Highlander Undone by Connie Brockway Page A

joined hands, his large one quiescent in her much smaller one, but didn’t say a word.
    “Mr. Morris has spent years trying to achieve for the craftsman’s work the same degree of esteem garnered by an academy artist’s piece. What do you work in? Stone? Wood?”
    She studied the broad slash of a white scar on his hand. A thick coil of her hair, loosened when she had donned the “Liberty” gown, had worked free of the chignon and fell across his hand. Hesitantly, delicately, he rubbed the strands between his fingertips.
    She turned her head in order to repeat her question and caught on his face an unguarded expression of hopelessness. Immediately, he let her hair slide free of his fingers, as though worried that he’d overstepped the bounds of propriety.
    He had, of course. But his gesture had seemed so guileless she could not have taken offense. His look of concern was all out of proportion to his simple breach of decorum.
    “I know this is unconscionably presumptuous of me, but given your awareness of my other all-too-obvious social liabilities,” she said with a small smile, “perhaps you won’t be too shocked at what I am about to say.”
    He inclined his head.
    “It might appear that my offer of social support was said casually, a whim. I assure you, I do not act on whims anymore.”
    She had his attention now. “I feel a certain sympathy toward your untried position—not only amongst the ton , but amongst your fellow artisans. I would not be averse to easing your way where I could.”
    “You are too kind, ma’am,” he said uncomfortably.
    She scowled in frustration. Each year social etiquette grew more punishingly rigid. It was nigh impossible to say what one actually meant anymore, to distinguish courtesy from intent in “polite” conversation.
    Addie had had enough of masks. She would say what she meant, society’s rules be damned.
    “Let me be frank. I can help you. You look to need friends. Particularly as Mr. Morris might not be in London this Season. It is one of his latest affectations, to disregard society’s calendar. Without his support, you might flounder.”
    She felt herself flush beneath his careful scrutiny. For an instant Addie wondered if she might have misjudged the man but then realized that she was prepared to take the chance. And that alone felt good. It had been a long time since Addie had taken any chances . . . let alone a chance on a man.
    “We are being frank, Mrs. Hoodless?” he asked.
    “Yes.”
    “What do you get out of this arrangement?”
    Well! That was frank, indeed! She started to bite at her nail but, executing her new determination, she forced herself to calmly face him. He looked quite ill at ease . . .
    Dear God, did he think she was ensconcing him as her . . . her . . . cicisbeo ? If she weren’t so adept at control, she would burst into hysterical laughter. At least in this she could ease his mind by telling him the simple truth.
    “I will, I hope, gain a friend, Mr. Cameron. It has been years since I was in London for a Season. I confess to being somewhat apprehensive and, worse yet, suspect that my brother’s pleas for my support have less to do with any real need on his part than with his concern for my . . . reclusive state. But were I to feel I could actually help someone, perhaps the discomfort I anticipate might not seem so overwhelming.”
    “You want a project? A diversion?” Lord, he was frank!
    “Yes. I suppose you might see it like that,” she murmured. Such bluntness made her suggestion sound unpleasant.
    He was silent a moment, considering her words. “And what if I should make a poor project?”
    “As I am not familiar with your work, I have no expectations. And having no expectations, you cannot disappoint me.” She could not help the bitterness in her tone. But it was a milder bitterness than she was accustomed to feeling.
    “I doubt I am worthy of so munificent an offer.” She would have suspected sarcasm, but the