The Highlander Is All That (Untamed Highlanders #4)(45)

“That they’ve been kissing? Yes, Elizabeth told me.”

He shook his head and raked his fingers through his hair. “Why did you no’ tell me?”

“You didn’t ask?” Honestly, how could she know he would even want to know? “And besides, you’ve only just arrived home.”

“Well, what did you say to Elizabeth when she told you?”

“That I was happy for her.” She had no idea why that surprised him as well.

“You doona have a problem with this . . .” He waved his hand around in an incomprehensible swirl.

“This what?”

“Relationship!”

“That sounds like a question,” she said teasingly.

He, apparently, wasn’t in the mood to be teased. “You really have no issues with your sister marrying a . . .”

“A . . . what?”

“Well, a Scot, obviously.”

“You would ask me this?”

“You know what I mean. After what happened to you—”

His mouth snapped shut as though he’d just said too much. And indeed, he had.

Cold claws clutched at her chest. Her stomach lurched. “What do you mean?”

“You know . . .” Again with the hand.

“Enlighten me,” she said through clenched teeth.

“Your . . . you know.”

“Are you talking about my lover?” she hissed. Oh. She was furious. Not just that he knew, but that he had known. How long had he known?

Ranald blanched. “Was he that?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“Of course it is.”

“Why? Because the duke would be disappointed?”

“No, damn it. Because I care.” His mouth snapped shut and he stared at her mutinously.

For her part, her pulse fluttered and heat rose on her cheeks. “You do?” she said in a small voice.

“That’s what I said, is it no’?” he muttered grudgingly. “I hate the fact that he hurt you. I hate the fact that he hurt you so badly you doona want to take a chance with another man.”

She stared at Ranald, though he refused to meet her gaze. Her heart swelled in her chest. “I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me. Thank you.”

He shot her a look. “You’re welcome.”

“I’m . . . getting over it,” she offered tentatively.

His eyes narrowed. “Are you?”

“I am. Slowly.”

“The slow part, I noticed,” he grumbled.

Well, really. There was no call for him to be petulant. “I kissed you this afternoon, did I not?”

“That was a verra nice kiss.”

“Thank you.”

His brow wrinkled. “But . . .”

She frowned at him. “But what?”

“It was kind of . . .”

“Kind of what?”

“Quick?”

How dare he criticize? She huffed a breath. “I was in a hurry.”

“Are you . . .” He paused so long a hush filled the room. “Are you in a hurry now?”

Oh. Oh dear. She couldn’t help the smile that blossomed. And then her mood plummeted. “I do have a ball to prepare for.”

“That’s hours away.”

“I have to do my hair.”

“Wear it down.”

“That is a scandalous suggestion.”

“What can I say?” he said with a wink. “I’m a Scot.”

He stood then and pulled her to her feet and held her gently for a moment before he set his lips to hers.

It was long, lingering, and lovely.

And when Aunt Esmeralda came into the room and wailed, “Not again,” they both ignored her. Thank heaven she stormed from the room.





Chapter Sixteen


Needless to say, there was not another chance for Elizabeth to see Hamish before the Moncrieff ball that evening, partly because Aunt Esmeralda insisted on being in Elizabeth’s pocket all day, and partly because there was so much to do to prepare. Her sisters were far too excited for this occasion, billed the event of the season, and they wanted to prepare together.

It would have been just this side of torture, given her mood, but to be honest, Elizabeth was curious about the infamous Dark Duke as well.

Moncrieff had been a rake in his day but had apparently met his match in a redheaded Scotswoman who had utterly tamed him, and that alone fascinated all of them.

“I’ve heard he has horns,” Victoria said as they waded through her closet looking for the perfect gown.

Mary shook her head. “I hear there’s a tail.”

“Well, we can’t very well search for a tail,” Anne remarked, holding up a pretty blue frock. “It would hardly be proper.”

Elizabeth sighed. How she would love to wear something in bold colors. They’d been in mourning for the past three years, and then in the annoying whites and pastels of a debutante.

Victoria sighed. “Perhaps the new duchess will tell us.”

“I cannot fathom how one would ask,” Anne said on a sniff.

“Easy.” Mary grinned. “Pardon me, Your Grace, but does your husband happen to have a tail?”