Page 97 of Wicked Highland Heroes

“I am obligated to say, ‘no, what woman wouldn’t want you?’”

“For a mamma who has worked with such vigor this last year and a half to marry off her son, you do not seem to think he is very marriageable.”

“Don’t get me started on your marriageability. I know you too well.”

That she did. His mother had no illusions where he was concerned. Yet she loved him nonetheless.

Her eyes twinkled. “Has it occurred to you that if I had truly decided a particular lady would do that you could not have escaped me?”

“I think, madam,” Erroll said with care, “that I am glad not to have tested that theory.”

*****

Early that afternoon, a muffled, angry male voice filtered up the staircase as Eve descended. She slowed, discerned the indistinct reply of a quieter, more composed female voice, then another heated retort from the man. She yanked up her skirts and hurried down the stairs.

“I said he wasna’ here.”

Leslie.

“Out of my way!” the man ordered.

Eve took the last two stairs and whirled left. With her second step toward the massive foyer, Leslie said, “If you canna’ speak kindly, then leave.”

A large man towered over her, but she stood her ground, glowering up at him. His head jerked in Eve’s direction. “Who are ye?”

Eve hurried to the maid’s side. “Miss Eve Crenshaw, my lord.”

His gaze sharpened on her. “First a maid, then a Sassenach—where is the marquess?”

“I cannot say, sir. But I am sure we can find him.”

“I told him the laird is no’ here,” Leslie said with heat.

“I will speak with the marquess, damn you,” he snarled.

“Perhaps I can be of assistance.”

Eve and Leslie whirled in unison to face Lord Rushton, who emerged from the hallway directly ahead.

“Are you the marquess?” the man demanded.

The earl approached, and Eve grasped Leslie’s arm and pulled her back two paces as he passed them.

He stopped in front of the man. “I believe it is customary for the visitor to introduce himself.”

“I am Lord Burns, ye fool.”

“Lord Rupert Burns?”

His mouth twisted downward in a deprecating frown. “Rupert is a poor cousin.”

“I see, and to what do we owe the honor of a visit from his more worthy relation?”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”

Lord Rushton gave a slight bow. “Erroll MacLean at your service.”

“Where is your father?”