Rogue with a Brogue Read Online Free

brawl they caused at the Evanstone ball? They nearly killed Lord Berling. Your own cousin.”
    â€œMy second cousin,” Lord Fendarrow amended. “And a fool. But yes, you are correct, my dear. You didn’t need to insult him, but you shouldn’t have danced with him, either, Mary.”
    Mary nodded. “There is a truce, though, is there not? Arnold and Charles and all my other cousins aren’t going to murder Arran MacLawry for dancing with me, are they? Because I don’t think he had the slightest idea who I was.”
    And she’d rather enjoyed that, actually. To him she’d been Lady Vixen, and they’d simply chatted. Yes, she’d needled him a bit, but then he was a MacLawry. He hadn’t become flustered or annoyed or defensive at her barbs, though. Rather, he’d shown more wit and humor than she’d expected—after all, she’d grown up on tales of the goat-faced, hairy-knuckled MacLawrys.
    She wished she could have seen more of his face, because his mouth with that cynically amused quirk of his lips, the way the lean fox visage seemed to fit his features—he didn’t seem remotely goat-faced. In fact, he intrigued her, just a little.
    â€œTo be perfectly clear,” her father said, shaking her out of thoughts of black, wind-blown hair and a lean, strong jaw, “you aren’t to dance with Arran MacLawry or Ranulf MacLawry, or Munro MacLawry if he should venture down from Glengask. Nor are you to befriend Rowena MacLawry. Or the Mackles or Lenoxes or MacTiers or any other of their clan or allies.”
    â€œI—”
    â€œI know you’re aware of your place, Mary,” he continued over her interruption. “I know you’ve been told a hundred times that as my daughter, as your grandfather’s granddaughter, you have a value to both allies and enemies. It wasn’t as … vital when the MacLawrys kept to the Highlands, but they’re here in London now. And simply because my father decided we should at least pretend some diplomacy with the Marquis of Glengask doesn’t mean you need to do so.”
    â€œI understand, Father,” Mary said hurriedly, hoping to avoid being bombarded by the entire speech. Because she hadn’t heard it a hundred times; she’d heard it a thousand times. “Truly.”
    â€œGood. Because the present circumstances have provided us with an opportunity we don’t mean to let pass by.”
    â€œAn opportunity that hinges on you,” her mother put in, finally taking a seat. “Even though I was married by one-and-twenty, it seems your … stubbornness and your grandfather’s indulgence have now actually benefited us.”
    â€œIndeed,” the marquis resumed. “Your previous reluctance to marry hasn’t helped ease any clan tensions. But your grandfather agrees that this truce can be used to our advantage.”
    So far it didn’t seem to be much of an advantage for her, except for one waltz with a man she would otherwise have been forbidden to look at through a spyglass. Then she realized just which opportunity they must be referring to. “You’re setting me after Roderick MacAllister,” she stated, her heart bumping into her throat.
    â€œThis truce won’t last,” her father returned matter-of-factly. “The Campbell’s favorite granddaughter marrying the MacAllister’s son will give us the numbers to challenge the MacLawrys, and the MacAllisters wouldn’t make that bargain, sweet as it is, without this cease-fire. We must strike now.” He leaned forward, putting a hand over her teacup before she could lift it for another sip. “And that is why you are not to risk upending this truce by waltzing with Arran MacLawry.”
    Ice trailed down her spine. Yes, she could have avoided a dance with a MacLawry—if she’d wished to do so. When she’d realized he had no idea who she was,