Page 14 of A Stranger’s Gamble

A strange smile played at the corner of his mouth. “I am his man of affairs.”

They reached the rear entrance to the house marked Number ninety-one, and Sophie pulled Ophelia to a halt.

Allow me to introduce myself,” the man said. “I am Adam… Adam MacAlister.”

“I’m Beatrice Frasier. Pleased to meet you, sir.”

“Likewise, Miss Frasier.” He emphasized the word Miss and glanced meaningfully at her tight breeches, then winked. “Well, I must be off.” He took two backward steps. “Good evening, Miss Frasier.”

“The same to you, Mr. MacAlister.” She angled her head in farewell.

Her attention caught on the way his coat stretched taut across broad shoulders—and the tendrils of hair that brushed those shoulders. He turned onto the road and out of her view, and she jarred at the realization that she’d been staring.

Fifteen minutes later, valise in hand, Sophie thanked the maid who showed her to Miss Shaw’s room and slipped inside a bright room. Beatrice jumped up from the chair where she sat in front of a window. To the right, sat a large four-poster bed with a peach-colored counterpane. The four trunks sat near the armoire to the left near the hearth where a fire burned.

“Finally.” Beatrice wrung her hands. “Where have you been? Your aunt has sent a message that you are to attend to her in the drawing room once you have refreshed yourself. Oh, dear, but this is a mess you’ve gotten us into.” She took a breath, clearly with the intent to carry on her tirade.

“Calm yourself, Beatrice. As you can see, I changed into my dress. The breeches are well hidden in my valise.” She lifted the valise to show her.

In her desire to ride Ophelia, another thing Sophie had given no thought to was how a young male footman would gain entrance to Sophie Shaw’s chambers. However, she wasn’t about to admit that to Beatrice. Luckily, Mr. Carney arrived, and Sophie had quickly changed inside the carriage. She would plan better in the future.

“A woman of your station should not wander the streets of Edinburgh alone,” Beatrice said.

“My station?” Sophie snorted. “I am no lady, silly. No one cares what a calico-printer’s daughter does.”

“Your father would. He will have my head on a platter if he catches a hint of this escapade.”

Sophie took the breeches and shirt from the valise.

“Please, I beg you, burn those hideous clothes,” Beatrice wailed.

Burn them? She needed them.

“Cease fretting, Bea.” Sophie crossed to the armoire, folded the clothes, then tucked them into the far corner of the chest, along with the valise.

She faced Beatrice. “Now, close the drapes. We must prepare for my aunt to visit me. I have a headache, you know.”

Beatrice frowned. “You never have a headache.”

Sophie grinned. “I will be having a lot of them while I am in Edinburgh. Now, do as I say. Close the drapes.”

Beatrice obeyed while Sophie searched her trunks until she found a nightgown, cap and robe. Beatrice helped her wash her face and arms, then combed her hair and splashed a little rose water on her locks. Even Sophie had to admit she could still smell the hint of horse on her hair. When Sophie finally slipped into the nightgown, cap and robe, she ordered Beatrice to turn off the lamp.

Beatrice complied, and Sophie crawled into bed and pulled the covers up to her shoulders. When Beatrice pulled the drapes, firelight bathed the room in a low glow that pleased Sophie. Her aunt wouldn’t be able to get a good look at her.

“Now, call for a maid,” Sophie said. “Tell her to inform my aunt I have a headache. If she decides to visit me—”

A sharp rap sounded on the door, and a woman said, “Sophie, it’s your Aunt Maddie.”

Sophie looked at Beatrice whose eyes had gone wide.

“Hide,” Sophie whispered.

“Hide?”

“No argument.” Sophie shooed her away.

Beatrice hesitated, then hurried to the small antechamber on the far side of the room and went inside.