Her Wicked Highland Spy (The Marriage Maker #10)(12)

“It was a pleasure, my lady,” Ethan’s deep Scottish rogue rumbled as he handed her down.

She mumbled her thanks—or at least, she hoped she did. She had little recollection of just how she’d gotten to her room. She only knew that, finally, she stood in the safety of her room. Rosalyn winced. How foolish the man must think her.

“Does it matter?” she asked herself aloud, the tenth time the thought nagged at her.

No. It didn’t. She had a task to do.

Blowing her hair from her face, she grabbed her journal and sat down at her desk to write and pondered what to say.

Outside the window, the waves ceaselessly pounded the shore, providing the perfect atmosphere to lose herself in thought. Again, she let her mind rove over the man for a time, from his blue-gray specked eyes to his muscled thighs, and then on to his daily kindnesses toward her aunt. He’d been a gentleman from beginning to end…and he hadn’t taken advantage of her shamelessness when she’d wanted him to kiss her in the phaeton.

She blinked and glanced back to the blank page. He’d earned the highest of scores…but she’d be damned before she wrote that down for another woman’s benefit.

She slammed the journal shut, untouched.

Tomorrow, she’d take up her report again. Perhaps. As for tonight? She’d beg off dinner and spend the evening in her preferred manner, curled up in bed with a book and a cup of tea. She plopped herself down on her bed and began to read, but to her surprise, the words on the page failed to draw her attention.

After she’d reread the page a half-dozen times, she gave up altogether and closed her eyes instead to let her thoughts dwell on Lord Brodie’s wide shoulders and muscular torso.

*

Ethan’s lips left a burning trail over her flesh as slowly, ever so slowly, he dropped his hot, sensual mouth over her nipple and began to suck…

Rosalyn sat up with a strangled gasp.

A dream. Disappointment coursed through her, along with surprise that it was the only emotion she felt. Where was her shame? She lay in bed, panting, her thighs drenched with desire.

This wouldn’t do.

She forced herself out of bed. Dawn painted the sky in pink and purple hues as she slipped out onto the balcony and let the crisp air cool her skin.

It was time for discipline. She was out of excuses. She had a task to complete.

Reluctantly, she returned to her desk and picked up her quill.

Temperament. Lord Brodie handles bad news exceedingly well, as proven by his issues with the varnish of his balloon. Under stress, he maintains his charm and composure, earning him the highest of marks. Overall score, so far: 10.

Hygiene. Impeccable. Lord Brodie is exceedingly well dressed and wears his clothing to perfection. The citrus scent of his cologne is manly and pleasing. Overall score: 10.

Kindness and Concern toward the elderly. Lord Brodie earns the highest of marks on this score. His attentiveness to Lady Sarah is unmatched.

Tidiness.

Here, she paused. She knew nothing of his tidiness. She’d have to slip into his room for a quick peek once he’d vacated the premises for his balloon. Ah, his balloon.

The man has interests and clearly values education and discovery. Indeed, he demonstrates patience in the pursuit of knowledge. Again, earning him the highest of scores.

She paused and read what she’d written. Then rolled her eyes. Never had she ranked a man so highly. Her report sounded more like a gushing letter to a friend than an impartial analysis of what made up a man. She winced and set the journal aside. nIt was time to focus on her observation, and the first order of business was to explore the man’s sense of tidiness.

She needed to see his bedroom.

Rosalyn rose and thoughtfully tapped her chin. The house was large, but she suspected his room to be on the bottom floor. She’d have to find out which one and pop inside before the maid cleaned and tidied it.

A movement outside caught her attention and she peered down to see Ethan on the path toward the beach, apparently headed for a swim.

A jolt of desire summoned her dream and she drew a breath. Slowly, she dragged her gaze over the man’s narrow hips and firm buttocks. Would he swim naked? Her sex twitched at the thought. The realization that he’d left his room pierced the haze of lust-filled thoughts.

“Discipline,” she murmured aloud.

Now was her chance.

She grabbed the first dress she could find, slipped it over her head, then dashed out the door and down the stairs.

The thought of sneaking into his room made her heart pound with excitement, more than it should have. She arrived at the bottom of the stairs and paused to listen. The tick of the large grandfather clock in the parlor sounded as loud as a drum, but not a soul moved. Satisfied she was alone, Rosalyn tiptoed down the hallway. She found Ethan’s room on the fourth try, recognizing it at once by his boots at the foot of a large, four-poster bed. As she slipped inside, the scent of his cologne confirmed she’d found the right place.

Quickly, she shut the door and glanced around. The large room had pine wood floors, a finely crafted carpet in the center, and a four-poster bed, its linens rumpled from use and each embroidered with the Brodie coat of arms. Tall windows draped in cream and gold brocade provided a view of the sea. Near the fireplace stood an elegantly inlaid writing desk and across from the bed, a walnut-stained armoire and dresser with a hairbrush and various other toiletries.