Page 118 of Tempting the Highland Spy
Bollocks, was that hisownshoe he’d tripped over?
The room was starting to tilt.
And spin. He may as well have been trapped inside a children’s toy.
He had to get out of there.
His dignity depended on it.
“Bluidy hell, what’s happenin’ to ye?” Connor appeared in his vision, seemingly out of nowhere. “What the hell are ye doin’?”
“Why are you here?” Harrison struggled to focus. “Can’t you see I’m trying to find the door?”
“It hasn’t gone anywhere since ye last walked through it,” his brother said with a chuckle. “Come along, Harry. Ye’ve had too much to drink.”
Who washeto tell Harrison he’d over-imbibed? Connor was the reckless one.
Nothim. Nottoo-bloody-sensibleHarrison MacMasters.
“Get out of my way,” Harrison said, each word a bit more of a struggle to mouth. With that, he spotted the door again. “If you don’t mind, I’ll be on my way.”
Harrison turned toward the door. Light from a chandelier gleamed off a silver tray. A hired server darted around him.
Clumsy fool—he should watch where he’s going.
He tugged at his jacket, smoothing out the wrinkles, and maneuvered past another server.
And straight into the path of one of his mother’s acquaintances,Lady Whatever-Her-Deuced-Name-Was.
The matron flashed a piercing scowl, then made an abrupt turn to her left.
He didn’t know the precise moment when the fabric covering her bustle-clad behind ripped.
He only heard an ear-shattering wail, followed by the sight of a woman garbed in a purple gown, frantically grasping for the fabric that had formerly covered her rather generous arse. Given the layers of undergarments beneath the silk, her distress was not entirely justified.
His gaze dropped to his right foot planted squarely on a long swath of cloth that perfectly matched the rest of her gown. An enormous bow had fallen from her dress, draping over his partially flexed knee.
Oddly enough, he could not remember stepping on her gown. But the evidence spoke for itself.
“My apologies,” he said, and set about remedying the situation. He was a gentleman, albeit a clumsy one, so he did what any gentleman would do. He knelt down and retrieved the fabric and the bow. Rather gallantly, if he said so himself.
And then, he set about an attempt to reattach both the silk and the billowy bow to her petticoat-clad backside.
“Good heavens, what are you doing?” The woman’s shrill exclamation might have awakened every ghost that ever resided in the centuries-old house.
“Be still, Lady Whatever-Your-Name-Is,” he managed. “I intend to—”
His brother’s wife, Johanna, rushed to the woman’s side. “Oh dear, Harry—what do you think you’re doing?”
Why does everyone keep asking me the same blasted question?
“I am rectifying my mistake,” he said, feeling quite reasonable.
“No, that’s not going to work.” Johanna placed a hand on his arm, stilling him. “Please, give me the bow. And the rest of the fabric.”
“But I…I must fix this,” he protested.
“Harry, youcan’tfix this.” She took the silk from his hand. Looking past him, she nodded toward his brother. “Connor, please, see that your brother gets some coffee in him…or some tea.”
