“Why was Hamish so overset?” Victoria mused as the coach lurched forward.

“Was he?” Mary asked.

“He absolutely was.”

Elizabeth had noticed his dark expression and his silence as she’d climbed into the carriage, but she’d assumed he was still upset over her dancing with Twiggenberry, which was perfectly fine with her.

So she was stunned when Aunt Esmeralda said, “He had an . . . altercation with Lady Jersey.”

“An altercation?” Her heart thudded. Something like that could ruin them socially. One bad word, one cut direct, and they were finished. Absolutely finished.

“Apparently Lady Jersey tried to ravage him,” Anne said in a bitter tone.

Elizabeth blinked. “What?”

“It was really quite amusing,” her aunt said with a chuckle. “Seeing him trying to escape from her clutches. Although it is probably a good thing I saw them leave the ballroom. God alone knows what could have happened had I not.”

“I have a good idea,” Anne muttered.

“Oh, do tell,” Mary gushed, her eyes far too bright.

Aunt Esmeralda cleared her throat and took a moment to affect a straitlaced demeanor. “Now, now. This conversation is highly inappropriate for young ears.”

“Young ears are interested,” Victoria chimed in.

“Nonsense. Let’s talk instead about Almack’s. What did you think of your first foray?”

The rest of the ride was consumed with critiques of the famous assembly rooms which ranged from glorious raptures (from Mary) to complaints about the cakes (from Victoria). Anne said little, but it was clear she had had a miserable time.

As for Elizabeth, she was still reeling with the revelation that Lady Jersey—Lady Jersey, for pity’s sake—had tried to seduce Hamish.

On the one hand, she could totally understand why. With his handsome features, dancing eyes, and broad shoulders, there could not be a woman alive who would not want to be in his arms. But on the other hand, she was absolutely furious.

And not furious with Lady Jersey, where the blame could be securely laid, but with Hamish.

He must have encouraged her somehow.

Then again, a mere glimpse at his knees was encouragement enough.

His legs were truly beautiful to behold. She had to believe that Twiggenberry, in his altogether, wouldn’t even come close. In fact, the thought made her snicker. Twiggenberry was rod thin and probably had chicken legs.

“What is so funny?” Anne asked.

“Nothing, really.”

“You were laughing,” Victoria pointed out.

“I’m sorry. I was just imagining Hamish trying to fight off Lady Jersey.”

“Yes, well, it was rather amusing,” Aunt Esmeralda murmured. “A moment later and God alone knows what we would have seen.”

“Again, I have a good idea,” Anne responded in a brittle tone.

Victoria and Mary shared a grin and then crowed in tandem, “Young ears!”

Esmeralda shot them both a daunting glance, but they were not daunted in the slightest. They rarely were.

By the time the coach reached Sinclair House, their escorts were already ensconced in the parlor with a whisky apiece. As their party breezed into the room, Bower was laughing.

“It’s no’ funny,” Hamish bellowed.

“It is, rather,” Aunt Esmeralda quipped.

Both men whirled around. Hamish caught sight of them and his face went red. “Good God. Did you tell everyone?”

“Not everyone.” Her smirk was slightly wicked.

“We all know, of course,” Victoria said, linking her fingers behind her back and strolling toward him. “Was she terribly rapacious?”

Hamish stared down at her with horror and mortification warring on his features. “How do you even know a word like that?”

“I’m quite studious.”

“I’m sure you are,” Bower said, still chuckling.

“Well, no one can say that our debut at Almack’s was dull,” Aunt Esmeralda said with a hint of satisfaction. Or more than a hint. “I cannot wait for tomorrow.”

“God.” Hamish buried his head in his hands.

“Daltry’s masquerade.”

“Perhaps you should wear a domino,” Anne suggested, nibbling on her lip. “So you can hide from Lady Jersey.”

Hamish went pale. “You don’t suppose she will be there?”

“Highly unlikely,” Aunt Esmeralda said. “Daltry is not one of the revered few.”

“But she might come . . . if her beau is there.” It was wicked of Anne to tease.

Bower laughed. “She might at that.”

“I need another drink.”

“Henley!” Esmeralda bellowed. “A tea tray.”

Hamish frowned at her. “It wasna tea I was wanting.”

“I am certain of it, but I won’t have my gels witnessing your drunkenness.”

“Fine,” Hamish said. And without another word, he snatched up the whisky carafe and quit the room.

Elizabeth could hear him stomping all the way up the stairs.

“You see,” Victoria said triumphantly. “I told you he was overset.”

* * *

Ranald chuckled as Hamish stormed from the room. He glanced at Anne, who was laughing as well. “Is it wrong of us to torment him?” he asked.

He was pleased that her smile didn’t dim. “Perhaps, but I have to say, I quite enjoyed it.”

“As did I.”

“And he brought it on himself,” she added.

“How did he bring it on himself?” Mary squawked. “He was minding his own business—”

“Half-naked,” Anne said on a sniff.

Mary sighed. “I thought he looked fabulous in that kilt.”

“Perhaps he looked too fabulous,” Victoria suggested. “Lady Jersey just couldn’t help herself.”

“She managed to keep her hands off Bower,” Anne said, and a shiver went up his spine at her name on his lips. And then she said something that made his blood surge. “And Bower is much better looking than Hamish.”

It took a moment for him to recover himself. “I am gratified.”

Anne pinkened and then turned away. “Obviously, Hamish did something to encourage her.”

Lady Esmeralda grunted. “It does not take much to encourage Sarah.”

“Nonetheless, he must have.”

Mary frowned. “I don’t think you are being at all fair.”

“I am being completely fair. And how ironic is it that now we have to protect him?”

It was clear to Ranald that Anne was only teasing, but for some reason, Elizabeth took umbrage. Her face went red and she glared around the room. “Well, really,” she huffed. Then she picked up her shawl and stormed from the room.

Victoria’s eyes widened. “Well,” she said. “That was interesting.”

“This whole evening has been,” Mary added. “My head is spinning.”

“Of course it is. But we must get to bed,” Esmeralda insisted. “We have morning calls.”

“Must we?” Mary groaned.

“Of course we must.” Victoria hooked arms with her sister and tugged her to the door. “There’s so much to do, come along.”

Lady Esmeralda headed for the door as well, just as Henley rolled in the tea tray. “Oh dear,” she said.

“No worries,” Ranald said with a smile. “I plan to stay up a bit more, and I am famished.”

Esmeralda grinned. “No cakes for you at Almack’s.”

“How lucky,” Anne murmured. But when her aunt quit the room, she remained. A comfortable hush fell as he helped himself to a sandwich. She did as well and they chewed in a companionable silence. “These are much better,” she said after a moment.

“Why do you suppose they serve terrible food at Almack’s?”

She shrugged. “I have no clue. The lemonade was watered down as well.”

“I would have killed for one. It was quite warm.”

She surprised him with a smile. It was warm and sincere. “Next time ask me for one.”

“Och. That would go over well. A debutante serving a savage?”

“Nonsense. I’m hardly a debutante.”

He blinked at the sharpness of her tone. “Of course you are.”

Her expression was wry. “I am nearly five and twenty.”

“The perfect age for marriage.”

“Not in this world. In this world I am old.”

“You are no’ old in the least,” he said, leaning forward. “Any man would be lucky to have you.” Perhaps there was a hint too much warmth in his tone, because her eyes widened and she stared at him.

After a moment, she huffed a laugh. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I do. You’re lovely. Elegant. Intelligent. Funny—”

“I’m not funny.”

“You are when you want to be.” He winked. “You had me holding my sides earlier.”

“It was hardly my intention.”

“I suspect you are, Lady Anne, a wicked woman.”

She stilled and stared into her teacup, and then she lifted her chin and met his gaze. Her grin was wicked indeed. “Perhaps,” she whispered. “Just don’t tell anyone.”

“Your secret is safe with me.”

“Thank you, good sir.”

He lifted his teacup in her honor. “What are friends for?” he asked.

“Indeed,” she said with a smile that warmed his heart. “Indeed.”

* * *

Hamish couldn’t sleep. And it wasn’t his swirling trepidation about the leading lady of the ton hunting him down, or the effect of inferior whisky. It was thoughts of Elizabeth that kept him awake.

No matter how much he reminded himself it was foolish to do so, he kept remembering that kiss and imagining more. And when he recalled the sight of her dancing in another man’s arms, his stomach lurched.

Then again, that could have been the whisky.

It was a damned shame that in a Scotsman’s home there was not a better vintage.

Sometime in the middle of the night, he realized he was not going to sleep, and dressed himself and headed downstairs. He was of a mind to raid the pantry and, perhaps, find more alcohol.

A light in the library gave him pause, and he poked his head in.

His heart jumped at the sight of her.

Elizabeth, in a lawn nightdress, was curled up in a chair with her eyes closed. The fire danced over her face, highlighting her alabaster cheeks.

Good lord in heaven above, she was beautiful.

It was wrong to tiptoe into the room and watch her sleep.

It was wrong to smile when she issued forth a delicate little snore.

It was wrong to kiss her.

But of course, he couldn’t help himself. He went down on his knees before her and set his lips to hers.

It was a soft, tender kiss, one intended to not wake her up.

But it did.

Not at first, though. At first she gave a little moan, and then a sigh into his mouth, and then—heaven help him—her arms wound around his neck.

“Hamish,” she murmured against his lips.

His body hardened. He loved her voice, and that voice whispering his name was even more divine.

He threaded his fingers through her silky hair, which was deliciously wild and free, and he held her closer.

And then he deepened the kiss.

He knew the moment she came fully awake. It was a slight stirring of her body, an ethereal sense of presence. Oh, and her fingernails on his scalp.

He pulled back and smiled at her. “I’m sorry.”

She frowned and then she smacked him softly. “Are you?”

“I shouldna ha’ kissed you.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because it’s true.”

“Oh, don’t.” She pushed away, leaped to her feet, and stormed to the fireplace to savage the logs with a poker. Dare he tell her the flames backlit her body? That he saw every curve through the lawn?

“Um . . . Doona what?”

She whirled around and glared at him, but he hardly noticed. Because yes. He could see. Every. Curve. He shut his mouth and swallowed the drool. His wayward cock was more difficult to manage. “Don’t ruin a perfectly wonderful kiss.”

“I’m no’ ruining it.”

She set her hands on her hips. “Saying you shouldna ha’ done it right after you’ve done it is not promising.”

“You know what I mean. It was a lovely kiss. But I shouldna ha’ kissed you while you were sleeping.”

“I agree with that.” His heart plummeted at that, but then she took a step toward him. “I missed half of it, after all.”

“You—”

“Totally unfair.”

He could not move. Was locked in place as she came closer and closer and then pressed herself up against him. She wrapped her arms around his neck again and nudged his groin. His eyes crossed and he groaned. “Wee lass. What are you doing?”

“I’m kissing you.” She pulled his head down then—by the hair, in fact—and pressed her mouth to his.

It was a sweet, untutored, awkward kiss. There was no reason for his pulse to pound the way it was. No reason for his cock to surge. But it did.

She felt it.

And she laughed.

“I told you you would like it,” she whispered.

“Lass, I never disagreed. But we’re in dangerous waters. Surely you see that.”

“I like kissing you.”

“And I like kissing you.” He gently detangled and set her away. “But you’ve got to know, I’m not the groom the duke would want for you.”

“You’re not married.”

“Nae. But he wouldna approve.”

“Why not?”

“You’re his cousin. You deserve better.”

“Better?” She sniffed. “You’re handsome.”

“Well—”

“Tall.”

“Aye, but—”

She squeezed his bicep. “Strong. You can protect me.”

“Aye.” Oh God. His head spun.

“Am I correct in the assumption that you could feed a wife?”

“Of course.” He could feed one very well.

“So what’s the problem?”

“Elizabeth.” He held her off as she moved in again. “You are a lady.”

“So?”

“I doona have a title. You should be married to an earl . . . or a duke.”

“Earls and dukes are fusty.”

“They are wealthy. They could feed you much better than I can.”

“Aunt Esmeralda says I shouldn’t plump up.”

“You would be lovely regardless.”

Her smile was blinding. “Thank you, Hamish.”

“Please. Don’t say my name that way.”

“What way?”

“As though you . . . love me.”

She stilled. Stared at him for a long, uncomfortable moment. “And what if I do?” she asked in a whisper.

The words were like a punch to the gut. “You canna.” Oh please God. No.

“How do you know how I feel?”

Oh lord. Were those tears in her eyes? “Elizabeth. We’ve only just met. You’re young. This is, no doubt, just some childish fancy.” It hurt him to say it, but it was true.

What was truly horrible, though, was her reaction. Her features tightened. Her lips wobbled, and her nose went a little red. Then she sucked in a breath and tipped her chin high. “Childish fancy?”

“Aye. Aye.” Thank God. She understo—

“You think of me as a child.” Not a question.

“Elizabeth. That’s no’ what I meant—”

“Of course you do. Yes.” She cleared her throat and wiped at her eyes. She set back her shoulders and nodded. “I see. Thank you for telling me. Much appreciated.”

“Elizabeth—” The last thing he thought her was childish. She was a seductress, even when she wasn’t trying. But she was naïve. She was untried. And he—

Well, he was alone.

She’d marched from the room.

He knew better than to follow her. Instead, he headed for the decanter on the table by the window, praying for succor.

Sadly, this whisky was worse.