eyes of Duggan’s and it made her falter. It was as if he was imagining what she might look like beneath her clothing. Damp heat built between her legs and beneath her breasts, and her stays felt suddenly tight and restrictive. She shifted from one foot to the other.
    Prowling like a tomcat, he made his way over and lifted a glass from the table. He concentrated on her, nodding at the glass in her hand. “Share a drink with us. Come now, don’t be afraid, you are among friends.”
    Following his lead, Morag took a mouthful of the wine. It tasted good and was potent stuff, and she tried not to gulp it. She noticed that Mr. Grant sipped from his glass while he smiled at the pair of them. He had kind eyes, and today they were bright with expectation.
    Duggan drained his glass and relieved her of hers once she had done the same. Taking her into his arms, he looked down at her intently. “The last time we spoke, you assured me that no man warmed your bed at the present time. Is that still the case?”
    Morag’s eyes rounded. “It is, but why speak of it now?”
    Duggan ran his finger along the top of her bodice. The other hand was firmly planted against her back, holding her in place. “Would you like a man to warm your bed?”
    There was mischief in his eyes, and Morag quickly sensed his intentions.
    He rested a kiss in her hair and then added, “To warm where you want it most of all, perhaps…between your