The Highland Dragon's Lady (24 page)

Anywhere south of Aberdeen and west of Calais was
London
to Agnes. She knew the difference, Judith was sure. She just didn’t care.

“—and there’s few men who will want to give that up. His mother’s that glad about it, though: I dinna think she’d more than three letters while he was away.”

“Maybe he went to sea,” said Judith, “and couldn’t write regularly.”

“Maybe,” said Agnes, skeptically. “I’m just glad I’ve a daughter, that’s all.”

“Women go out into the world too, I hear.” Judith smiled across the teacup. “More and more in this degenerate modern age.”

“Aye, but fewer than the men, still. And they’ve more feeling for what they leave behind, I’m sure of it.”

“Maybe,” said Judith, and it was her turn to be dubious.

“You’re here, aren’t you? And your brothers all away?”

“Yes,” said Judith, and she didn’t add
for now
, or
after a hundred years or so
, or any of the other replies that might have sprung to her lips.

She was trying to think of a less revealing argument when the door opened a crack. “Mum?” Agnes’s daughter Claire stuck her face through the opening. She was sixteen, all blithe blonde prettiness, and Judith still couldn’t get used to it: in her mind, Claire was still a toddling girl with braids and a jam-covered face. “There’s a man here looking for lodgings.”

“You might be right,” Judith said to Agnes. “Not about men and women—about this year.”

“It’s the railroads, I’m sure of it. Show him in, Claire,” Agnes said. “We’ll give him a cup of tea while we hear what he has to say. And,” she added, lowering her voice as her daughter headed off to show the man in, “you might as well get a look at the man. He’s likely to be the most excitement we have around here for a fortnight, unless someone’s barn catches fire.”

At first glance, the guest didn’t
look
particularly exciting.

Oh, he was handsome: tall but not lanky, with broad shoulders and muscular legs and neatly cut hair the color of the turning leaves outside, graying just enough at the temples to lend him a distinguished air. Looking at him was a pleasant diversion. Judith, who’d diverted herself with handsome men a few times when she’d been younger and had more freedom, didn’t think his presence was going to be the year’s thrill for her.

Claire’s sudden need to rearrange the parlor knickknacks indicated that she felt otherwise, but that was sixteen for you.

Hat in hand, the visitor bowed smoothly. “I do hope I’m not disturbing you,” he said in a voice thick with public school and university. His clothes were tweed, Judith noted, and practical, but good quality and—if she recalled her brothers’ wardrobes correctly—the latest London fashion.

As he spoke, he looked around the parlor, his blue eyes taking in the deep red wallpaper and the stuffed horsehide chairs, the mahogany table and the damask cloth. In his face, Judith saw careful, if quick, evaluation, then satisfied confirmation. All was in order; he’d found what he’d expected in a place like this.

“Ach, no,” said Agnes, giving him her warmest smile for prospective boarders. “Have yourself a seat and a wee bite. We’ve plenty to go around.”

“I’m greatly obliged,” said the man. “Do I have the privilege of addressing Mrs. Simon?”

Agnes smiled again. “Aye, you do. And this,” she said with a gesture, “is Lady Judith MacAlasdair.”

Already knowing what would happen, Judith saw the stranger’s face freeze briefly in surprise. Where he was from, ladies didn’t take tea with boardinghouse keepers. That had been true when Judith was young, and from everything she’d heard, the boundaries had only gotten firmer—Stephen’s decision to marry a commoner out of the East End notwithstanding. She smiled into that startled expression, as blandly polite as she could manage. “A pleasure, sir.”

Soon enough, and quicker than Judith would have expected, she saw the man recover himself, no doubt thinking that a tiny little Scottish village didn’t operate by the same standards as civilized society. “The pleasure is mine, I assure you,” he said. “I’m William Arundell.”

Judith would have bet the castle and half a month’s rent that he had at least two middle names, too, at least one of them along the lines of
Percival
or
Chauncey
.

In the back of her head, a voice very much like her brother Colin’s said that it was deuced odd for the lady with the title and castle to be bristling about snobs. Judith told that voice to hush: Arundell wasn’t just rich and educated. He was an outsider, for one thing, and for another…she didn’t like the way he’d looked at the room, or at Agnes.

She certainly didn’t like the way he was looking at her. It wasn’t lust: she’d spent enough decades around soldiers and sailors that she wouldn’t have batted an eye at mere lechery. No, Arundell’s expression was gentlemanly enough, but underneath it she sensed the same evaluation he’d turned on the parlor, without—she was glad to see—the satisfaction.

What reason—never mind what
right
—did he have for sizing her and her friend and her village up like so many horses at auction, or so many freaks in a sideshow?

“What brings you up here?” she asked. “You don’t have family in the village?”

Only politeness kept it a question rather than a statement. If Arundell had been anyone’s relation, Judith would have known—unless he was a bastard who’d done incredibly well for himself. She was considering that possibility when Arundell shook his head.

“No, nothing of the sort,” he said. “My physician recommended it. Not here specifically, of course, but getting away from city life, from crowds and smoke and so on, so I’ve been touring the countryside. One of the villagers in Belholm mentioned Loch Aranoch. It sounded like an excellent…well, retreat, if you will.”

“I suppose we are that,” said Agnes, laughing. “And you’ll be wanting rooms, then?”

“For an indefinite time, if it could be managed.”

“And gladly.” Agnes got to her feet—still easily, Judith noticed and wished she could stop noticing such things—and put her cup down on the table. “Lady Judith, if you’ll excuse us for a moment, we’ll just be stepping into my office to settle the details.”

Judith was glad to let them go.

Once again, the voice of self-reproach spoke up, wondering whether she was truly going to dislike the man because of a strangeness in the way he looked; once again she told it to be silent. If two centuries of life had taught her anything, it was to trust her instincts. Just at the moment, she couldn’t act on this one—the man had done nothing overtly wrong—but she tucked the impression away, to turn over and look at later, from more angles and with better tools.

When Claire came over to nab a muffin, Judith thought she might have an idea where her distrust came from. A man who looked at Loch Aranoch as an interesting diversion might well look at its people the same way; Arundell wouldn’t be the first man to decide that fresh things other than
air
would give him a new outlook on life. He was in his forties, if Judith was any judge, and Claire was sixteen. Agnes had probably told her a few home truths by now—Agnes hadn’t had much time for men even before her husband had died—but that could hurt as much as help at Claire’s age.

“Did you talk to Mr. Arundell much outside?” Judith asked as casually as she could manage.

“Well, no,” said Claire, sighing, “not really. He said good afternoon, and I said aye, it was bidding fair to be grand, and could I be helping him with anything, and he asked was I the proprietor of this establishment, only in a joking sort of a way, ye ken—and he has a bonny smile, Lady Judith, you should see it—”

“I’m sure he does.”

“And I laughed and said no,” Claire went on. If she’d noticed the interruption, she gave no sign of it. Sixteen, Judith thought, was in certain ways the youngest age. Her own time in the valley of that particular shadow was a dim memory now, which went a good way toward arguing for the merciful nature of the universe. “And I asked did he want Mum, and did he want lodgings for a time, and he said he couldn’t imagine leaving soon now that he’d seen how lovely the place was.”

Judith made a neutral sound. It didn’t sound, in fairness, as if Arundell had said anything outside the bounds of polite flattery. Not yet, at least.

“And then I showed him into the parlor. Do you think he’ll stay for a while? Do you think he’ll be at the fair?” Claire caught her breath at this evidently new idea. “I’ll be having a new dress. Of course,” she added, suddenly downcast, “it’s bound to be out of style by now, and I’m sure he’s used to very fashionable ladies.”

“I’m sure he’s used to
older
ones,” said Judith. “And if he isn’t, he should be, no matter how pretty you are. You’re old enough to know what I’m saying, aren’t you?”

She hoped so. Pure human girls were so damnably
fertile
, and the world wasn’t kind to an unmarried woman with a baby. Loch Aranoch was small enough that everyone would talk, no matter what Judith did; bigger places had their own dangers.

Claire was nodding now, chewing on her lip and looking about to go into a fit of sulks.

“Besides, isn’t the Stewart lad chasing after you these days? And haven’t you been doing a good bit of chasing back?”

“Oh, aye,” said Claire again. If she wasn’t completely mollified, the mention of her beau still did seem to keep her from sinking completely into the doldrums. “But he’s been all nervy lately. It’s
tiring
for a girl,” she added as the door to her mother’s private office opened and Arundell followed Agnes into the parlor. “Just because a beast killed one of his old cows.”

And at
that
, of all things, Judith saw Arundell’s gaze sharpen.

Thank you for reading
!

We hope you enjoyed
The Highland Dragon’s Lady
by Isabel Cooper.

Help others find books they’ll love by writing a review or lending this book to a friend.

The book you’ve just finished is Book 2 in the Highland Dragons series. Book 3,
Night of the Highland Dragon
will be available in June 2015. In case you missed it, the first book in the series is
Legend of the Highland Dragon
. If you loved
The Highland Dragon’s Lady
, check out our mailing list for updates on new releases and access to exclusive content.

Sign up now to be one of the first to get the scoop on Isabel Cooper, her latest books, and other great titles from Sourcebooks!

SIGN UP NOW!

Night of the Highland Dragon

by Isabel Cooper

William Arundell is a detective working for a secret branch of the English government. When a young man is found dead, William’s investigation leads him to a remote Highland village and the strangely youthful, intoxicatingly beautiful lady who rules MacAlasdair Castle. Nothing could have prepared him for the discovery that the charismatic Judith MacAlasdair is the only daughter in a long line of shape-changing dragons…or the fact that together they must put aside years of bad blood to save the British Islands from its deadliest foe…

Praise for the Highland Dragons series:

“The mix of adventure and romance is just perfectly entertaining.” —
Star-Crossed Romance

“Magical, fantastic, and a great read for any dragon lover…” —
The Romance Reviews

For more Isabel Cooper, visit:

www.sourcebooks.com

Legend of the Highland Dragon

by Isabel Cooper

He guards a ferocious secret

In Victorian England, gossip is as precious as gold. But if anyone found out what Highlander Stephen MacAlasdair really was, he’d be hunted down, murdered, his clan wiped out. As he’s called to London for business, he’ll have to be extra vigilant—especially between sunset and the appearance of the first evening star.

Mina wanted to find out more about the arrogant man who showed up in her employer’s office, but she never thought he’d turn into a dragon right in front of her. Or that he’d then offer her an outrageous sum of money to serve as his personal secretary. Working together to track a dangerous enemy, Mina finds out that a man in love is more powerful and determined than any dragon.

“An outstanding read! A fast-paced, smartly written plot—fraught with danger and brimming with surprises—makes it impossible to put down.”—
RT Book Reviews
Top Pick, 4.5 Stars

“Mesmerizing, ingenious, slyly humorous, and wonderfully romantic.”—
Library Journal

For more Isabel Cooper, visit:

www.sourcebooks.com

Isabel Cooper lives in Boston, in an apartment with two houseplants, an inordinate number of stairs, a silver sword, and a basket of sequined fruit. By day, she works as a theoretically mild-mannered legal editor; by night, she tries to sleep. Her family reunions don’t generally involve ghosts, though snakes and alligators have been known to make themselves present. You can find out more at
www.isabelcooper.org
.