The Highlander Is All That (Untamed Highlanders #4)(42)

“Hush,” Anne said through a snort. “They’ll hear us.”

“I don’t give a fig,” Victoria said. “How horrible were they?”

Ranald shrugged. “I enjoyed it.” He glanced at Hamish. “After reinforcements arrived, of course.

“Of course.” Hamish clapped him on the shoulder.

“And how was your journey?” Mary asked.

“It was a bluidy awful two weeks.” Ranald shook a finger at the girls. “Don’t any of you get it in your head to hie off to Scotland and elope.”

“Catherine was kidnapped,” Elizabeth reminded him.

“Beside the point. I doona want to have to make that ride again. My arse is sore.”

“Language!” Esmeralda trilled but, judging from her smile, it was clear she was pleased to have them back.

There were more callers, mostly younger girls who seemed to be actual friends of the St. Claires. While they were polite and subdued, it was clear they’d come to get a look at the St. Claire Scotsmen as well.

As the seats filled up, Hamish and Ranald excused themselves to stand by the window and chat. They had to move, though, when the lilies there in the vase made Hamish start to sneeze.

Ranald was in the middle of bringing Hamish up to date on his business meeting—which had been about increasing distribution of their fledgling distillery—when a scratch came on the door. Without waiting, Henley entered and formally intoned, “Lord Twiggenberry and Lord Blackworth.”

A titter went up in the room.

Elizabeth, of course, was not one of the offenders.

The lords entered and then struck a pose in the doorway, waiting a moment for the power of their grandeur to be felt.

A hush resonated.

All the girls—save the St. Claires—stared in awe.

Twiggenberry turned, slowly, and then nodded. “Ladies,” he pronounced in a low voice. One that said, without words, I have arrived.

“Lord Twiggenberry,” Esmeralda called, reaching out her hand. “Lord Blackworth. Thank you for gracing us with your presence.” Dutifully, they kissed her hand in turn. And then Twiggenberry fixed his attention on Elizabeth. “My lady,” he said in a far too-intimate tone.

Hamish’s hackles rose.

He might have emitted something of a growl when Twiggenberry kissed her hand.

He might have, because all heads turned to him and several jaws dropped. Including that of the mighty Lord Twiggy.

“No worries,” Esmeralda said, patting the pompous ass on the arm. “He’s well trained.”

His lordship sniffed. “I should hope so.”

“They are here to protect the duke’s cousins,” young Miss Wemberly said. When the earl fixed his cold glare on her, she pinkened. “Well, that’s what I heard.”

“Quite right,” Esmeralda clipped. “Please, my lords. Do sit.”

It was extremely irritating that Twiggenberry sat next to Elizabeth and stared down at her as though he wanted to eat her up. “So, my lady,” he said in a portentous tone. “Did you like my flowers?”

Elizabeth smiled at him. Hamish gritted his teeth. “Lilies,” she said, which, when one thought about it, was not precisely a yes.

Lord Twiggy didn’t care. “Excellent,” he said, and then he took her hand and patted it. He held on to it for far too long.

It was probably just coincidence that Hamish bumped into the table holding said lilies and the vase crashed to the floor with a resounding shatter. Or maybe he kicked it. Hard to say.

“Ach! I am a clumsy oaf,” he said in the thickest brogue he could manage. “My apologies.”

Esmeralda frowned at him. “Not a problem, Hamish. Please fetch Henley to clean the mess.”

Fetch Henley? Not a bluidy chance he was leaving this room.

To the matron’s consternation, he marched to the bellpull and tugged. And then, he grinned at her.

*

Morning calls had been a trial, and Ranald was thrilled when all the guests left. If this was high-society living, he wanted none of it. As soon as he could, he repaired to his rooms and took a long bath.

He was catching up on his mail when a scratch came at the door. “Come,” he said, certain it was one of the maids. To his surprise, it was not.

Anne entered, carrying a large tray. She greeted him with a smile which warmed his heart. “I thought you might be hungry for something other than finger sandwiches.”

“I’m famished.” He took the tray from her and carried it to the table by the window and lifted the dome. The rich scent of roast beef and pudding teased his nostrils, and his stomach growled. “This is so thoughtful of you,” he said, and then he waggled his finger at her. “But what did I say about debutantes serving savages?”

“I think we have established that I am not a debutante.”

“We most certainly did not. But I am verra thankful. Will you sit with me while I eat?”

She nodded and took the other chair and he draped the linen napkin over his lap and tucked in. The meal was every bit as good as it smelled. “I’ve missed Cook’s puddings.”

“She is a dab hand.”

“Making me fat.”

“Didn’t you eat on the road?”

Ranald sighed. “No’ much. I was anxious to get back.” He stilled then when he realized he’d probably offered too much. “So you could all resume the parties, of course.”