Page 55 of Never a Duchess
The licentious toad!
“Yes, I would have thought it a gesture to gain more custom had it not been for Madame Delafont’s revelation.”
Callan firmed his jaw. “Then I’ll visit him today and ensure he has a genuine reason for issuing the invitation.” Mr Valmary would learn not to lay claim on a Highlander’s woman.
Miss Ware shook her head. “I’m sure it’s nothing, and I feel more at ease having voiced my concerns to you. Besides, we have a lot to do today if we’re todinetogether later.”
She saiddinelike it was a euphemism for something sinful.
He raised her hand to his lips and pressed a lingering kiss on her knuckles. “Based on recent events, we might do more than dine.”
A blush stained her cheeks. “I find it impossible to control myself when I’m with you, Dounreay.”
“And until recently, I’ve had a monk’s restraint.”
Daventry chose that ill-timed moment to march into the room, forcing Callan to drop Miss Ware’s hand quickly.
“Ah, good! You’re both here.” Daventry gestured to the plush sofas. “Sorry I’m late. I had pressing business at the museum and promised to ride with my wife in the park this morning.”
“A man must keep his vow,” Miss Ware said, flashing Callan a teasing grin.
“Indeed, Miss Ware.” Daventry glanced at Callan’s trousers. “After the mystic’s prediction, you must be glad Dounreay is not wearing a kilt.”
Miss Ware coughed, spluttered, plagued by a sudden fit. Her cheeks turned raspberry red as she fought to catch her breath.
“Cough it up, Miss Ware.” Daventry patted her gently on the back. “Shock often causes a tickle in one’s throat.”
Feeling like an imbecile who’d missed the joke, Callan asked, “Why, what did the mystic predict? And what has it to do with my kilt?”
“N-nothing!” Miss Ware croaked, waving frantically in a fight to regain her composure. “Everyone knows fortune tellers spout nonsense.”
“According to the seer, Miss Ware is to marry a man who bears his knees in public,” Daventry blurted. “Now, unless she has designs on the chimney sweep touting his business on Long Acre, the most obvious guess is she will marry a Scotsman.”
Miss Ware glared at Daventry as if wanting to stuff her reticule into his traitorous mouth. “It’s all poppycock.”
“Aye. Miss Ware has nae intention of ever marrying,” Callan said. Though if he believed that, he would be six hundred miles away by now, meeting with his steward. He bit back a grin. “She hates the Highlands and admits to having a weak constitution.”
Miss Ware jerked in response, rebellion gathering in her eyes. “I have a hardy constitution. I just don’t like the cold or the bitter winds. And I refuse to eat food fit for dogs.”
“Dogs! The blind cheek,” he jested. “Anyone who understands the difficulties of life in remote regions, understands the need to utilise every available commodity. Ye’re used to the finer things in life and would invariably struggle.”
Her cheeks ballooned at his effrontery. “I assure you, I could adapt easily if I so desired. Oftentimes, I dislike the weather in London, yet brave it without thought or complaint.”
Callan laughed. “Maybe I should put ye to the test, Miss Ware. See how easily ye adapt in cold climates. How well ye cope in trying times.”
Her eyes gleamed with self-assurance. “Given every incentive, I’m confident I would pass the test, Your Grace.”
“We shall see.” The lady craved adventure. He had the perfect place in mind, though it would be better if they could remain in the woods overnight, frolic beneath the stars.
The mantel clock chimed the half-hour, reminding Daventry time was of the essence. He gestured for them to sit. “How did you fare with Madame Delafont last night?”
Callan explained all they had learnt from the opera singer. “The perfumers compete for lovers and sales.”
“That explains the use of poison in the perfume. It is often the weapon of a spurned lover.” Daventry flicked through the papers in his leather portfolio and studied one briefly. “They found a small amount ofStrychnos nux-vomicain the Queen of the Orient sample bottle. Not enough to kill a man but enough to bring on a seizure if sniffed excessively.”
“It can be deadly, then?” Callan dreaded telling Ailsa. She had forced MacTavish to sniff the fragrances, shoving the bottles beneath his nose. The news would leave her distraught.
“In the right quantities and with frequent exposure. I had London’s best chemists inspect the bottles.”
