a viscountess, dance with the likes of ye?”
Leaf-green eyes focused upon her with sudden alert intensity. “I beg your pardon?”
She gave an imperious sniff and brushed past him to lower herself gracefully onto the settee. As soon as he pivoted to face her, she raised a brow. “In England, ye’d be naught more than a baron. Scarcely titled at all.”
A muscle twitched next to his eye. “Incredible,” he murmured. “You’ve only just been plucked from a Highland scullery, and you’re suggesting I am the inferior, here.”
“Nae suggestin’. Sayin’.” She gave him a grin. “Ye ken what they say.” Her eyes fell to his gloves. “Wee hands, wee … man.”
His carp mouth twisted. “Your vulgarity should be shocking, I suppose, except for one thing.” His head tilted. “I’d expect nothing less from a MacPherson.”
Triumph surged like lightning. She had him. By God, she had him! But not entirely. There was much more to be done.
She pretended puzzlement. “Are ye speakin’ of my brothers?”
“I’d rather not.”
But she needed him to. “Aye. Only natural. Them bein’ so much larger.” Again, she eyed his hands. “A pure shame. Some men carry cabers. Some struggle to lift their teacups.”
“I think this conversation has run its course.”
“Did a MacPherson steal yer woman, then?” It was a guess, and a wild one at that. Annie had questioned Broderick extensively about any tie he might have to Lockhart, and he’d sworn there was none. But Lockhart’s hatred was obviously a deep, personal fire. Which meant either the man was a wee bit peculiar and had wanted affection that Broderick refused to provide. Or Lockhart had lost a woman to Broderick.
Lockhart went utterly rigid, his eyes strangely serpentine. “Any woman I considered mine would remain so until I deemed otherwise.”
Yes, that was it. Time to close the trap tighter. She grinned. “Unless she didnae. What happened? Bit of a problem hoistin’ yer teacup?” She cast a pointed glance at his breeches. “Or perhaps she simply prefers Highland whisky to weak Lowland tea.”
A flash of venom erupted as a snarl. “You’re treading on dangerous ground, Lady Huxley.”
“Like Broderick did?” She leaned forward and held his gaze. “I’d wager ye discovered yer lass fancied him. I’d wager ye werenae too pleased by her preference.”
“I’d wager your brother is no longer the sort of man a lass fancies.”
His low, cold words should have signified her victory. He’d all but admitted to damaging Broderick out of jealousy. But a wave of fury threatened to overtake her. Blood rushed in her ears. Shivers ran down her arms. The need to rise and claw the blackguard’s eyes out fired her muscles.
She fought it. Repeated John’s advice: Try to keep your temper. Do not attack him.
Do not. Attack. Lockhart.
With an effort, she riveted herself in place and kept her expression taunting. He was still too composed. After a few careful conversations with Sabella, Annie had gleaned more about his nature—mostly how he prized his own pride above all other things. So, poking that pride should enrage him.
She needed to generate more heat. “Oh, ye might be surprised,” she said. “Sometimes, a lass favors the safety of a title.”
No flicker. Not a prospective bride, then.
She tried again. “Or the luxury of a fortune.”
A wee spark.
She chased it, adding fuel. “Other times, a lass wants more. Bein’ a lord’s mistress might seem a fine choice until she has somethin’ to compare it to.”
Thin nostrils flared.
Ah, yes. The flame had caught. Now for the stoking.
“How did ye ken ye’d lost her, eh? Did she stop botherin’ to please ye? Stop doin’ that wee trick with her smile that made ye believe she worshipped ye?”
His eyes narrowed while his carp mouth flattened. Aye, he wanted to shut her up. She could see it.
Time to press harder. “Here’s the truth, Lockhart. I’ll say it plain so ye cannae miss it. A woman can only pretend to love an empty bag of worthlessness so long. When she finds a real man with real substance, she kens what she’s missin’. And no title or fortune can hold her.”
Green eyes blazed with mad fury. He bent forward and braced his arm on the back of the settee. The position put his face within inches. “She didn’t leave.”
“Aye, she did. Mayhap ye kept her with ye. Mayhap she still lets ye wet yer