The Highlander Is All That (Untamed Highlanders #4)(47)

*

As delightful as the evening had promised to be for Elizabeth, all the shine wore away the moment Twiggenberry showed up.

She had thoroughly enjoyed meeting the duchess—who bade them to call her Kaitlin—and her friends Lady Darlington and Lady Pennington, and her sister-in-law Violet McCloud, who was married to the brawny Scotsman chatting with Hamish.

These were ladies she would love to call friends, and she hoped their connection would continue.

But then Twiggy had appeared and claimed her.

They had danced around the ballroom and taken a promenade and then had the obligatory lemonade and Elizabeth had thought her trail had ended. But when her next dance partner arrived and cried off—apparently Blackworth had stubbed his toe or some such nonsense—Twiggenberry claimed her again.

It was tantamount to a declaration, two dances in a row, but Elizabeth didn’t much care. He could declare all he wanted. Tonight she was handing him his congé. So to speak.

What she didn’t expect was having the blackheart whirl her off the dance floor, down a hallway, and into the deserted library.

The fact that it was deserted was enough to concern her.

But then there was his expression.

“My lord. We should not be in here alone,” she said.

She headed back to the door, but he caught her arm. “Shouldn’t we?”

Oh. She didn’t care for the look in his eye in the least. “Please let me go.”

“Never.” The zealous trill of his voice frightened her and she tried to pull away. His fingers tightened painfully. And then—horrors—he yanked her into his arms. She fell against his chest with an inelegant oof.

But that was only the beginning. Because then, with a reptilian smile, he smashed his mouth against hers.

She very nearly retched again, but saved her energy for fighting him.

Sadly he was stronger, and clutched her tighter, and deepened the kiss.

And then, to her absolute horror, he grabbed her breast.

*

Hamish sprinted down the hall after Elizabeth, peering quickly into the open door of a salon filled with tittering partygoers. No. Not there.

Then he saw Twiggenberry’s tailcoats disappear into the next room, and he bolted after him.

He flung open the door and his hackles rose.

Twiggenberry had Elizabeth in his arms and though she was clearly fighting him, he wouldn’t let her go.

Unable to stop himself, Hamish issued a feral growl that resonated on the air.

Twiggenberry lifted his head. Elizabeth gasped for breath.

Hamish opened his mouth to bellow something—probably something foul—but before he could, a triumphant voice sounded from behind them. “I say, Twiggy! I do believe you are thoroughly compromised.”

Hamish whirled around to see Blackworth, Lady Jersey, and a coterie of the ton’s haughtiest patronesses standing with him in the hall and looking on. That Moncrieff and McCloud were among them didn’t help. Something acidic swirled in his belly. The hair on the nape of his neck rose. His hands closed to fists. He turned back to Twiggenberry, who looked far too smug for this to have been anything but a setup.

Blackworth chortled. “Well, Twiggy. You’ll have to marry her now.”

To which Elizabeth fainted.

And the bastard didn’t even catch her.





Chapter Seventeen


“I’m sorry. There’s nothing for it. You are going to have to marry him.”

Elizabeth ignored her aunt. She would much rather stare out the window onto the street before the Moncrieff ducal mansion. It was so pretty out there, with the streetlights glinting off the puddles. The lights were deliciously blurred.

Behind her, in this small sitting room, was hell.

She could hear the rustle of skirts and the whispers—her aunt, Lady Jersey, the duchess, Ranald, and the duke himself—but she didn’t mind that they were whispering. She really didn’t care to hear what they had to say.

“Here.” Kaitlin, the Duchess of Moncrieff, appeared by her side with a cup of tea. “Drink this.”

“I couldn’t.”

“Please. You’ve had a shock.” Kaitlin pressed the cup closer and Elizabeth caught a whiff of something that was definitely not tea.

She accepted the offering and sipped, relishing the warm burn of excellent whisky. She glanced at her hostess and gave a small smile. “I had heard you were a scandal.”

Kaitlin smiled back. “I do try. Now. Finish that up and come have sandwiches.” As though sandwiches were a cure-all for everything.

They were not.

But perhaps whisky was. “Maybe he will not want to marry me if I am a drunk,” she suggested and took another snort. What a pity it went down the wrong way and made her cough and wheeze. The duchess, very obligingly, patted her back.

“He seems rather resolute in the matter. Such devotion is not such a bad thing in a husband.”

Elizabeth snorted a laugh. “He was resolute enough to force me into that room and kiss me against my will.”

“He did not!”

“He most certainly did. Do you imagine I would kiss that man of my own volition?”

“I was wondering. You did seem a sensible sort.”

“I am.”

“But he is wealthy, I am told. And some say he is handsome.”