Lady Ainsley McDougal stood on the drive of her cousin’s estate and watched the approaching guests, her head craning up to get a better view over the shrubbery that lined the drive. Finally something of interest was going to happen. At least she’d hoped it was about to. Anyone could be arriving in that carriage. Perhaps even eligible bachelors.

This trip to visit her cousin, Clarissa, and her husband, Ewan, the Earl of Dumfries, as they welcomed their new baby was supposed to have been a great adventure. Mainly because her father wasn’t in attendance. His watchful eye kept her from having any real fun.

It turned out, however, being at home was more exciting than this visit had been. They’d been at her cousin’s home with family and had only made a single visit into the village since she’d arrived. Dull. Except, of course, for the birth of Clarissa’s baby, Ava. When Ainsley looked at that tiny bundle, something peculiar happened to her insides: they melted like a pudding next to a flame.

As her aunt and uncle, the Baron and Baroness of Stillwater, exited their carriage, two other gentlemen filed out behind them. They piqued her attention. From this distance, all she could see was that they were tall, equally broad, and both had rather long hair for gentlemen. Maybe they weren’t gentlemen. A little thrill ran up her spine.

It wasn’t that she had any intention of acting other than a lady should. But she did like to dance at the edge of what was expected of her. It was exciting. Exhilarating, really.

She allowed her heels to come off the ground, trying to get a closer look at the two men as they stood waiting to greet the guests. Which would be her newest admirer?

Giving up trying to see them better, she looked down at herself instead to check her appearance. She’d changed into her most fashionable morning gown when she’d learned more guests were arriving, wanting to look her best.

But she forgot to factor in that there had been a storm the night before. The bottom of her skirt had wicked up ten stones of water, she was sure, and her hair was curling around her face in the most unappealing way. She could see the wisps out of the corner of her eye. She sighed heavily, thinking that this entire trip had been a washout. Hopefully, the recent weather wasn’t ruining her one chance at some fun.

“Stop fidgeting,” her mother gently chastised beside her.

Ainsley did as she was bid. Not so much because her mother had asked but because the men were easier to make out. The one on the right had longer, darker hair then the other. There was a dangerous swagger to the set of his shoulders that caught Ainsley’s notice. It was exactly the kind she liked.

Anticipation sizzled along her skin as she allowed her eyes to wander down his broad chest and narrow hips. Not that he looked thin. Not at all. He was just all muscle and strength.

Her eyes briefly flicked to the other man. He was bigger. Not taller, but more heavily muscled. The sway of the first man’s body drew her eyes again. It was mesmerizing.

She took a breath, and placed her prettiest smile upon her lips. She’d practiced it in the mirror before every dance she attended and knew it was perfect.

“Ainsley,” Aunt Millicent called, hailing her niece. Her father’s sister had always been one of her very favorite people.

She lifted her heavy skirts and made her way gingerly to her aunt. “Auntie,” she called as she nearly tossed the skirts to the side in order to reach for her aunt’s hands and then kiss her cheek. “So glad you made it.”

“Me too. It was quite the ordeal.” Her aunt squeezed her hands, a shadow crossing her face.

Ainsley wanted to ask what had happened but her aunt had stepped aside to greet Ainsley’s mother and her uncle came to kiss her cheek.

Her dratted skirt was tangling in her legs and she tried to shift its folds again, but it was near impossible as her uncle gestured to the two men behind him. “May I present Lady Ainsley McDougal.” Her uncle stepped back to allow her to give a slight curtsey, though she wobbled a little in the heavy skirts. Drat, what a mistake this had been. “Ainsley, this is Lord Callum Tate, Earl of Blackwood.” he gestured to the thicker, and in her opinion, less attractive man. “And this is Laird James McPherson, the Earl of Rotheport.”

Their eyes met and for a moment, Ainsley held her breath. His were golden brown pools of deliciousness filled with a warmth that near stole her breath in an otherwise hard-looking man.

He gave her a nod of acknowledgement, and without saying a word, began to follow her uncle.

Ainsley blinked. He was walking away from her? No smile, no greeting. Men did not treat her such. “Lord Rotheport,” she called, halting his slight on her.

“Yes, Lady Ainsley?” He turned back to her and this time he did hold a smile. But it wasn’t warm and pleasant like his eyes, rather it was smug. Like he’d known she would call him back.

Searching her mind, she attempted to come up with a plausible explanation as to why she’d addressed him. “Can you tell me what happened with my aunt and uncle?”

“I’m sure they will tell you themselves.” His eyes raked over her. But rather than seeming impressed by her appearance, his brow creased in clear disapproval. “But you should likely change first. It’s a watery tale and you’re already soaked.”

“I don’t understand what that has to do with anything.” Her back, already straight, snapped to attention at those words and the disapproval they implied. Who was he to judge her attire?

“Let’s just say it’s a good thing your aunt was more practically dressed. I’d never have been able to save her.” And then he followed her uncle to greet her mother.

“Well that…” she started, staring after him. “I mean it was just rude,” she huffed a breath. “Who does he think he is talking to?” If she’d thought him handsome, she’d been mistaken. There had never been a more arrogant, unattractive man to grace Scotland.

She heard a chuckle and turned to realize she had completely ignored the other gentleman. The one who hadn’t walked away or insulted her. The very tall, broad, and still attractive one. She dismissed the voice that claimed he wasn’t quite as handsome as Lord Rotheport. But as she went to greet him, she struggled to remember his name. “Forgive me, my lord.” She made another attempt at a courtesy and nearly fell again. His hand shot out to steady her at the elbow. His fingers were strong and pleasant as he held her in place. This was how a man should act.

“There is nothing to forgive,” he gave her a warm smile. “If it isn’t too forward of me, I’ll offer you my elbow to assist you back to the house.”

A genuine smile spread across her lips. “That is very kind of you.” she linked her hand into his arm. “It was silly of me to forget the storm. My dress has positively wicked up all the rain water.”

He nodded his head. “Storms are easier to forget when you are safely tucked into a warm house.”

“Was it last night’s storm that gave my aunt and uncle such trouble?” she asked, truly feeling silly then.

But he gave her a warm look of understanding. “No, my lady. It was another, earlier in the week. The weather is usually unpredictable as winter approaches but this year storm after storm is battering the sea.”

Ainsley sucked in her breath. No wonder they had been late. “Oh dear, thank goodness you came to my family’s rescue.”

“I can’t take the credit there. That was Captain McPherson.” He nodded to the dark-haired devil walking ahead of them.

“Captain? He is the captain of the ship despite being an earl and a laird?” She couldn’t quite keep the indignation out of her voice. No wonder the man thought he was so superior.

Lord— drat she couldn’t remember his name, chuckled again. “Quite right,” he replied as he helped her up the large stone steps. “Though, I call him captain because he was my regiment’s captain in the war.”

She wished she could roll her eyes. Did the man have to be so insufferably accomplished? How irritating.

As soon as they entered the entryway, her cousin-in-law, Laird Ewan McDougal, greeted them. Ainsley noted that Lord Rotheport was considerably more polite to the men. The cad.

Clarissa’s English cousin, Agnes, also joined the group with her intended, Laird Keiran McKenna. They’d only just gotten engaged. A little twinge of jealousy passed through Ainsley at the sight of the couple, Keiran’s gaze full of love as he looked at Agnes. She’d had scores of suitors, but none had ever looked at her with that depth of emotion.

She glanced to Lord Rotheport and noted that he was also assessing Agnes, but this time his eyes lit with something far more like approval. Her own irritation grew. What was it that Agnes had the she lacked?

Ewan stepped up to greet his wife, taking her hand in his and Keiran did the same with Agnes. He gave Lord Rotheport a glowering look as he wrapped his arm around Agnes’s waist. Ainsley hid a satisfied smile behind her hand. Keiran was a fierce man in his own right. In that moment she almost hoped that Lord Rotheport did attempt to flirt with Agnes. Keiran would surely give him his comeuppance.

“Later, my lady, you’ll have to explain to me who everyone is,” Lord something or other said next to her.

“Of course, my lord.” She nodded her head as the introductions began again. At least, as soon as these were done, she could retire to her room and change this infernal dress. Though she’d never admit that out loud and especially not in front of Lord Rotheport. While she’d only known him for a few moments, she hated that man.

* * *

James watched as the ladies made their way up the stairs, Lady Ainsley moving at the back of the group as she attempted to lift her sodden skirts out of the way to maneuver the steps. The other pretty blonde, Agnes, he thought he’d heard someone call her, hung back to help her, lifting the soggy fabric so she could walk. He bit back a laugh, he had to give the little hen credit on one account, she held her head high even as she struggled.

The dress, the ridiculous dress, did highlight every rounded curve of her sumptuous little figure and he noted that Callum had kept the little chit’s hand tucked in his elbow. Let him have that vane little hen. He knew her type. She’d strut around, showing her feathers just for the attention she got. He was all too acquainted with a woman like that. But he pushed the memory aside. It was best left alone.

His eyes drifted briefly to Agnes. She was the type of woman he was looking for. If he was even really looking. Which he hadn’t been. Not for a long time, anyhow. Even simple dalliances became too complicated for his liking.

He would marry someday, as was his obligation as Earl. Though his uncle, who had raised him, hadn’t taught him much, obligation was one virtue that had been instilled in him. Therefor he would marry someday, as was required, and that woman would be kind, sweet, hardworking, and above all, a committed mother. That was the most important trait.

But Agnes, it would seem, was not available. The eyes of Laird McKenna were trained on him and as he looked at the other man, McKenna’s gaze was hard, his stance wide, his arms crossed. There could be no doubting it, Agnes was his and he’d fight the man who tried to take her.

Which was fine with James. He wasn’t seriously considering marriage anyway. It was a far off notion, like old age, and retirement. Though not quite thirty years of age, technically he’d supposed he’d retired from the army already.

“It’s good to see ye again,” Callum clapped Ewan on the back and then Keiran.

“Ye as well,” Keiran answered, finally looking away.

“How do ye ken each other?” James asked.

Callum nodded at them. “We were in the same regiment until I was transferred to yers.”

“Christ,” Keiran murmured. “They sent all of Scotland to fight that war.”

James gave a small chuckle. He liked Keiran immediately. A man should stand strong and Keiran seemed like just that type. “Aye, they did.”

“How do ye fare?” Callum asked. “Finding yer way after all that?”

James noted the sadness hidden in that question. Callum didn’t talk about it very often but the war had left a weight upon him. James didn’t carry that same burden. His entire life had been difficult. War was just another chapter to him.

“Better every day,” Keiran’s answer did not brag. It was soft and full of promise. “Agnes has really helped.” Keiran’s eyes drifted back to James, some of the hardness, returning even as he spoke to Callum. “How about you?”

Callum didn’t answer immediately and when he did his answer was vague at best. “I’ve filled my time with one adventure after the other, thanks to Captain McPherson.”

James raised a brow. “Filled yer time?”

Callum groaned in response. “Do not tell me yer big oaf feelings have been hurt. It’s not like I’ve done what Keiran or Ewan have. This one with a baby…” he pointed at Ewan. “And the other newly betrothed.”

James raised his brows in surprise. Callum had never mentioned wanting a wife or a family, though it was obvious now.

“Speaking of betrothals.” Lord Clearwater cleared his throat and turned to Keiran. “I can assume that in my absence you reached an agreement with Lord Dumfries.”

“I did, my lord.” Keiran shifted from one foot to the other looking to Ewan.

Ewan gave a knowing grin. “Keiran has graciously offered a parcel of land located where our two properties meet for both you and Agnes’s mother to build homes on if ye’d like.”

Keiran took a partial step forward. “I will build Mrs. Faulkenberry’s home, my lord.” He cleared his throat. “But with both Agnes and Clarissa here, we thought ye might like a place of yer own to stay.”

James tried not to roll his eyes. Though he had met Agnes for just a few short minutes, she did seem like a woman with fine qualities. Still, Keiran seemed to be going through a great deal of effort. Giving up land, building her mother a home. Bloody hell, men became ridiculously foolish over love.

Lord Clearwater gave a curt nod. “We can discuss the details when I review the contract. For the moment, we’ve a more pressing matter to discuss.”

Keiran made a face. “My marriage is a pressing matter.”

Now it was getting interesting. While he didn’t like watching a man twist himself in knots over love, he did enjoy watching him fight for it.

The baron did not answer as he turned back to Ewan. “Captain McPherson’s ship was damaged in the storm. He’ll need time to repair it.”

“Of course,” Ewan gave a curt nod. “Let’s continue this conversation in the library, shall we?” He gestured up the stairs as he turned and started up them.

The other men followed behind, and James had a look around. It was a gracious home, but he could see that things were a bit tarnished. Worn at the edges.

He rather liked it. It added an air of comfort to the place but it also showed that the earl’s finances were likely strained.

It was surprising only because the baron was well known for his financial success. He would have expected Clarissa’s dowry to be ample.

James suppressed another grin. This visit got more interesting by the moment.

They entered the library and Ewan crossed to a cabinet on the far side of the room. Opening the doors, he reached in and pulled out a decanter and several crystal glasses. He didn’t ask any of the men if they’d like one, he simply filled them with a lovely amber whisky and then passed them about. Raising his cup, he toasted the men. “To Ava.”

The others each raised their glasses in response. “To Ava,” the replied. James remained silent.

Ewan drained his glass and then turned to James. “Lord Rotheport,” he began.

“Just Rotheport, or better yet, McPherson, if you please.”

“What is it with you Scots and your surnames?” Lord Clearwater rolled his eyes.

Ewan ignored his father-in-law, though James saw his fingers tighten upon his glass. “McPherson, you are welcome to stay here, of course. We owe you a debt of gratitude.”

James waved his hand. “If it’s all the same to you, while I appreciate your offer, I’d be just as content to stay in a nearby village. The repairs will require me to keep long hours.”

Ewan grimaced. “The nearest village is at least an hour’s ride from here.”

Hell and damnation. He silently cursed. “Then I would be honored to accept you’re offer of hospitality.”

Ewan gave a nod but James saw his lips turn down and he bit back a sigh. If Ewan didn’t want him here, he shouldn’t have offered.