“Precisely,” Sophie said, and leaned forward. “May I confide in you, my lord?”
William leaned in as well, and lowered his voice. “Of course, dear lady. You may tell me anything, and I will keep it strictly confidential. I am the soul of discretion, I assure you.” He laid his own palm on his own breast and tipped his head toward her in a hero’s pose.
She bit her lip, catching the rosy petals between her teeth. “I have begun to fear that I will not be entirely happy here.”
He drew back slightly. “Really?”
She closed her eyes, and golden lashes swept her cheeks. “Glenlorne has never noticed that I am beautiful. Nor has he tried to kiss me. Not even once.”
William’s eyes fell to her lips. “Not even once?” he murmured.
“Shocking, isn’t it? Why, I can scarcely count the number of suitors I had in London, and each and every one of them wished to steal a kiss. Oh, have I shocked you?” she asked, laying her hand on his sleeve, giving it a squeeze.
William swallowed. “Not—” He cleared the frog from his throat and tried again. “Not at all. If I were one of your suitors, I most certainly would have kissed you—after requesting permission, of course.”
Sophie beamed with happiness, her eyes aglow. “Would you?”
“Yes,” he said, and ran his tongue over his lips, plucking up his courage. “I’d kiss you now, if you would allow it.”
She giggled and leaned nearer, puckering. “We shouldn’t, of course, but what harm can a kiss do?”
He leaned closer still. “What harm indeed?”
CHAPTERFORTY-FOUR
Aside from being the Crown’s spymaster and one of the leading peers of the realm, the Earl of Westlake also owned a fleet of merchant ships, which traveled the globe to trade in everything from spices to exotic textiles and plants. He allowed investors to buy into his shipping ventures on occasion, and had offered such a rare opportunity to Alec. After he looked at the plans for the next several voyages, it was clear to Alec that Westlake had an eye for quality goods, and the risks had been carefully considered. By investing a few thousand pounds of Sophie’s vast dowry, Alec would be able to earn a sizable return. With that money, he could invest in improvements at Glenlorne, including some of the ideas the villages had suggested to Caroline, which would generate a good income. He estimated being able to replace Sophie’s money within three years.
Alec gazed out the window at the old tower, feeling hopeful that he would be able to turn over a profitable estate to his heirs when the time came for that, and he would be able to save Sophie’s dowry in trust, untouched.
Devorguilla cried out as Muira stepped out of the shadows in front of her. The countess held a cup in her hand, and the liquid sloshed over her skirt.
“What’s that?” Muira demanded.
“ ’Tis only a cup of wine for Alec. I wanted to see how he was feeling.”
“Is this one poisoned too?”
Devorguilla’s skin prickled. “Whatever do you mean? It’s got willow bark in it, for pain.” She tried to pass the old servant. Muira stood in her way.
“I’ll not let you poison him the way you poisoned his father.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Devorguilla said, drawing herself up to her full height. “Get back to the kitchen where you belong.
“I always wondered, but I didn’t have any proof until last night,” Muira said. “The wine you and young Brodie tried to give to Alec was poisoned with nightshade. I found more hidden in yer room, enough to kill a dozen lairds.”
“How dare you touch my belongings!”
“Brodie told me,” Muira said. “About your plan to kill Alec. He was hiding in the barn this morning, blubbering about ghosts and sin.”
Devorguilla swallowed. “What do you want?”
Muira smiled slowly. “I want ye to drink that cup.”
Devorguilla blanched.
Muira took a step toward her. “Or you can leave Glenlorne and never come back. If you stay—well, I know more potions than you, poisons that bring on agony that lasts hours before ye die screaming, trying to claw your own entrails out. D’you ken what I’m saying?”
Devorguilla swallowed. “But the girls, they need me. I’m their mother.”
