In the Heart of the Highlander by Maggie Robinson Page B

grinning. “Excellent work, Oliver. You have been wasted at the reception desk all these months. When we get back, I’ll talk to Harriet. She has been mumbling about a vacation for ages, but we’ve been so busy. Between the two of us, we can train you to take her place for a little while, and then promote you to junior assistant if all goes well. The agency workload warrants it.”
    Oliver leaped up, spinning Mary around so fast she thought she would get sick.
    “Capital! I won’t let you down, I promise!”
    “Well, for a start, you can
put
me down,” Mary said, breathless. “Won’t these upstanding gentlemen object to playing with Lord Raeburn?”
    Oliver shook his head. “Not everyone believes the rumors. Raeburn went to school with the Rycroft brothers.
The Ledger
was the one paper that didn’t toss him in the mud when they could have. Brantley will want to fish around for the dirt. The London legal men are interested in Raeburn’s Special Reserve. It’s hard to get down south.”
    “What time is your card game?”
    “Nine o’clock sharp. I’ve arranged for a card table and extra chairs to be delivered and my furniture rearranged.”
    “You do think of everything.” Mary was impressed with the meticulous care Oliver had exhibited so far. “So if I invite Bauer to my room at ten?”
    “We shall all be well-lubricated and ready to rescue you. Leave the connecting door unlocked.”
    Mary nodded. Tomorrow night was in train. Now she only had to get through tonight.

Chapter

    9
    I t was not hard to feel pale and nervous. Mary entered the dining room quite alone, after another put-up public row with Oliver in the lobby. There were a few sympathetic glances, but she had doomed herself socially by appearing twice with Alec and was now under suspicion and worthy of her brother’s scorn.
    She knew her dinner gown was exquisite, a glove-tight column of ecru satin dipped low and accented with spangled bows at her cleavage and shoulders. A bib of cobweb-fine ecru lace stitched to the bodice reached to and ruffled her throat, covering her freckles yet projecting an air of nudity. She had paste yellow diamond clips in her hair, and a mother-of-pearl fan, which she used to fend off the heat from equally elegantly dressed bodies in the room. Mary looked like an heiress, and only she knew she’d purchased the dress at a secondhand clothing shop. The train had been stained, but it had been a matter of minutes to chop it off and hem it.
    Tomorrow night’s dress was even better. Likely she would not be wearing the fourth dinner gown she’d brought—she’d be on a train on Sunday, heading back to black territory.
    Now that she had her Mary Arden trousseau, she wanted to find a use for it. Perhaps Oliver could be persuaded to escort her to concerts and plays. He was good company when he wasn’t being paid to fight with her.
    She took a seat near the end of a table, placing her fan on the charger next to her, saving the seat for Dr. Bauer, if he didn’t think she was a Bedlamite and kept their tryst. She drooped her shoulders and stared moodily into the flickering candle on the table. The room echoed with laughter and conversation, making her feel truly left out. She kept her gloved hands on her lap so she wouldn’t be tempted to touch her hot cheeks and remove any of the white makeup she’d used to appear delicate.
    The young waiters began streaming from the kitchen with the first course, and still Mary sat in isolation. Bauer wasn’t coming after all. She’d overplayed her hand—Bauer must think she was off her onion and not worth the effort. She’d failed Lord Raeburn—she, who prided herself on performing the impossible, just as the agency motto boasted.
    A waiter took pity on her and dropped a platter of prawns with Marie Rose sauce in front of her. As she reached for the serving spoon, a hand came down on hers.
    “Let me, Miss Arden. Mary.”
    Mary looked up into a completely unfamiliar face. Pale blue