The Highlander Is All That (Untamed Highlanders #4)(73)

“Well, really,” a crisp female voice echoed through the night. Elizabeth was delighted to recognize Helena, the Countess of Darlington, as she emerged from the shadows. She set her gaze on Hamish and his battering. “How long is this going to continue?” she asked, crossing her arms.

McCloud shrugged. “Til Hamish gets it out of his system, I imagine.”

And they all stood and watched for a minute more.

It was clear Hamish was flagging, but it didn’t much matter to Blackworth.

“Do you want me to take over?” McCloud called.

Hamish glared at him.

“Really, darling,” the countess remarked. “I think he’s had enough. Perhaps we should tie them up and contact the magistrate?”

“Aye,” McCloud said. “You doona want to murder him.”

“Do I no’?” Hamish bellowed, taking one more vicious punch.

McCloud snorted. “Nae. Far too much paperwork . . . in my humble opinion.”

Hamish paused, took a deep breath, and let Blackworth fall to the ground. The man issued a wheeze of relief. Then Hamish turned to Elizabeth. “Are you all right?” he asked, which, she considered, was a little late in the day.

“She’s fine,” McCloud said. “Come on. Let’s get these blackhearts trussed up.”

Jamison returned from the cottage with ropes and while the men tended to this business, the countess took Elizabeth’s arm and led her inside. “You’ve had quite a fright,” she said.

Elizabeth nodded. What else could she say?

To her surprise, Helena Tully, Countess of Darlington, bustled around the kitchen, making tea. While they were waiting for the water to boil, Elizabeth saw to Miss Claire, who was rousing. There was a terrible bruise on her cheek, which Elizabeth bathed with a cool cloth.

“That bastard,” Helena said as she helped Miss Claire sit.

Miss Claire stared at Helena for a moment and then cooed. “Is it really you, my darling?”

“It is,” Helena said. “I’ve come for a visit. And not a moment too soon, it seems.”

“She brought Scotsmen with her,” Elizabeth said. “They saved the day.”

Helena smiled. “Indeed they did.”

Elizabeth frowned. Now that the shock was beginning to wane, her fury rose to the fore. “That Twiggenberry is a rotter.”

Miss Claire shook her head. “I must say, I never thought he would go to such lengths to marry you.”

Lady Helena laughed. “Of course he would. He was desperate.”

Elizabeth blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Apparently he had debts coming due and needed your dowry.”

“But . . . What about his ten thousand a year?”

The countess sniffed. “According to James, he’s been gambling heavily for years. So much so, he lost the principal. There is no ten thousand a year.”

“That bastard.”

They both turned and stared at Miss Claire, who looked far too innocent for such vulgarity. And then they both broke out in peals of laughter.





Chapter Twenty-Five


It was a relief knowing Elizabeth was safe and sound. Once the horror of seeing her beneath Blackworth faded—though it did take some time—Hamish was able to relax. Turning him and Twiggenberry over to the magistrate helped. The duke and the earl arrived in time to demand satisfaction so there was no doubt the matter would be handled to the fullest extent of the law.

But even though he was once again with Elizabeth, he wasn’t. There was something of an abyss between them.

Hamish wasn’t quite certain how to breach it.

They spent a week in Clovelly while their party explored the town and enjoyed their holiday, but it was no holiday for Hamish.

There was absolutely no opportunity for him to speak with Elizabeth alone, as she was constantly surrounded by her friends. And on the journey back to London, the ladies all rode together in the same carriage, ostensibly to plan a soiree at the Darlington’s London estate.

Hamish couldn’t shake the horrible feeling that he and Elizabeth had grown distant. He wasn’t sure if it was her annoyance over the widow Dunn or his worry over displeasing the Duke of Caithness by pursuing his cousin, but it was clear that she took pains to avoid speaking to him, being alone with him . . . looking at him.

It was crushing, but he reminded himself it did not matter.

All that mattered was that she was safe.

When they arrived back at Sinclair House, Lady Esmeralda invited the entire party in for tea, but the Countess of Darlington insisted she needed to finish preparations for the soiree, which was tomorrow evening, and as the Duchess of Moncrieff was cohosting, she needed to go as well.

So it was the St. Claires, Hamish, and Jamison who filed into the parlor.

Henley—psychic as he seemed to be—was ready with a tea tray, though he frowned at poor Jamison as he rolled it into the room. The erstwhile footman, who had been sitting next to his bride, sprang to his feet and looked confused, as though he wasn’t sure what he should be doing.

“Oh, sit,” Esmeralda barked, and he did so, though there was a sheen of sweat on his brow.

Mary took his hand and smiled. “You’ll get used to it,” she said.

“I doubt that,” he muttered.

“My lady.” Henley bowed to Lady Esmeralda. “Lord Bower and Lady Anne have returned from Scotland.”