Her Highland Fling Read Online Free Page B

across the table and brush her lips against that wide, laughing mouth.
    The serving girl strolled up to their table, with eyes only for the gentleman. “Ready for another pint, then?” She was a buxom, brunette thing, and she cocked her hip, clearly willing to serve up whatever MacKenzie wished. “Or have your thoughts finally turned to something more pleasurable? You know you need only ask.”
    Pen’s cheeks heated. Despite her thirst for adventure, she’d led a somewhat sheltered life, living in genteel poverty with her mother and sister in Brighton. Even with this recent move to London, she’d made sure to find lodging in a respectable establishment, and had kept to well-lit paths. She’d never heard such a blatant offer made to a gentleman before.
    Then again, she’d never set foot in a tavern before, either.
    It was a night of several firsts, and she was feeling a bit lightheaded as a result.
    MacKenzie tossed a coin out on the table. “No, Sally, none of that now. We want to be on our best behavior for the reporter who’s come to make Moraig famous. I only want to pay for Miss Tolbertson’s attempt to research our whisky, as we’re leaving now.”
    A bit of Pen’s pleasure faded, though she was glad to hear he didn’t intend to leave with the serving girl. She didn’t want to be disappointed in this man, now that she had finally sorted out there was a bit more to him than she had first presumed.
    But was he one of those gentlemen, who believed a lady must be ensconced at home or escorted everywhere? She encountered far too many of the sort in the course of her daily work. And as she had no reputation she planned to preserve—having already firmly committed herself to spinsterhood and the shocking impropriety of having a profession—she was ill inclined to bow to such whims now.
    As the servant left, the coin safely tucked between her generous breasts, Pen leaned in. “Perhaps I am not yet ready to g-go, MacKenzie,” she warned.
    “ ’Tis your choice, of course.” He turned back to face her. “But I can see you don’t believe me, lass.” His voice deepened. “So I’ve a mind to show you the crodh mara by moonlight. ’Tis said to be when their magic is strongest.”
    The pleasure rushed back in. “Oh,” she whispered.
    “You’re a courageous thing, I’ll allow. Not many women would try their hand at a malt. But I suppose it stands to be seen whether you’re brave enough to risk a stroll down by Loch Moraig.”
    Something in his voice, and in his eyes as well, told her he’d be willing to show her more than water cattle, if only she were brave enough to want that, too. Pen knew that to most people, she appeared the sort of woman who would happily spend her days lost in a book. But he wasn’t looking at her the way most gentlemen did, as though they saw only a twenty-six-year-old spinster with a stammer. No, he was looking at her as though he understood her motivations, and that was a novelty she wanted to explore.
    It surprised her that MacKenzie seemed to see more in her than most. She enjoyed nothing so much as the challenge of trying new things, probably because so much of her life in Brighton had been lived in the opposite fashion. She had taken the job in London because her fledgling success with Brighton’s small newspaper had made her want more. She’d come here alone tonight because she’d wanted the freedom to view the town in its natural state, rather than through the eyes of a tightly chaperoned female.
    She had every confidence that if she found the right gentleman, she would want to try other things as well, things she heretofore had only read about in books.
    And heaven help her, William MacKenzie made her feel . . . curious.
    In Brighton, this sort of invitation could mean only one thing. Not that she had ever received such an invitation herself, mind you, but even a spinster deserved a first real kiss. So she rose, shoving her notebook and pencil in her reticule and