Her Wicked Highland Spy (The Marriage Maker #10)(4)
The woman laughed, but didn’t appear offended in the slightest. “Lord Brodie does not suffer from such a mindset, my dear, but enough of him. It is the young lady that desperately requires your aid. Indeed, if you cannot help her, then I fear no one can.”
The twinkle in the woman’s eye seemed quite at odds with her words. Rosalyn drew her brows in a puzzled line. “I do not understand.”
Lady Elana cleared her throat and her expression lost its levity. “The match is perfect in every way, but the intended bride has, unfortunately, lost interest in men.”
Rosalyn suppressed a snort. She certainly understood that well enough. “I fear I am not in the business of making matches, Lady Elana.”
“I wouldn’t ask that of you,” Lady Elana smoothly replied. “But your evaluation is precisely what I need. I need your report to titillate the young lady. An investigation of hygiene, behaviors, and personal habits would doubtlessly pique her interest. Lord Brodie is, shall we say, a very interesting subject. A simple evaluation is all I require. The rest? Let us say, after that, fate shall take a hand—or not.”
“I understand.” Rosalyn nodded, somewhat mollified.
“Then you shall agree?”
Rosalyn hesitated. It smacked of matchmaking, but then, if the man was a cad, the intended bride would be well served knowing she should continue with the comfort of books and tea. Besides, Rosalyn hardly felt it polite to deny her aunt’s—and Stirling’s—friend. Still, there were obstacles. “I shall be happy to assist you, though it might prove difficult. The man is rarely seen.”
Lady Elana laughed and appeared to relax. “I can help you with that, my dear. Your aunt accepted my invitation for a holiday in Brighton, but I’ve encountered the most unexpected delay. Rather than cancel a trip that would prove so invigorating for her health, I’ve arranged for Ethan to host her in my stead. You may not know, but Ethan was a dear friend of your late uncle and thought of him as a father.”
Mention of her uncle threatened to bring tears to Rosalyn’s eyes. He’d died abroad only the previous year and she still missed him sorely. “I see,” she murmured with emotion.
Lady Elana gave her a sympathetic pat on the hand, then smiled brightly. “I do believe it’s a splendid plan for all involved.”
Rosalyn began to nod in agreement, but then something in Lady Elana’s tale caught her attention, and she raised a brow. “It sounds as if you know Lord Brodie more than well, Lady Elana. Why not write the report yourself?”
Lady Elana blinked and nodded several times, yet continued to smile all the while before finally answering, “I know him, yes, but it is your reputation for finding the secrets men hide that I need, my dear. The young lady in question would not simply take my word on the matter. Please trust me on that. You are very much required.”
It made sense. “Then how can I say no to a holiday in Brighton?” Rosalyn replied lightly. “I would be delighted to assist you.”
Chapter Three
Forbidden Fruit
“The carriage comes, my lord.”
“Very well.” Ethan Brodie set his edition of The Morning Chronicle aside and rose from the breakfast table.
“Your coat, my lord.” Another man held out his favorite tan cutaway with burnished silver buttons.
He shrugged it over his shoulders.
Ethan had sent Lady Sarah his most comfortable coach the night before in order to give her ample time to pack. As for himself? His butler had left with his trunk at dawn, along with a cart groaning with the balloon and its paraphernalia.
“Your hat, my lord.”
With a wide yawn, Ethan clapped the black silk top hat on his head, and as two footmen rushed to open the front door, stepped through and out into the bright summer sun.
Lady Sarah. The day he’d delivered the heartrending news of her husband’s death, ranked among one of the worst in his life. She’d loved the man. By God, he had too. It had been a year, but that fateful day in France still hung fresh in his mind. He’d held the dying Lord Stafford in his arms, and at the man’s request, swore the most sacred of oaths that he’d leave the service, find a wife, and settle down to the business of living for himself.
It was an oath Ethan had kept…well, the part about leaving the service, anyway. He’d dabbled at finding a wife, but the vapid collection of candidates on display had quashed his interest. He’d skipped straight on to the business of living. After all, who could feel more alive than sailing over the trees in a hot air balloon? Doubtless, Lord Stafford would have agreed.
As for the wife? His brothers had fathered a small regiment of children, giving him, as the Brodie of Clan Brodie, heirs aplenty. As for female companionship, he preferred non-binding affairs, a habit from his days as a spy, and from what he’d seen of the Season’s marriageable females, it would stay that way. They were dull. The type that spent their days gossiping behind their fans. Hardly what he wanted in a woman. He needed fire, passion, and heat, a woman who ignited his blood the moment he laid eyes on her and a lass with an adventurous streak in her soul. Such women were rare—if not impossible—to find.
The only one who’d stirred his interest was a particularly voluptuous opera singer, a woman of talent both on stage and in bed, but with no interest in adventure. He could hardly marry her, but she satisfied his needs, and they’d come to an arrangement beneficial to both.