Free McCrory's Lady by Shirl Henke Henke

Scot, doesn't it? Has he got some sort of hold on you, Megs?” He rounded the desk and placed his thin, elegant hands on her shoulders.
           Maggie laughed softly and turned away. “More like I have something on him. Eden needs me. She's been through hell.”
           “Ah, Maggie, Maggie, always the earth mother, trying to make up for the child you lost so tragically. But Eden McCrory is almost a woman grown.”
           “She's the same age my daughter would've been...if she'd lived.”
           He shrugged, still intent on her connection with Colin. “Surely, her father will have something to say about your accompanying them back to the States.”
           A frosty smile wreathed her lips but did not reach the haunted blue depths of her eyes. “He's agreed, Bart.” She toyed with the pearls she wore at her throat. “Colin and I are getting married when we reach Tucson.”
           He almost dropped the decanter of Madeira. Without turning and letting her see his face, he said, “I see.”
           Maggie watched his shoulders stiffen as he finished pouring them each a glass of Madeira, but when he turned, his gambler's facade was in place. The ruined son of a baronet, banished from home and country in disgrace, Bart had learned how to hide his feelings from everyone—but Maggie Worthington.
           “If you must know, Megs my love, this does my ego no good, no good at all. You've certainly been impervious to my charms for the past seven years. Perhaps if I'd asked you to marry me first?” He stroked his beard and studied her speculatively.
           She sipped the wine, shaking her head. “You were always too good a friend to ruin our relationship with sex, Bart.”
           “Surely after all your years of celibacy, you've not actually fallen in love—and with an ignorant Scottish cowman? Bloody hell, Megs, I simply don't believe it.”
           “He isn't ignorant. In fact, he's read quite a few of these books.” She gestured around the room. “I'm not in love with him…exactly.” She could feel a most unaccustomed blush heating her cheeks.
           Bart scoffed. “Why are you doing this if you don't love him—exactly?”
           She twisted her necklace back and forth across the bare expanse of her collarbone. Bart had given her the perfectly matched pearls as a birthday gift last year. Dropping her hand, she raised her chin proudly. “I want a chance to start over again. To try respectability. And who better than me to help Eden through this rough time? I've been there myself.”
           He shook a finger at her like a teacher chiding a recalcitrant pupil. “You're still avoiding the issue of McCrory. Lud, if I'd known you fancied taciturn Scots in dusty trail gear”—he grimaced in distaste—“I might have endeavored to change my ways.”
           Maggie smiled in spite of herself. “You would never change—even if you could, Bart. And what's more, I don't want you to. You've been good for me and I'll always owe you—”
           “Bloody hell, don't go getting maudlin on me, Megs! If Colin McCrory is what you want...” He shrugged and gave her an insouciant smile. “I hope he appreciates how hard you worked for your ‘dowry’ ”
           Her smile evaporated. “He appreciates it, Bart, believe me.”
     
    * * * *
     
           Although the food was prepared on short notice and the cook grumbled, he did manage to stuff and roast several fat capons, freshly killed that afternoon. Maggie had the best Wedgwood china set at the table in Bart's apartment. His were the larger quarters with a table suitable for small private parties.
           Some party , she thought, looking about the gathering at the strained expressions on everyone's faces. Eden was withdrawn and pale, in awe of Bart's British charm, but oddly more comfortable with him than with the father she had always adored. Colin