Page 76 of What a Highlander’s Got to Do

Better. But not ideal. “Humpf.”

“Yet I feel the need to respect your—”

“My what?”

“Your . . . station.”

“My station?” Seriously? That was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard. She had no station.

“You deserve better than a hard, hot, surreptitious coupling.”

The way he said it made her hot.

It was probably irritation.

She’d wanted that hard, hot, surreptitious coupling. She’d wanted it a lot.

“When a woman like you gives yourself—”

“A woman like me?”

He frowned at her ferocity. “You deserve better.”

“What I choose to give to a man, or not give to a man—when, where, and how—is my decision.”

He went red to his ears. “To a man? What do you mean to a man?”

“To a man.” She waved at the company milling about the room, thankfully out of earshot. “Any man. And there are so many to choose from.” It was probably wrong to prod him, but she’d never met a man so sanctimonious and infuriating. “Him, for instance.” She nodded to the tall man by the mantel. What had the duchess called him? “Malcolm.” He was far too old for her, thirty-five at least, but that hardly signified. He was a man and he was handsome enough to suit her purposes.

Nick sputtered. “You can’t be serious. Malcolm is a known profligate.”

“He canna be too bad or the duchess would not have him here.”

“He’s here because he’s a relation. Seriously, Isobel. You must not engage him.”

“Must I not?” She tossed her head and did just that, making her way to Malcolm, who greeted her with a charming smile—a smile that only widened when he noticed Nick’s scowl.

Och. This party might actually be fun after all.

* * *

This. Was. Hell.

Hell unlike anything Nick had ever experienced. Not only was Isobel talking to Uncle Malcolm—talking to him and smiling and fluttering her lashes—the other Wyeths, Don Juans to a man, had been attracted to her beauty and were buzzing about. Penny and Tully and William as well. All drooling over her.

And Penny and William knew damn well that Nick had laid his claim. They’d witnessed it. Beyond that, they had raked him over the coals this morning endlessly, regarding that witnessed kiss.

Nick wanted to charge into that cluster like a bull and sweep her away. He straightened his spine and tightened his fists and prepared to do just that—

“My lord?”

Oh, bloody hell. What now? He whipped around and glared at Mrs. Billings. “What?”

Damn it. He shouldn’t have snapped. She lurched back with a wounded look on her face.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Billings.” He forced a smile at the housekeeper. “What is it?”

“I’m sorry to interrupt you, my lord, but there is a question of the layout of the picnic.”