Wicked Liaison - Meara Platt Page 0,117

money part, though that is only because Father squandered your fortune. In truth, Sarina, I find Lycansay the perfect match for you.”

“You know the man only one night. Which means you know nothing of him at all.”

Nevan swirled his fingers through the box of teeth. “He had the opportunity to strip you bare, and yet, he did not. He allowed you to keep your dignity. And in my view, that speaks volumes of the man.”

She clenched her hands. If Nevan were only a few years older…. “Have you washed your face yet?”

“I’m fully dressed, Sister.”

“You did not answer my question.”

“I washed all my parts, thank you.”

Infuriating. In another life she must have been a very, very horrible mother to get fettered with the responsibility of caring for a smart-arsed twelve-year-old brother this time around. “Then go into the parlor so I may wash and dress. We must not be late for breakfast.”

Nevan shut the lid of his treasured box, then quickly tucked the thing under his arm and shuffled from the room.

Hopefully her little monster would behave at the table. If he didn’t, she wasn’t certain she’d be able to control herself.

Campbell hadnae suffered such a sleepless night since those dark hours he’d spent with Mariah after his father had died. And to think he had a whole day ahead of him yet.

Bloody nuisance.

He stared into the looking glass and refolded his cravat. On a normal day it took only one try to make the tangle of fabric look somewhat coherent, two on the mornings when remedying Ian’s stupidity topped off the day’s dealings. But thanks to Sarina Ogilvy and that tempting scent of hers, nae to mention the unforgettable memory of her smooth-to-the-touch flesh that had tempted his fingers to near sin last night, he was about to go off into the world with what resembled a massive cotton cannon at his neck.

A knock sounded at the door.

“Come.”

He glanced to his left.

Ian entered the room, the folds of a perfectly done up cravat accessorizing his gold embroidered waistcoat.

Shite. Why was it, on the one morning he would have welcomed that damn Pisa-angled neckerchief and all the fixing he’d have to do to save his cousin from the eejit’s debauched ways that caused the crooked cravat, Ian had to walk in looking the epitome of righteousness? To say he was irked at the moment wasnae even close to his current mood. “No angered husbands after ye arse this morning?”

“Verra funny.” Ian flopped himself down on the bed, the gold hue of his velvet trousers melding with the similarly colored blanket. “I retired early, if ye care to know, as town was deader than Dear Old Mariah last night.”

That was a first in a verra long time. “Even the Sassenach witch wasnae home?”

“I told ye yesterday, Octavia is nae speaking with me.”

With forefinger stuck in what could only be defined as the workings of a demon tailor who despised cravats, Campbell spun around. “Ye really should attempt to make nice with Miss Lovegrove.”

“Why? So she can feed me to her house?”

“Ye cannae really still believe Moonfell Abbey ate a boy?”

“I wouldnae put anything past that woman and her spell-spewing house.”

Campbell disentangled his finger from the consuming cloth at his neck, just as Ian rose from the bed and headed his way.

“Why are ye so damn resistant to hiring a valet?” Ian reached for the cravat and began undoing the vile thing.

“Because I dunnae need another unsuspecting innocent to look after. The less staff Lycansay Hall keeps, the longer my sanity remains intact.”

Ian smirked. “I wasnae aware a sane mind was needed to manage this place. In fact, I have always believed the opposite to be true.”

“Other than insulting me, was there a reason for ye bothering me this early in the day?”

“Yes. I wish yer permission to take Nevan for a tour of the estate.”

He was not letting Miss Ogilvy’s brother anywhere near Ian. “And ye have the nerve to call me insane?”

Stepping back, Ian adjusted Campbell’s now newly tied neckerchief. “I merely want the boy to have an enjoyable stay while here. The gods ken this is a miserable place at best, and I thought if I took the young Mr. Ogilvy out for a ride around the grounds, and pointed out Charles’ favorite spots, it might give the lad a pleasurable memory of his time spent here. If nothing else, it will give him a better appreciation of his father.”

Campbell felt himself frowning. “Aww, for the love of Saint

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