A Scot to the Heart (Desperately Seeking Duke #2) - Caroline Linden Page 0,7

guide to rich ladies and where to find them, eh? What rubbish is this?”

“Not rubbish,” countered Duncan, still smirking. “Invaluable intelligence for the man in search of a wife!”

“Who said I was in search of a wife?”

Duncan arched his brows. “A single man with expectation of a wealthy dukedom will be in want of a bride. And even if he’s not in want of one, he shall have one thrust upon him, whether he wills it or no. Every unwed woman between the ages of seventeen and seventy will fling herself—or be flung—into his path until one of them trips him up and drags him to church, like a wild boar caught in a snare and trundled off to market.”

“You’re the only one in Edinburgh who knows,” returned Drew, annoyed. “I’d prefer to keep it that way. If women start flinging themselves at me, I’ll know whom to blame.”

Duncan snorted. “Aye, as if I’d go about telling all the lasses you’re about to be rich beyond their dreams. ’Tis of course the only way any sensible woman would take you . . .”

“You’re about to get to practice your fencing in earnest.”

His friend waved it off as he held out the silly little book. “Keep it! I know all the eligible ladies in town already. And once word gets out that there’s a ducal heir on the loose, you’ll need to know which ones to fend off.”

Drew replied with a suggestion that would have made any soldier blush. Duncan only grinned, beyond pleased with himself. “If you’re to depart the realm of ordinary men soon, we must make your last days memorable. Let me change my coat.”

That was more amenable to his humor. He’d been at the castle for six weeks, always minding his tongue, constantly alert. A wild, carefree night was just the respite he needed.

To his relief, Duncan’s idea of memorable turned out to be much the same as it had been in years past. At an oyster cellar beneath a tavern they met up with two other old friends, Adam Monteith and William Ross, and all proceeded to gorge themselves on oysters, well lubricated with strong Scottish porter. There was nothing anywhere to match the taste of oysters from the Firth of Forth.

He had never been to this cellar. There were several in Edinburgh, and some seemed to migrate around town. The gathering was lively, packed to the walls and operating at a dull roar of laughter and conversation.

At another table sat a large group of people including several ladies. They laughed and chattered with a gaiety that caught his eye, and made Drew think of his own sisters.

Well—not exactly in the same way.

Finally Ross caught him looking and nudged him. “D’you fancy her?”

There was no doubt whom Ross meant. The woman at the head of the table was mesmerizing. Not only was she one of the merriest people in the room, inciting roars of laughter at her table, but she positively glowed. Her dark hair was loosely twisted up, and her gown was a brilliant blue. It was her eyes, though, that captured his attention. Those dark eyes danced with wicked humor and glee and made him want to know what had put that sparkle there.

As if she’d heard Ross’s question, she glanced his way. Caught, he gazed boldly back, and her mouth curled in an impish yet mysterious way before she shifted her attention away from him. Drew turned back to his porter, trying to hide the flush of heat that had gone through him and set his heart racing.

Ross nudged his shoulder again, brows raised knowingly. He shrugged, and stole another glance over his shoulder.

At some point a piper set up in the corner and began to play. In an instant the tables were shoved aside and figures formed for a country dance. Duncan leapt over a table to join in, as did Monteith and Ross. Drew threw his coat in the corner with everyone else’s and took his place.

The dance was as boisterous as the interlude before it had been. Within minutes he was out of breath, laughing as he swung first one lady, then another on his arm. There was no chance of conversation, over the drone and wail of the pipes, the stomping of so many feet on the wooden floor, the shouts and laughter of the dancers and those cheering them on. It was hot and fast and exuberant, and he loved it. There had been nothing like this at