Highland Rogue, London Miss. Margaret Moore
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frown.
Esme was suddenly quite sure that even if MacLachlann tried to seduce the housekeeper, Mrs. Llewellan-Jones was quite ready and able to resist him.
As she, apparently—and to her chagrin—was not.
“Ah. The solicitor hired you as well?” MacLachlann asked.
“Yes, my lord. I was recently working for Lord Raggles.”
“How is old Rags?” MacLachlann asked with one of his more charming smiles, while Esme sidled toward a huge armoire near the door.
“His lordship was quite well the last time I saw him, my lord,” Mrs. Llewellan-Jones answered evenly.
“Glad to hear it. Now if you’ll excuse us, Mrs. Jones,” he said, “my wife and I would like to rest before dinner.”
Esme darted him a sharp glance, then flushed when she saw The Look on his face.
“It’s Llewellan-Jones, my lord, and what would you like done with your baggage?”
“It can all be taken to the dressing room and unpacked—but no one should enter this room until we ring for a maid.”
Until …? What was he thinking?
“As you wish, my lord. My lady,” the housekeeper replied, her expression serene as she left the room and closed the door behind her.
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