Page 41 of Again, Scoundrel

Violet had to crane her neck to look up at her—she must have been nearly six feet tall, with flaming red hair and those green, green eyes. They seemed even greener somehow when they were attached to the whole of her rather lovely face.

“I can’t very well leave you out here in the rain, though it would serve him right.”

“Thank you,” Violet said, ignoring whatever the last part of that sentence meant as she stepped into the long dark hallway.

“Follow me. McGann will be around eventually.”

Violet hadn’t known if the address on McGann’s calling card was his place of business or his residence, but she suspected now that it might not be either. This woman hadn’t spoken of him like he was her employer. Rather the other way around.

“Name’s Esmee Callender,” the woman called over her shoulder as she led Violet into the dark interior of the building.

“I’m Violet Goodwin,” Violet said. “Are we Nowhere?”

“We are.”

Esmee opened another door to a bright and cozy interior filled with mixed company, all crowded together and drinking in the same warmly lit room.

“Oh,” Violet exclaimed, looking around her in wonder at the convivial atmosphere. “Nowhere is wonderful!”

Esmee turned to peer at her and, seeing Violet’s genuine delight, let the corner of her mouth lift in a grin.

“Thank you,” she said. “Now, what can I get you? We only serve whisky.”

“Then I’d love a whisky.”

The woman settled her into a comfortable booth and a few minutes later set a glass of amber liquid in front of her. Violet took a small sip so as not to be rude. She didn’t drink much as a rule and especially not on a day she was to practice medicine.

“Do you like it?” Esmee asked.

Violet did, to her surprise. The alcohol tingled her lips and then burned her chest as it made its way down into her stomach.

“It’s delicious.” She grinned before taking another tiny sip. “But I’m afraid there’s been some mistake. I didn’t come for whisky. I came to help with your medical clinic. Can you tell me about it?”

Chapter

18

McGann strolled into Nowhere with Alistair Crawford on his heels. The two men didn’t get far before they were stopped by Esmee, arms akimbo and green eyes blazing with fury.

Alistair couldn’t understand a word of the torrent she let loose upon them, but the snarl in her voice and the anger in her face told him more than enough about her mood.

“Alistair Crawford,” McGann said, when he could get a word in, “you remember my sister, Mrs. Esmee Callender.”

Esmee narrowed her eyes at McGann. “You daft eejit. You’ve brought him back here after I told you not to. We don’t serve the Sassenach.”

McGann ignored that. “Esmee,” he said. “I’d like to properly introduce you to Lord Alistair Crawford.”

The emphasis he’d placed on the title was unmistakable, but Esmee blew right past it.

“I don’t care about your friends, Andrew. You can’t bring them here again.” She turned to Alistair. “You’ll have to go, English. And take that lass inside with you.”

“What lass?” Alistair asked, amused by her utter disregard for his lordship.

He was normally the only person who disregarded it, courtesy title as it was, which made him immediately like McGann’s sister all the more. That and her absolute thrashing of her brother.

“You can serve him,” McGann said, ignoring his question. “Crawford here is going to partner with me in a shipping and trading company. One that can find new places to sell your whisky, I might add.”

“And how’s he to do that?” Esmee asked.