Hamish did come to the morning room after all, but only to save Ranald who, Henley informed him, had returned from his journey and unwittingly stepped into a nest of vipers.

And vipers they were.

Although raptors was closer to the mark.

When he stepped through the door—and yes, he had taken a moment to dress in full kilt—their heads swiveled around like birds of prey and they stared, unblinking, at his person.

He swallowed heavily and suppressed the urge to run. But Ranald’s grateful, and slightly panicked, glance forestalled his flight.

Ranald had saved his life once. He probably owed him at least as much.

“Och, Bower. I see you’re back,” he said, deliberately thickening his brogue.

“Aye.” Ranald stood, much to the chagrin of the beak-nosed lady who was attempting to maul him. He made haste to Hamish’s side. “We should probably go do that thing.”

Hamish blinked. “That thing?”

Ranald nudged him with an elbow. “That thing we were going to do.”

Was it wicked to grin so widely? “Ach. That thing can wait.”

His friend shot him a disbelieving frown.

Hamish pulled him closer and whispered, “These ladies are here for a show. Shall we give it to them?” They wanted performing monkeys? They would have them.

“I . . . ah . . . What kind of show did you have in mind?”

“Fisticuffs?”

“In the parlor?” Ranald shot a look at Esmeralda and winced. “She would no’ want us breaking her china.”

“Ach. True. Tippling whisky then?”

“Much better.”

“And perhaps we could speak Gaelic and expect them to understand?”

“You are an evil man, Hamish Robb.”

He grinned at his friend. “Watch. I’m going to sit on the divan and spread my legs a bit. Do you want to place wagers on how many of them swoon?”

Ranald snorted a laugh. “I’d much rather place bets on how many try to crawl up your kilt.”

Hamish clapped him on the back and laughed. “Come then. Let’s have some fun.”

And fun it was. And though Esmeralda glared constant daggers at them as they played out this farce—belching and slurping and acting as uncivilized as they could manage without dissolving into peals of laughter—Hamish saw the smirk hovering beneath her ferocity.

As for Elizabeth, she merely sat, prim and proper in her seat, clutching her hands together and nibbling her lower lip. Even Anne seemed amused. Hamish hoped he was winning her over. When he married Elizabeth, they would be family, after all.

“I do say, Sir Hamish,” Lady Callinda said after a bit.

“No’ Sir Hamish,” he said, leaning to the side to issue a fart. He grinned at her. “Just Hamish. Bower is the one with a title.”

“I see. Well . . . Hamish. Is it true what they say about Scotsmen?”

His grin widened. “Probably.”

“What is it they say?” Victoria asked.

Lady Callinda leaned closer and whispered, though she was across the table so everyone heard. “Is it true what Scotsmen wear beneath their kilts?” The question was lurid and inappropriate and utterly out of place at a morning call—even Hamish knew as much—so he responded by crossing his legs.

The lady in question blanched and then flushed, but her gaze went right where he expected it to go. Though with the shadows, she likely saw nothing. He hoped she saw nothing.

Miss Althea, her companion—the one with the long hooked nose, who’d probably never seen beneath anyone’s anything—gasped. And then she swooned. Fortunately she had the good sense to swoon back onto the pillows, rather than face first into her cake.

“Should ha’ gone with swooning,” Ranald muttered.

“Aye. Should ha’.”

“May I remind you there are children present?” Esmeralda snapped.

Mary blinked. “Where?”

Her aunt glowered at her. “Shall we maintain a civil conversation at morning calls?”

“You’re the one who brought Scotsmen in,” Lady Callinda hissed.

“You’re the one who asked them to perform,” Elizabeth responded tartly.

“I say!” Obviously Lady Callinda didn’t care to be called on her bad behavior.

“I thought they did quite well,” Victoria said brightly, and then, she applauded.

Miss Althea, who had revived herself because she didn’t want to miss anything, sputtered. “What do you mean?”

Anne chuckled. “They’ve been bamming you. They really are quite civilized.”

“Yes,” Elizabeth added. “They use silverware and everything.”

“Well, I never,” the good lady huffed.

“Do you no’?” Ranald murmured. “There’s a pity.”

Lady Callinda, and all the ladies, in fact, gaped like a brace of landed trout. “I . . . I . . . I . . .”

“Oh dear,” Lady Belinda Battersby gushed. “Is that the time? I really must be going.”

No doubt she did. The woman had gossiping to do.

All the women rose then and nodded. They seemed alarmed that Hamish and Ranald rose with them, as though they’d forgotten it was the polite thing for a gentleman to do. “We really must go. So many calls to make,” Lady Callinda warbled as they scuttled for the door.

“So right.” Sally Albright offered a somewhat venomous smile.

“Do have a lovely day,” Esmeralda said with the flick of her fingers. It was clear they couldn’t have left soon enough for her liking.

When the door closed on them, all the St. Claires and a couple Scotsmen collapsed in very inappropriate laughter.

“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.”

“Of course.” But there was a twinkle of amused skepticism in her eyes. She cleared her throat and glanced down at her hands. “We . . . missed you.”

His heart skipped a beat. “Did you?”

“Yes. Both of you, of course.”

“Of course.” He knew what she was saying and it sent a frisson of excitement through him. “I missed you too,” he said in a deep voice. When her chin snapped up and she caught his eye, he smiled. “All of you.” He took a few more bites, not breaking their gaze. “So . . .”

“So?”

“Did, ah, anything interesting happen when I was gone?”

“Not in the slightest,” she huffed and they both laughed. “Aunt Esmeralda made us go to a musicale last night.”

“How was that?”

“Dismal. Poor Elizabeth had to sit with Twiggenberry all night.”

“Is that so bad? He’s an earl.”

“She doesn’t give a fig for titles, and she really doesn’t like the man.”

“That’s a pity. Lachlan was hopeful about him.”

Anne blinked. “You’re corresponding with the duke?”

“Of course.” He took another bite and then stilled as her expression became thoughtful. “What is it?”

“I, ah . . . Nothing.”

But it was something. It was obviously something. He waited for her to share, because he knew she wanted to.

After a moment she opened her mouth, then closed it again. He tried very hard not to stare at her lips as she worked them. He was so engaged that when she finally spoke, he almost didn’t hear her question. “If I wanted to write to the duke, could I do that?”

Not the question he’d been expecting, but he nodded. “I’m quite sure he would love to hear from you.”

Her adorable little nose wrinkled. “You don’t know what I want to ask him.”

“Do I want to know?”

She tipped her head to the side and studied him. “Probably not.”

He would have been disappointed with her answer if she hadn’t wrapped it in a smile. “Then write your letter. I will see it delivered securely.”

“Thank you, Ranald,” she said shyly. And the sound of his name on her lips, in that tone, stirred something in him. But to be truthful, it had been stirring for a while. Just being in her presence moved him.

She stood then and cupped her hands and said, “I really am glad you’re home.”

And then Anne St. Claire bent her head and kissed him.

On the lips.

Before he could respond, before he could reclaim his senses, she quit the room, leaving him spinning and elated and hard.

* * *

“Ach, you were right. He does stink.”

The low, melodious voice in her ear sent a thrill through her, and Elizabeth whirled around. She’d been in the library, looking for a book, something to help her recover from a trying morning, but this was much better.

She stepped into Hamish’s arms and kissed him. Or he kissed her. No matter, it was just what she needed.

“I missed you.”

He chuckled. “We spent the entire morning together in the parlor.”

“Not like this. This is what I missed.”

“Me too.”

He pulled her closer and nuzzled her neck, just where she loved it, and she sighed. “Oh, I’ve missed you.”

He chuckled again. “You said that.” He leaned back and smiled at her. “Have you talked to your aunt yet?”

She pulled a face. “She’s meeting with Ranald. I cannot imagine what they have to talk about for so long.”

“Ah, he got a missive from the duke.”

“That would do it.”

“Aye.” He batted his lashes. “What shall we do in the meantime?”

“Ooh,” she said. “I have no idea.”

“Do you no’, my wee lass?”

She chuckled. “Have I ever told you, I love when you call me that?”

“I do believe you have.” He grinned and walked her back until she hit the wall, and he kissed her again. She was breathless and weak by the time he lifted his head. “Shall we go to my room?”

“Oh, yes please—”

But before they could do so, before he could release her, in fact, a screech bounced off the walls of the room in a rumbling roar. It was followed quickly by a booming, “What the bluidy hell is going on here?”

Elizabeth winced and glanced over Hamish’s shoulder.

“Is that who I think it is?” he asked.

She swallowed heavily. “Both of them.”

“Shite.” He dropped his head on her shoulder and huffed.

“We had to face this sooner or later.”

“Aye.” He lifted his head, kissed her again, and then, together, they faced the fury of the baron and Aunt Esmeralda. It was difficult to discern which was worse.

* * *

Ranald was furious.

He’d come downstairs after that delicious interlude with Anne to be snagged by Esmeralda for a long and unproductive discussion about a gift she might send the duke. Then, when he’d finally broken free—though she had been following him and nattering on—it was to find Elizabeth in the library in Hamish’s arms.

Again.

Had he not made their position more than clear?

They were here for one reason and one reason only. To oversee the St. Claire girls’ season for the duke. Not to seduce them.

It infuriated him that Hamish had ignored his command to stay clear of Elizabeth.

And not only because Ranald had taken such great pains to keep his hands off Anne, although that did factor into his frustration.

“This is not acceptable,” Esmeralda crowed, for the hundredth time. They sat in the library, the four of them, without even a tea tray.

“No’. Acceptable.” Ranald frowned at Hamish. “I told you to keep clear of her.”

“I tried.”

“He did,” Elizabeth said, taking Hamish’s hand, which was a mistake because it made her aunt glower even more. “It was totally my fault.”

Esmeralda reared back. Her nostrils flared, and, heavens, they were . . . large. “What do you mean it was your fault?”

“I . . . pursued him.”

“She hunted me, more like.” Hamish grinned like a man who had no idea what deep trouble he was in.

Elizabeth nodded. “Yes, that is true. Please forgive me, dear aunt, but I do love him.”

“Love. Bah. You’re a child.”

“Not hardly. And I know my own heart.”

Esmeralda put her hand to her forehead. “The duke will be devastated.”

“Will he be?” Hamish asked with an edge to his tone. One Ranald could understand. He knew the duke, while she did not. Lachlan was not given to social snobbery.

Ranald figured he’d better intercede before Esmeralda lashed out at the lad. “The duke was hoping for the earl.”

Hamish’s expression tightened and he glared at Ranald. “You told him about Twiggenberry?”

“He asked to be kept apprised.”

“Has he met Lord Twiggenberry?” Elizabeth asked.

“I doona believe so.”

“Then how can he have a preference either way? For me? Whom he has also. Not. Met.”

“Elizabeth. You have to understand, this is not what is best for you.” Esmeralda waved at Hamish somewhat dismissively. When she caught his wounded expression she huffed out a breath. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Then how did you mean it?” Hamish failed at keeping the bitterness from his tone.

Esmeralda sighed. “You have to realize you are not a wealthy man.”

Hamish swallowed. “Ah, so it’s money, is it?” God, Ranald hated the look on his face. The devastation, the fear, the courage. It was clear his friend would face anything, sacrifice everything, for this woman. And that was frightening indeed.

“I want what is best for Elizabeth,” Esmeralda said.

Elizabeth threw up her hands. “How can you know what is best for me? I’ve never cared for balls and jewels and prancing with the ton.”

“Heresy.”

“I would rather live in Scotland.”

Esmeralda clutched her pearls. “Never say it.”

“It’s true.”

“Scotland is lovely,” Ranald felt obliged to put in, which earned him a grateful glance from Hamish and a glower from Esmeralda, who rose and began to pace.

“This is a disaster,” she wailed. “A disaster of monumental proportions.”

Hamish and Elizabeth exchanged a glance. “It’s not that bad, really,” Elizabeth said.

“It is. It is. What on earth will we tell Twiggenberry?”

“The very thing I was planning to tell him all along. No.”

Hamish nodded. “He does stink.”

Esmeralda whirled on him. “That does not signify!”

“It does if his intended throws up on him,” Hamish said.

Ranald cleared his throat to cover a laugh. “That does tend to put a damper on a wedding.”

Esmeralda’s face went from red to an odd shade of purple. “Stop it. Both of you.” She was speaking, of course, to Hamish and Ranald. “Please go. All of you,” she said. “I feel a megrim coming on.

And, for the first time in the St. Claire household, Ranald suspected, a megrim really was a megrim.

* * *

Anne found Ranald in the study nursing a whisky. There was no doubt something had happened—their aunt’s howls had been unmuted—but Anne had no idea what it was.

It was clearly bad.

When she stepped into the room and closed the door, he turned. “Ah. It’s you,” he said with a hint of relief.

“Who did you think it might be that you would dread so?” she asked with a smile.

He chuckled, but it was a sound bereft of humor. “Anyone else. I swear. I couldna handle anyone else right now.”

She took the seat next to him by the fire. “What happened?”

His grimace was dark. “Are you sure you want to know?”

“How will I know,” she said on a chuckle, “until you tell me?”

“Excellent point.” He caught her gaze and said solemnly. “You willna like it.”

“There are many things I do not like that I still manage to live with.”

“Another excellent point. All right then, your aunt and I walked in on Elizabeth and Hamish and they were kissing.” He stared at her as though he expected a fit of the vapors. He seemed disappointed when she did not comply. “Did you know?”

“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.