Hit Me With Your Best Scot (Wild Wicked Highlanders #3) - Suzanne Enoch Page 0,21
her back into the spinning teacup of being assessed and judged and sent after another man with an impressive-enough title to earn her parents’ approval, but it wouldn’t be her fault for once.
If she said nothing, though, or better yet allowed them to believe that she and Coll MacTaggert were slowly becoming acquainted, she would have something she’d never had a chance to experience before—a measure of freedom. Even if she and Coll were ostensibly courting, she could see her friends, go on outings, dance through the London Season she so adored.
It would all work better without Coll being present, of course. Heavens, as a nearly engaged woman she could dance with nearly anyone. Perhaps with all the weight lifted from her shoulders she might find a man whose company she actually enjoyed, one who didn’t insult her, one who didn’t warrant her disdain or indifference, and one of whom her parents might even approve. All she would need was a plausible escort.
“Ye’ve a sly look about ye, lass,” Niall noted, bringing her thoughts back to the ground.
“I am going to find you a decent map of London,” she said.
“That’s thoughtful of ye.”
Amelia-Rose nodded. “Yes. And this afternoon your brother is going to escort me to Lady Margaret Hathaway’s alfresco luncheon. I’ve been wanting to attend, but my mother wouldn’t let me accept without knowing what plans Lord Glendarril might have for us.”
His brows dipped into a scowl. “I—”
“Your brother isn’t here. That makes you his second, does it not?”
“He’s only a bit late, as I s—”
“Then one or the other of you will arrive at my home at two o’clock, in a proper carriage. And one or the other of you will drive Jane and myself to the luncheon, for which I will provide directions, and he or you will spend the afternoon being charming so that I don’t look like a fool for being involved in this marriage of convenience, which everyone wants to pretend is anything but.”
Niall MacTaggert set a half-eaten biscuit on the wooden table. “So ye reckon I’m yer lapdog now?” he said, a slight cooling in his voice that nearly made her shudder. Easy-tempered as he seemed to be, she abruptly realized that it may well merely have been the face he chose to show her. Well, she had other faces, too.
“Not at all,” she replied, with more confidence than she felt. “If you don’t wish to participate, I will simply return home and tell my parents the truth—that Lord Glendarril isn’t interested in me. Because how can I assume otherwise?”
He took a breath. She couldn’t read his thoughts, of course, but she imagined he was weighing spending a few hours with her against facing his mother and informing her that Coll MacTaggert had been thus far utterly unimpressive and utterly absent as a beau. That was in no way his fault, but he’d been the one to step in both last night and this morning. Whether he’d done so to save her or to keep his brother from embarrassment she didn’t know, but it would seem to be in his best interest to continue to do so. Or so she hoped, because once she did tell her parents that Lord Glendarril wanted nothing to do with her, this nonsense would begin all over again—and she was running out of men she hadn’t driven away or insulted or who were otherwise unacceptable.
“Seems ye’ve got me roasting on a spit,” he commented, more mildly than she expected.
“I do. For this afternoon, at least. Perhaps you can tell me about more of your brother’s heroics, and I’ll fall for him before we even meet again.”
A muscle along his jaw jumped. “Aye. That could happen. Very well. Coll or I will escort ye in a proper carriage to yer picnic.” He sat a breath closer. “What I’d truly like to know about this party is if they’ll be serving food. Or will it be frilly snacks that couldnae fill a bee’s stomach?”
She laughed, her absurd degree of relief telling her just how much all of this had gotten to her already. Oh, thank goodness. No arguments with her parents, no sending her to stand beside friends who happened to be speaking to earls and marquises. Not today, at least. “As soon as I return home I will personally send a note to Lady Margaret to clarify that you are not a measly bee and that you wish to be fed. If I’m not satisfied with her response,