by Meara Platt
“MacLaurin,” she repeated smoothly, casting him an encouraging glance. “There’s a symposium exploring his work on elliptic integrals at the Royal Society next week, and I thought to do a little studying on my own ahead of time.”
“You’re a bluestocking,” he said with a chuckle but quickly regretted his words. Though he meant it as a compliment, few females would take it as such. Och, it was a clumsy thing to say—but she didn’t seem to take offense.
“Yes, I suppose. I love to read… er, though many people don’t and there’s certainly nothing wrong with that, not at all. Not being able to read, that is.” She cast him another encouraging glance.
“I enjoy it, too. When I have the time.” He frowned, thinking of how much work he had and how little time he had to attend to all of it while in London. “Lately, I’ve had very little.”
“Of course. I understand completely.” She cast him yet another sympathetic look.
“Ye do?” Suddenly, he realized the girl believed him an ignorant oaf, illiterate and probably unable even to dress himself. And why wouldn’t she think the worst? Ten days of hard riding from the Scottish Highlands to London, ten days of choking dust on the roadway, of not shaving and hardly bathing, had left him looking like the basest ruffian.
The clothes he wore, buff pants made of homespun and heavy brown jacket to ward off the Highland chill, were not in the least fashionable London attire. His brown leather boots were scuffed and stained from several years of use and abuse. His hands were rough and calloused, though he’d tried very hard to be gentle when helping the girl to her feet.
To this young innocent, he must look like his heathen warrior ancestors, lacking only blue paint on his face and battle axe in his hand to complete the image. “Lass, may I ask your name?”
She didn’t appear ready to give it, but whatever she meant to say was drowned out by the sound of a carriage rumbling toward them. It turned out to be three gleaming black carriages rolling through the townhouse gate from which she’d emerged a short while ago, each led by a pair of high-stepping matched bays.
He let out a long, low whistle, admiring the horses and wondering who had picked them out. They were magnificent, but he didn’t bother to ask the girl standing at his side. It wasn’t something the pampered daughter of a wealthy household was likely to know. Then again, the young thing was not the typical society debutante. Och, she was pretty enough, but there was a scholarly earnestness about her that he found appealing, though a bit unusual.
A girl who looked remarkably like the one at his side, same black hair and striking blue eyes, popped her head out of the third carriage. “Lily, you’re missing Lady Turbott’s tea!” she cried as it passed by.
He turned in dismay to the girl he now understood was called Lily. “Lass, it seems I’ve ruined your entire day.”
“Please don’t give it another thought, Mr. Cameron. My family will never notice,” she assured him with a wistful sigh.
“I can no’ believe that.” Were she his daughter, gazing up at him with those vibrant eyes and the obvious intelligence behind them, he’d have a hard time forgetting her.
“Oh, they love me,” she hastened to explain, obviously noting his darkening expression. “I’m not at all neglected, as you can see by the quality of my new gown… well, no… never mind about that. My sister and I are identical twins, you see. I suppose it’s obvious. She’ll pretend to be me and no one will be the wiser. That’s all I meant by it. The arrangement has worked quite well so far. I’ve already missed several of these society affairs because of my studies and never been reprimanded for it.”
He quirked an eyebrow.
“Not that I’m proud of the deception, mind you,” she continued, the momentary downcast of her eyes revealing that she felt some remorse for her wrongdoing. “But the scholarly work is so interesting, and sometimes these affairs can be so deadly dull. Dillie—that’s my sister—doesn’t mind helping me out at all.”
“I’m surprised ye have no’ been caught yet. You’re not entirely alike,” he said with a shake of his head. “Your eyes are a more vivid blue than your sister’s, and your features softer, like the soft coat on a newborn lamb.”
She blushed. “Oh, that’s a lovely thing to say. Thank you. Er, you did mean it as a compliment, didn’t you?”
He nodded. “That I did, Lily.”
She slipped the book out of his hands. “I had better change my gown. Goodbye, Mr. Cameron. I hope Lady Dayne finds you a nice place to live.”
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Meara Platt is an award winning, USA Today bestselling author and Amazon UK All-Star. She is happily married to her Russell Crowe look-alike husband, and they have two terrific children. Her favorite place in all the world is England’s Lake District, which may not come as a surprise since many of her stories are set in that idyllic landscape, including her Romance Writers of America Golden Heart award-winning story to be released as Book 3 in her paranormal romance Dark Gardens series, which debuted in December 2016. Learn more about Meara Platt by visiting her website at www.mearaplatt.com.
