Hit Me With Your Best Scot (Wild Wicked Highlanders #3) - Suzanne Enoch Page 0,72

m—”

“I need a word with you, son.”

“I’ll give ye one later. I’ve a lass to meet this morning.”

She kept her hand over his heart. “Niall, if you want to talk, I’m here.”

“I reckon I’m accustomed to keeping my own counsel, my lady. And I’ve my brothers.”

“I’m nae helpful,” Aden called from inside the breakfast room. “And ye and Coll arenae speaking, as I recall.”

Her mouth curved up at the edges. “I know you may not wish to acknowledge it, but I am a female. You’ve had a scarcity of females in your life, I imagine.”

Somewhere behind him he heard Aden snort. “I’ve had plenty of females in my damned life, woman. I’m nae a bloody monk.”

“I mean womanly advice, Niall. Not womanly company.”

Niall retreated a step. “I dunnae want to be talking about this with ye, for Christ’s sake!”

“Why not? I have years of wisdom, both as a married woman and as a single young lady.”

“I am nae having this conversation with my mother.”

Her grin broadened. “There it is,” she murmured, and went up on her toes to kiss him on the cheek. “I am your mother. And you may tell me anything, anytime.”

“Bonny. Now go away! Aden’s in there, and I reckon he could use some womanly advice.” He gestured behind him.

“Bastard! I’m going out the window.”

She patted him on the shoulder, then moved sideways so he could get around her. That had been … odd, and oddly comforting. Like a family, almost. Like a dim memory of something he’d thought long forgotten.

Shaking himself, he went outside to meet the barouche. The last time he’d had Eloise and her Matthew beside him, but sitting in there all alone while some other fellow drove him through Mayfair would likely look as ridiculous as it felt. “Shift over,” he told the driver, and climbed up on the narrow seat beside him.

The driver scooted to the far side of the seat. “Do you wish to drive, sir?” he asked.

“What’s yer name, lad?”

“I … Robert, sir.”

“Robert. I dunnae know my way yet, but I reckon I’ll figure London out faster from up here. So ye drive, and I’ll watch. To Baxter House.”

“Um. Yes, sir.”

They set off, and while he did know the way to Baxter House by now, this gave him a few minutes to think. Or rather, to contemplate what he meant to do if the Baxters had actually fled London now that they knew his intentions. He wanted Amelia-Rose—he’d wanted her practically since he’d first set eyes on her. The only difference now was that he didn’t have to try convincing himself that she was meant for someone else, or that he would find someone whose company he enjoyed more than hers.

The idea of what he might have missed if he’d been as stubborn as Coll shook him. No, he hadn’t set out to find a lass who would twist him up inside and have him near to writing poetry, but then he’d thought to allow this trip to London to upend his life as little as possible. A hollow-headed flower he could show his mother and then leave again, scarcely giving either of them another thought. Now this was between himself and Amelia-Rose. It was a battle he looked forward to, and one he knew he would win. He couldn’t imagine not having her in his life.

“I had a look at the mounts you and Mr. Aden and Lord Glendarril brought down from Scotland,” the driver said conversationally. “They’re fine animals.”

“Aye, they are. Nae accustomed to busy streets, though; my Kelpie nearly tossed me over his head when a rag-and-bone man charged out into the street with his wares. A’ course I nearly lopped the man’s head off, myself, so I suppose Kelpie and I both have someaught more accustomizing to do.”

The driver swallowed, eyeing him sideways. “You nearly lopped his head off?” he squeaked.

“Well, he surprised me. For all I knew, the lobsterbacks were attacking.”

“I … The lobsterbacks?”

“Redcoats, man. Do ye nae speak English?”

“I … I thought I did.”

Facing forward again, Niall grinned. “Dunnae trouble yerself. I’ve been told I have an accent.”

“Oh. I, uh, hadn’t noticed, sir.”

Apparently it wasn’t polite to acknowledge that a man had a brogue, but so many English rules made no sense to him that he just tossed this one in with the rest. Aye, he’d been raised thinking the English, and Englishwomen in particular, were all inferior to Highlanders, and with one exception he’d seen little reason to alter that opinion. Well, two