Page 10 of What a Highlander’s Got to Do

“And then, if you can imagine, she never turned up. What with all of us waiting to see her.”

“How rude.” William again. He winked at Nick. It was clear he was used to such verbal fencing. Well versed in the art of keeping the conversation afloat without actually saying anything.

“She never turned up?” Celia asked, passing the cakes ’round with a demure smile. Illustrating, no doubt, what an excellent hostess she would be one day.

“Never did.” Lady Swofford huffed. “Such a disappointment. I so wanted to take her measure.”

“Of course you did, Mother.”

It was something at which Lady Swofford excelled, after all.

“Who is she?” Nick asked, though it was immediately clear he should not have. He should just have let the topic die an agonizing death right there on the floor of the drawing room.

Lady Swofford blanched. She reared back. Her nostrils flared, giving Nick a startling view of her dark and dusky caverns, speckled with nose hairs.

“Who is she? Who is she?”

Celia leaned forward, offering him the sugar . . . and a providential view of her bosom. “She is the Lochlannach lass.”

His ears perked right up at that. A Scottish lass who had not turned up this afternoon for tea? Intriguing.

“I heard she is quite lovely,” William said, adjusting his cuffs. He was so engaged, he missed Nick’s frown.

“She is not,” his mother spat. “She’s a Scot.”

“That hardly signifies,” William responded. “A lovely woman is a lovely woman.”

A sizzle of vexation shot down Nick’s spine at his expression. William was known to pursue anything in a skirt. He did not want his friend setting his sights on any Scots lass in the area. He might have to kill him.

“Please.” Lady Swofford shot a sizzling glower at her firstborn. “My son will not have anything to do with her. I forbid it.”

“Really?” William leaned closer. “You’re making her so much more tantalizing. Perhaps I should ride over to the Willoubys and pay my respects.” As his mother sputtered, he added, “It’s the polite thing to do.”

“Mother, I suggest you not forbid him,” Celia said. It was probably the most salient comment she’d made today. Or ever.

Lady Swofford composed herself and took a sip of her tea. “It hardly matters. She’s leaving soon.”

Nick’s gut clenched. “Is she?” he asked, trying to be as casual as possible.

“As soon as her parents return from Haltwhistle. And of course, when the rest of them arrive.” Her tone implied that the rest of them were a pack of rats carrying the plague.

“Who are the rest of them?” Thank heaven William asked because while Nick had wanted to, he somehow knew it wasn’t wise.

Lady Swofford fell back on the pillows of her divan, as though in despair. “Oh, lord.”

“Caithness, for one,” Celia offered.

“The duke?” Nick asked. He’d heard of the Highland laird who had cheated death and saved his county from the dreaded Clearances. Everyone had. He was practically legend.

Celia nodded. “And one of his barons.” She turned to her mother. “Which one?”

“It hardly matters. They’re all savages.”

“Dunnet, probably,” William put in. “He’s a Lochlannach.”

“Her father?” Nick asked, though it earned him a glare from Lady Swofford. He hardly cared. If she was a baron’s daughter, she wasn’t a maid. And that blew all his plans to hell. He knew better than to seduce a lady. It would be akin to a fly walking into the spider’s trap.

“He’s her uncle,” Celia said. For someone who wasn’t in the least interested in Highlanders, she certainly knew a lot of details.