“Does it seem wrong to you that they are not allowed in?” Elizabeth asked Anne as they made their way to the ballroom.

Anne lifted a shoulder. “It’s not unexpected. This is Almack’s.”

“I know. But it feels . . . wrong.”

“They’re Scotsmen. And hardly members of the ton.”

“Bower is titled.”

For some reason, this annoyed Anne. She frowned. “He’s still a Scotsman.”

“As is our duke,” Elizabeth reminded her.

“This is the world we live in, darling. High Society exists on another plane, like it or not.”

Elizabeth glanced around the ballroom at the glittering dresses, the men prancing in knee breeches and cravats, the upturned noses and patronizing titters. The room was indeed, stuffy, and smelled of sweat and pomade.

Something in her belly tightened. This was the world they lived in. What a pity she didn’t care for it all too much.

Twiggenberry and Blackworth emerged from the crowd and Elizabeth struggled not to cringe as the former’s perfume surrounded her in a cloud. “My lady!” he crowed as he bent over her hand. She was indeed thankful for her gloves as he pressed a long, warm kiss upon her person. “Say you will dance with me.”

Oh dear. A dance was never just a dance. Per etiquette, it also included a perambulation around the room and the obligatory glass of lemonade. She shot a panicked glance at Anne, who merely opened her eyes wide and blinked innocently.

Anne’s lack of support hardly mattered. Before Elizabeth could respond, Twiggenberry pulled her into a reel, dancing her from one end of the ballroom to the other. She was out of breath nearly from the start and not only because of the enthusiasm with which he danced. The room was stifling.

But then, on one round, she caught a glimpse of Hamish’s expression as he stood, arms crossed, at the door. He was glowering. At her.

Who could ever have imagined a glower would make her feel so glorious?

But it did. It was clear he was not happy to see her in another man’s arms.

Was it wrong to play this up? To smile at Twiggenberry and laugh when he said something amusing—or not so amusing? Was it wrong to bat her lashes at him and coo?

Probably. But the effect it had on her protector was worth the effort. By the end of the dance, his expression was tight and his cheeks a ruddy red.

Excellent.

After the dance, she opened her fan and allowed Twiggenberry to lead her around the room. With the music and the laughter and the conversations flowing freely, it was difficult to attend to what he was saying, but Elizabeth made it a point to smile and nod.

It was indeed a relief when they ended at the lemonade table.

The lemonade was warm and not terribly refreshing, but it was something. Elizabeth happily drank it down.

As Twiggenberry prattled on—about what, Elizabeth had no clue—she scanned the ballroom. She saw Anne chatting with a friend on the sidelines and Victoria dancing with Peter Ross, Catherine’s younger brother. Mary was walking with Blackworth. None of them, save Victoria and Esmeralda—who was chattering away with the patronesses on the dais—appeared to be having a good time.

And as far as her future husband being in the room, as her aunt had warned . . . Well, Elizabeth could only hope this was not the case. Not one man caught and held her attention. At least, not for positive reasons.

There were several with clearly overstuffed cods that made her smile, and a creaky older gentleman—clearly wearing a corset—with hair sprouting from his ears, and a young lord whose prancing was just a bit too . . . prancy. But there was not a man here she might want to consider as her life mate.

And then, her gaze landed on him again.

He was watching her, tracking her with a rapier gaze, which made her feel warm and twitchy.

She did a quick comparison.

He was tall. Taller than nearly every man here. And muscular, where the London lords relied on padding beneath their clothes—which was humorous when it slipped out of place. Hamish was tanned. Brown as a nut, while these men were pale and pasty. In fact, they gloried in the fact that they never took the sun.

And then there was his hair, that shock of burnished red.

Oh, he stood out. She could barely tear her gaze away.

“Scandalous, isn’t it?” a harsh voice intoned in her ear.

She turned and forced her expression to remain pleasant. “Lord Tiverton?”

“Lady Elizabeth. I say, it is scandalous having them here.” He nodded toward Hamish and Ranald.

“They are our escorts. In lieu of the duke.”

Tiverton sniffed. “Still. They have no place here.” His gaze narrowed on her. “And where is Catherine?”

Elizabeth barely held back a frown. Tiverton had been unrelenting in his pursuit of her friend. Even now, when Catherine was betrothed, he hovered. No doubt because she was betrothed to a Scot. “She has a megrim this evening.”

He was clearly put out at this news. So he returned to his other complaint. “You would think Lady Esmeralda would know better. Those savages are the only thing people are talking about.”

“They’re quite nice men,” she felt obliged to mention. She did not, however, mention that scandal had been Esmeralda’s plan all along.

“I say, Lady Elizabeth. Shall we dance again?” Twiggenberry, put out that Tiverton had stolen her attention, tugged on her sleeve.

“We really shouldn’t.” The last thing she wanted was to give the signal she’d selected her suitor. More than one dance would do exactly that. Besides, her feet already hurt.

Twiggenberry’s hopeful expression fell. “May I call on you tomorrow?”

“Yes. Of course.” Drat. That was the polite thing to say, so she had to say it.

“Would you do me the honor?” Tiverton said with a bow. The glimmer in his eyes was concerning. Hopefully he wasn’t transferring his attention from Catherine to her.

“I would love to, my lord, but . . .” She set a hand to her forehead. “I think I feel a megrim coming on as well.” With a regretful smile, she slipped away to the ladies’ retiring room, where she remained for the remainder of the evening.

Cowardly?

Perhaps.

But at the moment, Elizabeth wanted nothing more than to escape from this torture, and any excuse would do.

* * *

Where had she gone?

Hamish stared into the murk of the ballroom until his eyes watered. Damn those guttering candles. The haze of smoke made it difficult to see. The room was also far too warm for his liking. It made the skin at his nape prickle.

Or maybe that was his concern.

Where had she gone?

He could spot the others, dancing and chatting, but of Elizabeth there was no sign.

He intensified his search. When his gaze landed on that flouncing popinjay she’d been dancing with, he felt a modicum of relief, but only that. It had been sincerely aggravating watching her whirl around the room in that bastard’s arms. It had not been lost on Hamish that she seemed to be having a wonderful time.

Laughing, smiling, fluttering her lashes.

He had no call to be furious about that—he had no call to have any emotions about Lady Elizabeth St. Claire or with whom danced—but try as he might, he could not mute the feeling.

He did not want her in any man’s arms . . . but his own.

And what a thought that was. It made his blood go cold, because he understood the world she lived in and he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt he had no real place in it.

The kiss they’d shared had been ill-advised at best, and Hamish was not a fool. He knew Elizabeth was a young girl, playing at being a woman. That kiss had been nothing but an experiment for her.

What a pity it had been so much more for him.

“Well, you do look fierce,” an amused voice said at his side.

He turned and frowned at Lady Jersey before he could stay the expression. He forced something of a smile, though he doubted, in this mood, he was successful. “My lady?”

“I say, you do look fierce. Esmeralda had the right of it, bringing you along.”

“Did she?”

“Oh, yes. You will be the talk of the town. Two enormous bodyguards for her girls. Behemoths, even.”

He nodded, though he was hardly a behemoth. Although compared to the slender, pasty lads in this ballroom, he could probably be considered as such. “However, standing at the door does make us somewhat less than effective,” he felt obliged to point out.

“Nonsense. You are perfectly effective.” He did not care for the way in which she eyed him up and down. The way her hand settled on his arm, tested his muscles. Had he been another man, had it been a different time, had he not been on a mission for the duke, he might have taken her up on the unspoken offer. At the moment, it was unthinkable.

“I doona see Lady Elizabeth.”

Lady Jersey blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Lady Elizabeth. She is no’ in the ballroom.”

“Is she in the supper rooms?”

“Madam, I am stationed at the door.” It was impossible to tell from here.

Her smile was slow. “Indeed you are.” To his shock, she hooked her arm in his and said, with a wink, “Come with me.”

He was unsure if this was a good development or a bad one. He shot a glance at Ranald, who lifted his eyebrows but did not budge from his spot as Lady Jersey escorted Hamish through the ballroom with her head high. Apparently a woman of her stature could do any damn thing she pleased, even hook arms with a Scottish savage.

The lords and ladies, however, did, ever so subtly, cut them a wide swath. Whispers rose. More than one eyed him as though he were a tiger on a leash strolling through their midst. He had to stifle the urge to growl at them, just to see them quail.

“I don’t suppose you would be willing to come to one of my soirees?” she asked as they turned into the supper rooms.

Hamish scanned the room, searching for a beautiful confection of black curls in the sea of the social elite eating cakes and sipping tea. His heart plummeted when he didn’t see her.

“I say?” Lady Jersey tapped him with her fan.

“Aye?”

“I don’t suppose you would be willing to come to one of my soirees? They are far more intimate than this, and a tad more interesting.”

He could only imagine. “Madam, I am here to escort the duke’s cousins. I will only be attending events with them.”

Her lips puckered. “My soirees are not appropriate for debutantes in the least.”

“I understand, but I must insist.”

“What a pity. I do hope you will reconsider.”

There was no response to that, so Hamish shook his head and said, “Lady Elizabeth is no’ here.”

“Oh dear. Wherever could she be?”

“Should we notify Lady Esmeralda?”

Lady Jersey glanced to the dais where the patronesses were seated, Lady Esmeralda among them. “She’s having too much fun. Perhaps we should search on our own.”

“I’m certain she would want to know.” His aggravation was growing, along with his concern. He wanted—needed—to know where Elizabeth was.

“Let’s just look around first.” She took his arm again—not in a polite manner so much as a proprietary one. “I have a thought.”

His unease rose as she led him past the supper rooms and down a much less populated hall. Another turn, and they were all alone.

“Here,” she cooed, opening a door of gleaming wood and ushering him into an elegantly appointed room. There was a fainting couch, a basin of water, and a screened-off area. His hackles rose.

“Is this the ladies’ retiring room?” Egads.

“Don’t be silly.” Her gaze was wicked. “This is a private retiring room.”

He paled and glanced around the room. “Lady Elizabeth is no’ here,” he said, though this fact was patently true.

“Oh. What a shame.” She kicked the door closed with her heel and stepped toward him. He backed away. And again. And again. Until he bumped into the screen and had nowhere else to go.

“Lady Jersey—”

“Call me Sarah.”

“I really shouldna.”

“Is it true what they say?” she asked. To his horror, her hand skimmed up under his kilt.

Holy God!

He lurched away just before she discovered the family jewels and skittered to the door, but she cornered him there, pressing him against the wall with her slight body. “I’ve always found savages entrancing.”

“Um, have you?” He set his hands on her shoulders and attempted to gently detangle.

“Oh, yes.” She went on her toes and pressed her lips to his chin, but only because he jerked his head up just in time.

“Lady Jersey, please. I need to find Lady Elizabeth.”

“Of course you do, but first—”

A knock on the door cut her off.

Hamish nearly fainted in relief. He was saved. Thank God.

“Hallo?” A familiar warble.

“It’s Lady Esmeralda,” he whispered, at once swamped with horror and delight.

“Hush. She will go away.”

The knocking came again, underscoring the fact that she, indeed, would not go away. For the first time, Hamish was ever so grateful for her stubbornness.

“She may need me,” he said, firmly pressing the patroness away.

“I do need you,” Lady Jersey said on a pout.

“My apologies,” Hamish said, taking a moment to straighten his kilt before opening the door.

To his mortification, Lady Esmeralda was not alone. Lady Anne stood at her side with a sour look on her face. She glanced from Lady Jersey to Hamish and frowned. “I thought you were to stay at the doors,” she said acidly.

“We were looking for Lady Elizabeth,” Lady Jersey said. She sent a sympathetic smile to Esmeralda. “She’s gone missing.”

“She’s in the ladies’ retiring room,” Anne said. “She has a megrim.”

“Those do seem to be going around,” Lady Esmeralda said with a sniff. “I suppose we should leave. With your permission, of course, Lady Jersey.”

Lady Jersey crossed her arms over her bosom and huffed a sigh. “Well, all right. But I do expect to see you again soon, young man.”

Hamish swallowed and proffered a small bow. “I’m sure you will, Lady Jersey.”

“Very well. Shall we go?” Esmeralda said, practically pushing him down the hall and away from her friend. “What was all that about?” she hissed once they were out of earshot.

Anne sniffed. “What do you think it was about?”

Hamish frowned at her, and then at Lady Esmeralda. “Apparently Lady Jersey has a secret fondness for Scotsmen.”

“Well, of course. Why do you think I insisted you come tonight? To Almack’s, for pity’s sake?”

Hamish stopped “I doona appreciate being dangled like a bauble.”

Esmeralda patted him on the chest. “But what a lovely bauble you are.”

“That woman wanted to eat me alive.”

“Most men would be appreciative.”

“I am no’ most men. In fact, I would appreciate it if you could make certain I am never in that position again.”

“Oh, do stop pouting.”

“Pouting? The woman nearly ravaged me.”

She eyed him for a moment. “Maybe Lord Bower would be more cooperative.”

“I highly doubt it,” Hamish said, even as Anne sniffed again. He pinned his attention to her. “No’ all Scotsmen are profligates.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

Well, hell. His annoyance sparked into something akin to fury. He’d had quite enough of this. “Ladies, I will leave you to rounding up the girls. Ranald and I will meet you at the coaches.” He stormed around the corner, caught his friend by the arm, and hurried him down the stairs and out into the cool night air. He sucked in a deep breath and let out a groan.

“What was that all about?” Ranald asked with a grin.

Hamish frowned. “I’ll tell you later, once I have some whisky in me.”

Ranald laughed. “That bad, eh?”

“You have no idea.”

It was a night he never wanted to repeat if he lived to be a hundred.