Free Scotsman of My Dreams by Karen Ranney Page B

leader.”
    â€œAre you done?”
    â€œNo,” she said. “I have no intention of leaving until I find out what happened to my brother. You can call the authorities. You can call Mr. Howington. You can summon your entire staff to carry me from this place, but I refuse to leave.”
    â€œWhat do you look like?”
    â€œI beg your pardon?”
    â€œAre you ugly? I found that women without an iota of appeal often appear strident. As if they think they need to face the world as a combatant. Are you ugly, Miss Todd?”
    â€œI have never measured myself by my appearance.”
    â€œThat’s a lie. Every woman has.”
    â€œPerhaps women of your acquaintance. No doubt they’ve nothing better to do all day but stare into a mirror.”
    â€œI would think that a woman as acerbic as you would defend her sex.”
    â€œI doubt beautiful women require my defense,” she said.
    â€œWhich is an answer. So you aren’t beautiful, Miss Todd. Are you acceptable looking? Or do you have a mole at the end of your nose? A squint, perhaps? Do you wear a lorgnette? Is your skin sallow? Is there gray in your hair? I seem to remember that you’re much older than your brother. Are you aged?”
    He really was the most terrible person.
    â€œI’m only eight years older than Neville,” she said.
    He smiled.
    With her words, she’d fallen into his trap. What did she care what he thought of her?
    â€œShould you care so much about the appearance of other ­people?” she asked. “Especially since your own appearance has been so grievously altered by your stupidity?”
    â€œGet out of my garden.”
    She studied him. At closer inspection, his scars weren’t that onerous. The worst of the scarring was on his right temple, the bridge of his nose, and the damage to his right eye.
    â€œWhat did you mean, you hope my brother is dead? Where is Neville?”
    â€œI know why Neville came with me. To get away from you.”
    â€œI don’t like you very much,” she said.
    â€œI find I don’t care very much.”
    â€œWhere is Neville?” she asked.
    â€œI don’t know where your brother is.”
    â€œHe was in your charge.”
    â€œHe wasn’t in nappies, Miss Todd. He’s a grown man. A fact you evidently find difficult to accept.”
    â€œOh, Your Lordship, I didn’t know you were having guests.”
    Minerva turned her head to see a plump woman in a severe black dress approaching them. On her head was a poufy white ruffled cap edged in black. Her face was round yet lined with a web of delicate wrinkles, making Minerva wonder at her age. Her smile was as bright and charming as a child’s, her round cheeks lightly dusted with pink. Eyes of sparkling blue gazed on them with a surprising look of delight.
    He’d summoned his housekeeper to escort her to the front door last night, but Minerva had simply left the same way she arrived, by means of the window.
    The tray the woman carried held a small white teapot, one cup, and a selection of pastries.
    â€œShe isn’t staying, Mrs. Thompson. In fact, I would appreciate it if you would summon Mr. Howington and a few of the footmen as well. Someone to escort the woman from my garden.”
    â€œOh, sir, I couldn’t do that, could I? Not without a cup of tea, surely.”
    â€œMrs. Thompson, she isn’t a guest. She’s an interloper.”
    â€œI’ve never been called an interloper before,” Minerva said. “But he’s quite right. I haven’t been invited. But I have no intention of leaving until he tells me what he’s done with my brother.”
    â€œWith your brother, miss?”
    â€œHe has absconded with him.”
    â€œSurely he wouldn’t do such a thing.” Mrs. Thompson glanced at the earl.
    â€œShe is looking at you chidingly,” Minerva said. “What a pity you can’t see it.”
    The