Page 35 of Hit Me With Your Best Scot
“My, youarefeeling daring.” Clucking her tongue, Flora fetched the bright ginger bob while Persephone began pinning up her own hair.
She wouldn’t say she felt daring as much as she feltawake. Energized. Ready to push for her interpretation of Lady Macbeth’s desperate fear of being ordinary, ratherthan Charlie’s insistence that the lady was simply an ambitious witch.
And this feeling was, of course, merely a result of her finding her way to the character. It had nothing to do with the Highlander who’d given her excited shivers yesterday, and who’d reminded her that being touched could be very pleasurable, indeed.
“Gregory paid four pence for eggs and bread this morning, and he’s made something of them that had my mouth watering earlier, I don’t mind telling you,” Flora said, kneeling to help Persephone step into her pretty blue walking shoes.
“You might have said that earlier. I am famished.”
“I would have, but I was too busy hearing about you going fishing. Now go on with you; I’ll finish tidying up here.”
Persephone regarded herself for a moment in the dressing table mirror. Short, curling red hair, blue eyes, a pert nose, a slightly wide mouth that made it easier for her to show her faux emotions onstage, a few laugh lines around her eyes that would soon make the idea of her playing a character as young as Juliet Capulet ridiculous. For now, she could still manage it, and she did look several years younger than her twenty-eight years.
Soon, though, she would be playing mothers and hags and grandmothers, maids or nannies—whatever Charlie saw fit to put in front of her. She sighed, standing. Hopefully by then she would have enough money saved that she could gracefully retire and purchase a small cottage out in Dover or somewhere and spend the remainder of her days gardening.
Men—a husband—didn’t enter into the equation, of course, because she wouldn’t be marrying. Not to a lord, and not to a baker or a butcher or a candlestick maker. She would give of her body when and where she chose, andkeep her independence for herself. God knew she’d paid enough for it.
She made her way downstairs, guided by the scent of toast and eggs. A bit of dallying here and there probably wasn’t wise, especially with someone as compelling as Coll MacTaggert, but for goodness’ sake it had been enjoyable. She meant to enjoy him again, if the opportunity arose.
A more intelligent woman probably wouldn’t have given him her address, but he’d made a good point about being unable to carry out his end of their bargain if he didn’t even know where to find her. In addition, part of her liked the idea of a gentleman coming to call at her front door. Even if he’d never make it past the foyer, because even if he somehow managed to charm Gregory and Flora, Hades would be her clawed conscience and boot him out again.
Halfway through breakfast, the knocker banged at her front door. In a sudden flutter of nerves, she dropped her fork and had to work to keep herself from hurrying into the hallway. Perhaps she’d been celibate for too long. “I assume that will be Lord Glendarril,” she said aloud to Gregory. “If a large Scotsman is indeed at the door, please allow him in, but keep him in the foyer. I give you leave to be annoyed by him, if you choose. Charming you is one of the tasks I put to him.”
“Most people annoy me, Miss Persie. It comes natural to them,” he returned with a faint grin, and clicked his heels together before he left the dining room.
As she listened for any raised voices, she deliberately finished her breakfast and her morning cup of tea. Whatever might be roiling about in her mind, she had a long day of rehearsals ahead of her, and that needed to be her first priority. Her only priority, really. Lord Glendarril—Coll—was a distraction. A pleasant one, but a distraction nonetheless.
The dining room door opened. “You must come seethis,” Flora said in a hushed voice, motioning for Persephone to join her. “I can scarcely believe my own eyes.”
“Hades hasn’t killed Lord Glendarril, has he?” she said, setting aside her napkin and standing, resisting the urge to smooth her dress. She’d had lovers before, after all, and while she didn’t make a habit of inviting any of them to her home, Coll MacTaggert had offered a benefit in addition to his masculine charms. What she didn’t do was lose her head over any of them.
Flora reached the foyer before her and stepped aside. Persephone continued for another step, then froze.What the devil?
Hades stood between the Highlander’s booted feet, and wound himself around and around the well-shined Hessians, a black, purring figure eight. It was… remarkable. In addition to that, Gregory stood chatting with the viscount as if they’d been friends for years, her footman holding what looked to be a very good-quality hammer, a wooden crate with still more tools at his feet.
Once she noticed that, she looked over at Flora. Her maid and former seamstress held a basket over one arm, and when Persephone leaned over to look inside, she saw lovely folds of purple silk, some silver-edged lace, silver scissors, thread—all things an ex-theater seamstress would value and more than likely treasure.
“Bribery, then?” she asked, lifting her gaze to find Coll looking at her, an easy smile on his lean face. Her heart did a quick somersault, which she put to eating too quickly and decided to leave at that—for now, anyway.
His dark green eyes danced. “Ye’re a redhead today. I like it. Dunnae yer neighbors question why ye leave the house as a different lass every day?”
“I’ve encouraged the belief that I own a wig shop,” she returned. “Don’t change the subject. You’ve bribed my employees.”
His damned sexy mouth curved in a grin. “Ye said to try to charm them. Ye didnae say I couldnae bring gifts.”
She set aside her questions of how he’d managed to discover what Gregory and Flora might find interesting. No doubt he’d asked someone at the Saint Genesius, and theater folk did love telling tales. Of more immediate interest was her famously hostile cat, now sitting on Coll’s left boot and rubbing his face against it. “What did you do to my cat, then?”
“Hades? Och, the devil and I are old friends. Surely ye’ve heard that about me.”
“Truthfully, Hades isn’t much for conversation.” She grinned, completely baffled and rather flattered. Whatever else he’d done, he’d obviously made an effort to charm her household staff and her cat, and that had been her one requirement for allowing him into the house. No one could deny that he’d succeeded.
Nor could she deny that a good part of her was pleased that he’d passed her test. Having him about for a while longer could be quite… invigorating, in spite of the mayhem that seemed to surround him and his brothers.
“Well,” he said, “I reckon we should be going, Persephone, unless ye can conjure someaught else ye wish to be doing.”
She felt sudden damp between her thighs. While she was performing, her days were generally free. Meeting Coll back then would have made for some very interesting times. But now she had an obligation in the mornings. “Yes, we should be off. Flora, my shawl, if you please.”
“Hmm? Oh, yes, of course.” Setting her basket aside, Flora retrieved the blue shawl and set it over Persephone’s shoulders. “Do tell my Beth that I’ve a lovely roast in mind for Friday.”
