Highland Rogue, London Miss. Margaret Moore

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.