“Oh.” Johanna struggled for words. “But Franklin…well, I’m not an expert on the subject, but I’d imagine he kept to his quarters while taking his bath.”
Mrs. Bailey shrugged. “Myself, I think Archie likes the excuse t’create a bit of mischief. He’s been known to put his God-given talent with the pipes…and what the heavenly father blessed him with…on display when the laird and Lady Kathleen entertained some very stuffy, very important guests. He has a wicked sense of humor.”
Johanna bit back a giggle. “I suppose I should consider myself fortunate he didn’t choose today to display all his talents.”
“Well, lass, ye might not believe it, but he really is quite an impressive sight. The man is a MacMasters, after all. ’Tis a pity he didn’t take t’cavorting like that when he was younger. He’d have been a strapping specimen in those days.”
Was it Johanna’s imagination, or had Mrs. Bailey actually thrown a wink? Bold, yet somehow, entirely fitting in this household.
With a smile, Mrs. Bailey headed for the door. “Let me know if ye need anything.” She pointed to a bell pull to the left of the door. “Just ring.”
“Thank you.”
The door closed quietly behind the housekeeper, leaving behind a sudden silence. The piping had ceased. In its place, the quiet loomed, and for a moment, Johanna found herself missing the alternating joyful and mournful tones.
The man is a MacMasters, after all. Mrs. Bailey’s matter-of-fact statement echoed in Johanna’s mind. A MacMasters man. Impressive, indeed, if Connor was any indication of the men in his bloodline. The Scot’s build could put a Greek statue to shame.
Fixing her attention on far more practical matters than an octogenarian bagpiper, Johanna set about preparing herself for the day. The dress Mrs. Bailey brought fit well enough, though the bodice was a bit snug, emphasizing her bosom more than Johanna preferred. Well, there was nothing to be done about it. All in all, the gown was beautiful. How fortunate that she and Maggie shared similar proportions.
Sweeping her hair into a loose knot at her nape, Johanna arranged the rebellious strands into some sense of order. Her obstinate tresses took on a mind of their own, curling here and there, just enough to doom her attempt to control them. Tiring of a struggle she was destined to lose, she tossed the pins she still clasped onto the dresser and went about freshening her complexion.
She’d completed her toilette when another knock shattered her pleasant solitude. Mrs. Bailey again, most likely. What had brought the housekeeper to her door this time? The slight rumble of Johanna’s stomach voiced its own hopes that she’d come to summon her to breakfast.
Hurrying to the door, she tugged it open. Her stomach ceased its grumbling, replacing her hunger pangs with a little nervous flip.
Not Mrs. Bailey.
Connor MacMasters stood with one elbow braced against the frame, staring down at her with an infuriatingly unreadable expression. His eyes roamed slowly over her, taking in the fashion she wore from her chin to her leather-clad toes. His mouth quirked, as if he’d considered offering comment but thought better of it.
“Ye’re dressed,” he said finally. “Good. Ye need to come with me now. My sister would like to speak with ye.”
“Before the morning meal?” Johanna’s craving for nourishment got the better of her.
He nodded. “Serena’s not a patient lass. She’s eager to examine the book. And she’d like ye there for the analysis.”
“Why does she require my presence?” Johanna tried to ignore her stomach’s protest.
“I’ve no idea, lass. But she made the request. Command is more like it. I’ve served under generals who were less demanding than my sister.”
“Very well.” Johanna angled her body to avoid contact with his. She’d been reckless the night before. She couldn’t take a chance of being drawn to this man whose purposes were so very different than hers.
In the dim morning light, his eyes were the color of a forest, muted greens with the slightest tinge of gold. The hitch of his mouth intensified. Clearly, he’d read her movements with an expert’s skill.
“Ye’ve no worries this morning, Johanna. I’ve no intention of ravishing ye. At least not ’til I’ve got some food in my belly.”
Despite his words, the look in his eyes unfurled a ribbon of heat from her core to her fingers and toes. Devil take it, the Scot eyed her like a tasty morsel.
And her heart relished the sweetness of temptation.
How many days and nights had she existed without knowing the tantalizing desire in his forest green gaze? For so long, she’d yearned to feel such sensuous, unfiltered interest, the feel of him drinking her in without shame or some false propriety. And now, she’d come face-to-face with a man who could sweep her away to her most delicious fantasy.