Free McCrory's Lady by Shirl Henke Henke Page B

toasted, he reluctantly moved his glass toward hers. As the crystal chimed, their fingers brushed quickly, but a jolt of lightning would have been less noticeable. Suddenly, the room grew very quiet. Their eyes met and held, soft blue and hard gold, each trying to read the other's thoughts...and failing.
           Colin was shaken by the contact. What was it about this woman? He decided to go to her quarters secretly as soon as everyone was asleep and have a serious discussion about their absurd agreement. Surely, she would have her price, and he would pay it just to be rid of her.
     
    * * * *
     
           Maggie answered his quiet knock at her door as if she had been expecting him. She had changed from the elegant gown she had worn at dinner into a modest, dark blue wrapper. She ushered him inside, saying, “Eden's asleep.” She closed the door to the sitting room in her apartment, which occupied the south end of the second floor.
           It was small and feminine, furnished with a cabriole-backed settee and a pier table between two windows. The wallpaper was a soft apricot floral and the Oriental carpets were rich rust, ivory and green.
           She offered him a seat, which he declined, preferring to stand in the center of the parlor, dwarfing its diminutive proportions with his tall masculine presence.
           Maggie was glad Colin had come. They needed to talk in private before they left in the morning. “I put a tiny bit of a sleeping preparation in the milk I had Eden drink. She’ll get a good night's rest.”
           Colin narrowed his eyes, giving his face an even harder cast. “Sleeping potions, abortive herbs. Is there no end to your medical talent?”
           She stiffened and met his harsh, cynical stare head on. “I didn't need to use the herbs on Eden. She just finished her flow three days ago. She's safe.”
           His shoulders crumpled and he looked away. “Thank God for that, but what if”—he struggled to say the words—“what if any of those bastards were poxed?”
           “Only Lazlo took her, and he was healthy.”
           His head swiveled. “How do you—”
           “He was a regular of Henrietta's. I make all my girls check their customers—and make the men wash—before they're even allowed near a mattress.” She felt that irritating urge to blush again and forced herself to ignore it. Better to confront him now and have done with it. “While we're discussing such indelicate matters, I suppose, for your peace of mind I should assure you I'm not poxed either.”
           “I suppose that means your Sassenach lover is healthy, although he does look a bit gaunt of cheek—”
           “Bart isn't my lover!” she said furiously, damning his mawkish display at the dinner table.
           “Right,” Colin replied with a sardonic lift of one eyebrow. “That's why the two of you have this cozy arrangement with your private apartments adjoining each other. Do you meet at night in your office to do bookkeeping together?”
           Her fingers dug into the back of the settee. If she let go she was certain she would fly at him and slap that cold, hard smirk off his handsome face. “We keep separate bedrooms because we sleep separately. Bart is not, nor has he ever been, my lover. I haven't had any other men since...” Her voice faded as she fought the memories that clawed at her. “If you don't believe me, there's a doctor—”
           “That won't be necessary,” he said curtly. This was humiliating for her—he could tell by the rigid stance of her body, the heightened color in her cheeks, that small pulse beating wildly at the base of her throat. He felt a wholly irrational urge to reach out to her, to touch that pale golden skin and feel the fluttering of her heartbeat.
           Damn! This was exactly the opposite of what he had come here to do. “I don't need to know anything about