The Highlander Is All That (Untamed Highlanders #4)(19)

*

Ranald chuckled as Hamish stormed from the room. He glanced at Anne, who was laughing as well. “Is it wrong of us to torment him?” he asked.

He was pleased that her smile didn’t dim. “Perhaps, but I have to say, I quite enjoyed it.”

“As did I.”

“And he brought it on himself,” she added.

“How did he bring it on himself?” Mary squawked. “He was minding his own business—”

“Half-naked,” Anne said on a sniff.

Mary sighed. “I thought he looked fabulous in that kilt.”

“Perhaps he looked too fabulous,” Victoria suggested. “Lady Jersey just couldn’t help herself.”

“She managed to keep her hands off Bower,” Anne said, and a shiver went up his spine at her name on his lips. And then she said something that made his blood surge. “And Bower is much better looking than Hamish.”

It took a moment for him to recover himself. “I am gratified.”

Anne pinkened and then turned away. “Obviously, Hamish did something to encourage her.”

Lady Esmeralda grunted. “It does not take much to encourage Sarah.”

“Nonetheless, he must have.”

Mary frowned. “I don’t think you are being at all fair.”

“I am being completely fair. And how ironic is it that now we have to protect him?”

It was clear to Ranald that Anne was only teasing, but for some reason, Elizabeth took umbrage. Her face went red and she glared around the room. “Well, really,” she huffed. Then she picked up her shawl and stormed from the room.

Victoria’s eyes widened. “Well,” she said. “That was interesting.”

“This whole evening has been,” Mary added. “My head is spinning.”

“Of course it is. But we must get to bed,” Esmeralda insisted. “We have morning calls.”

“Must we?” Mary groaned.

“Of course we must.” Victoria hooked arms with her sister and tugged her to the door. “There’s so much to do, come along.”

Lady Esmeralda headed for the door as well, just as Henley rolled in the tea tray. “Oh dear,” she said.

“No worries,” Ranald said with a smile. “I plan to stay up a bit more, and I am famished.”

Esmeralda grinned. “No cakes for you at Almack’s.”

“How lucky,” Anne murmured. But when her aunt quit the room, she remained. A comfortable hush fell as he helped himself to a sandwich. She did as well and they chewed in a companionable silence. “These are much better,” she said after a moment.

“Why do you suppose they serve terrible food at Almack’s?”

She shrugged. “I have no clue. The lemonade was watered down as well.”

“I would have killed for one. It was quite warm.”

She surprised him with a smile. It was warm and sincere. “Next time ask me for one.”

“Och. That would go over well. A debutante serving a savage?”

“Nonsense. I’m hardly a debutante.”

He blinked at the sharpness of her tone. “Of course you are.”

Her expression was wry. “I am nearly five and twenty.”

“The perfect age for marriage.”

“Not in this world. In this world I am old.”

“You are no’ old in the least,” he said, leaning forward. “Any man would be lucky to have you.” Perhaps there was a hint too much warmth in his tone, because her eyes widened and she stared at him.

After a moment, she huffed a laugh. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I do. You’re lovely. Elegant. Intelligent. Funny—”

“I’m not funny.”

“You are when you want to be.” He winked. “You had me holding my sides earlier.”

“It was hardly my intention.”

“I suspect you are, Lady Anne, a wicked woman.”

She stilled and stared into her teacup, and then she lifted her chin and met his gaze. Her grin was wicked indeed. “Perhaps,” she whispered. “Just don’t tell anyone.”

“Your secret is safe with me.”

“Thank you, good sir.”

He lifted his teacup in her honor. “What are friends for?” he asked.

“Indeed,” she said with a smile that warmed his heart. “Indeed.”

*

Hamish couldn’t sleep. And it wasn’t his swirling trepidation about the leading lady of the ton hunting him down, or the effect of inferior whisky. It was thoughts of Elizabeth that kept him awake.

No matter how much he reminded himself it was foolish to do so, he kept remembering that kiss and imagining more. And when he recalled the sight of her dancing in another man’s arms, his stomach lurched.

Then again, that could have been the whisky.

It was a damned shame that in a Scotsman’s home there was not a better vintage.

Sometime in the middle of the night, he realized he was not going to sleep, and dressed himself and headed downstairs. He was of a mind to raid the pantry and, perhaps, find more alcohol.

A light in the library gave him pause, and he poked his head in.

His heart jumped at the sight of her.