At the table directly beneath the side window a trio of men argued over whether a pheasant was a more noble creature than a swan. One of them had even brought drawings to support his claim for the swan, and loudly recounted the law that allowed only the aristocracy to eat them—a sure sign of their high standing.
“Do we request more coffee?” Niall asked, setting his cup aside. “Or do I get ye home so I can fetch Coll and a carriage before two o’clock?”
“We should go,” Amelia-Rose replied. She still had to write Lady Margaret and ask to be re-included in the luncheon even though she’d canceled just yesterday. And she had to make certain there would be enough food to satisfy the tall, lean man seated opposite her. She had no doubt that Coll MacTaggert wouldn’t be her escort, and that was fine with her. More than fine.
“Aye.” He stood and moved around to hold her chair out for her.
“You cannot be serious, Francis,” one of the bird men exclaimed. “The entire world acknowledges the nobility of the swan. A pheasant must be hung for three days before it’s even edible.”
“You, sir!” one of the men said, putting a hand on Niall’s shoulder. “Which bird do you prefer?”
Niall looked straight at his newfound friend, all trace of easy amusement gone from his face. The man abruptly lifted his hand away and took a half-step backward without Mr. MacTaggert having to say a word. Everyone seemed to be looking at him, as a matter of fact, and all he’d done was stand and be taller and more muscular than every other man in the shop.
He held out a hand to her, and she placed hers in it. For a hard beat of her heart she felt … regal. Protected. Anyone would be a fool to cross such a fine, fit specimen of a man—and yet she’d done just that. Well, not so much cross him as use his own desire to hide trouble in order to gain herself an escort to a luncheon she wanted to attend, but that only seemed to have amused him.
“Since ye asked,” he said, glancing over her head at the bird admirers, “I prefer a swan poached in a sauce of peaches and saffron.”
With that they strolled out of the shop. “You shouldn’t have said that,” she commented as they returned to John and the horses. “Coffeehouses are the home of meaningless philosophical arguments, especially from professors—which they looked to be. And only the nobility is permitted to dine on swans.”
“So ye reckon they’re jealous?”
“What? No. It’s…” She glanced at him, to find him wiping a soft grin from his face. “You were teasing them.”
“I’d nae be able to call myself a Highlander if I ever ate swan poached in saffron. It’s nae bad stuffed with mushrooms and oysters, but I prefer duck.”
“You do know you could be tossed into gaol for eating a swan.”
He tilted his head. “Did ye forget I’m an earl’s son and a viscount’s brother?”
She had forgotten, and that was very stupid of her. She was practically engaged to said viscount, after all. “It’s just that you don’t … act like an aristocrat.” Immediately she regretted her words. Stop talking, she ordered herself.
“I’ll take that as a compliment, adae. Ye didnae offend me, if that’s why ye willnae look me in the eye now.”
Before John could give her a hand into the saddle, Niall stepped up, standing so close she had to lift her chin to meet his gaze. He looked at her while her heart did an odd flip-flop again. “Yes?” she prompted when she began to worry she would wrap her arms around his shoulders and kiss him.
“Permission to put my hands on ye, lass.”
“Oh. Certainly. If the wind’s not too strong.”
Holding her gaze, he slid his hands around her waist and lifted her into the air. For a split second she forgot what they were doing, until her backside bumped against Mirabel and her sidesaddle.
Pay attention, Amelia-Rose, she ordered herself, fitting her knee around the saddle horn and then refusing to hold her breath when Niall grasped her ankle and slid her foot into the single stirrup. For heaven’s sake, since her debut last Season no fewer than five men had helped her onto Mirabel. None of them, though, had given her the delighted shivers. Of course she’d been attempting to impress them with her manners and decorum, while here she didn’t have to trouble herself.
“Ye’ve a delicate ankle,” he mused, his hand still on her foot. “It’s a wonder ye can stand on it.”
Her cheeks warmed. “I assure you that though I’m not constructed of iron and tree trunks like you are, I manage quite well,” she retorted. “What did you think I tottered about on?”
Blowing out his breath, he released her ankle and stepped back. “With all those long skirts and immense bonnets, I reckoned all ye English lasses floated above the ground on the morning breeze.”
Amelia-Rose laughed. The image of half a hundred young ladies being carried aloft by a gust of wind actually didn’t seem that far-fetched, now that she considered it. “You are not what I expected, Niall MacTaggert,” she said, walking Mirabel in a circle around him.
“Neither are ye.”
She stiffened a little. “Is that bad?”
“Nae.” He continued looking at her, pivoting to keep her in view as she circled. “Nae.”
* * *
Niall didn’t care to be walloped, even by a petite, delicate English lass, and for that reason he hoped she never discovered that adae didn’t mean “rose.” It meant “trouble.” And she was presently causing him a great deal of that. Truthfully it wasn’t all her fault, because if Coll had done as he was supposed to, as he’d sworn to after they’d all drawn cards and he’d lost the game, it would be the viscount taking Amelia-Rose to coffee and the damned picnic.
But his … annoyance, he supposed it was, wasn’t about an imagined inconvenience, of having to take her to a luncheon when he had something better to do—because riding off to find a dim-witted wife didn’t particularly appeal at the moment.
He liked the way Amelia-Rose laughed. Aye, he charmed people all the time, put them at ease, heard them laugh at his jests. She gave out her laughter like it was a prize; as if someone had told her that ladies didn’t laugh out loud and so she’d determined not to do so, but she couldn’t help herself. She’d promised to be more proper today, as if she hadn’t felt justified in handing Coll that well-deserved insult last night. In the tales his father told, females of the English variety were all coy and self-concerned and not a match for any Highlander. This one, Coll’s almost-betrothed, didn’t fit that mold. At all.
Niall shook himself as he reached Oswell House again, after only one wrong turn. This townhouse was nothing at all like the sprawling castle up in the Highlands. Pogan, the butler at Aldriss, had complained for years that he never had any idea where any of the MacTaggert brothers might be, because they were in and out at all hours of the day and night, and often enough didn’t even use the doors to enter and exit. Niall had once literally butted heads with Aden as his brother left the mansion through a library window while he climbed back in through the same window after a night spent in a bonny lass’s bed.
The entire front of Oswell House, though, overlooked the street. One rear door led into the tidy brick-walled garden and then a small park behind that, which had more possibilities for secrecy at least in the middle of the night—as long as none of the neighbors happened to be looking out their own windows. The side door opened to a covered drive with the stable directly behind it.
Niall swung down from Kelpie and handed him off to one of the stableboys. Before he reached the plain back door it swung open, and the bony butler eyed him. “The countess is looking for Lord Glendarril,” he stated, stepping aside to allow Niall through. “She’s been looking for him all morning.”
“And a bonny day to ye as well, Smythe,” Niall returned, heading for the main part of the house.
“She says that if she doesn’t speak to him by sunset, there will be consequences.”
Niall kept walking. The fine mood he’d been in shredding with every step, he made for the stairs and the
second floor. “Oscar!” he called, stripping off his damned heavy jacket as he went and tossing it over Rory’s unoccupied antler.
Without waiting for an answer he counted doors until he reached Aden’s temporary bedchamber, where he shoved open that door and stalked in. The heavy curtains were still closed, and his brother lay in a massive pile of blankets and pillows crossways on the large bed. The sprawl wasn’t unusual; his brother had always been as restless in his sleep as he was during the day.
“Aden,” he said, continuing on to the window and pushing open the first set of curtains.
“Damn ye and the horse ye rode in on,” came from the bed in a muffled growl. “Close the bloody curtains or I’ll thrash ye.”
Niall shoved open the next set of curtains. “I’ve nae seen Coll since act one last night, and I just had to take his nearly betrothed out for coffee in his stead.”
The blankets erupted outward as Aden sat up. “How horrible is the lass? Pig? Coo? Clucking hen?”
“She’s bonny enough,” Niall returned, her artistic tangle of blond hair and those sky-colored eyes still fresh in his mind. “Less meek than Coll reckoned for, I suppose. Instead of bothering to talk to her, he got up and left. The rest of it didnae matter a whit.” She wouldn’t like that he’d pointed out her sharp tongue. Beneath her varying levels of propriety she did have an air of daintiness and delicacy about her, something that made a man wish to protect the lass, to step between her and any danger.
His older brother nodded, swiped lanky black hair out of his eyes, and slid to his feet. “Did he take Nuckelavee?”
“He left the theater on foot. He’s still that way unless he stole someaught.”
Oscar skidded into the doorway. “Och! Waking ye up wasnae my idea, Master Aden. I warned him n—”
“Go fetch me a strong coffee and some food,” Aden cut in. “And have Loki saddled.”
“Aye. Right away,” the valet said, and vanished again.
Niall watched him go. “Ye’ve got poor Oscar terrified of ye, ye ken.”
Aden shrugged out of his nightshirt and dug into the immense wardrobe that dominated the room. “I warned him to leave me be. If I’d truly wanted to do him harm, I would have thrown something heavier than a boot at him.”
“And while I’m certain he’s thankful ye didnae, it still knocked him out cold.”
“Th—”
“There you are, Niall,” Eloise said from the doorway behind him. “Mama asked—Oh!”
Niall looked from his sister’s startled face to Aden’s bare arse as his brother searched for clothes. Aden straightened, grinned at her, and went back to his task. With a sigh Niall stepped between them, heading for the door. “Ye’ve just allowed several arses to move into yer house, Eloise. I reckon ye’re bound to catch sight of one or more of ’em from time to time.” Nudging her backward into the hallway, he shut the door behind him.
Her pink cheeks darkened further. “Here in London we close our doors while we’re dressing,” she snapped. “What if I’d had a friend with me?”
“I doubt Aden would’ve minded. What did yer mother want with me?”
She sent another glance at the doorway, then visibly shook herself. “She’s your mother, too, you know.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Really, Niall? You’re going to put me in the middle of this?”
He’d hurt her. Niall reached down and took her hand. If there was one thing all three of the MacTaggert brothers could agree about, it was that none of this mess was Eloise’s fault. She’d grown up, and she’d fallen in love. Not one of them could fault her for that. “Thank ye for the sandwich last night. Ye saved my life.”
That earned him a smile, at least. “I left one for Coll, as well, but it was still there this morning—or at least it was until I caught that valet of yours wiping crumbs from his shirt. Coll hasn’t been back. So he didn’t escort Amy—Amelia-Rose—for coffee. And since Mrs. Baxter hasn’t sent over a note complaining about that fact, I am willing to surmise that someone else did escort her daughter.”
“Clever lass. Coll’s still settling in,” he said, not knowing whether he was lying or not. “He’ll come around.”
“Amelia-Rose could be a good match for him. She’s very witty, though I think she tries not to be.”
“Why is that?” he asked, his interest immediately snared.
“Well, I wasn’t out last Season, but I heard that she … wasn’t scandalous, really, but spoke a bit boldly. For a lady. I haven’t asked her about it, of course. I have noticed, though, that she’s both frightfully well read and very cautious with her speech. There are a few of us that she chats with more freely, and she is delightful.”
Amelia-Rose did sound like a perfect match for Coll—if he’d been looking for a lass who could counter his recklessness and wouldn’t tolerate his heavy-handedness. Interesting that his brother would say the woman she’d been attempting to be, and had failed at being last night, would suit him better.
His sister continued to look at him, so he nodded. “They just need to have a chat where half of London isnae staring at them.”
“I hope so, for his sake. For Aldriss Park’s sake. I’ve always wanted to go back there. I was nine months old, I’m told, when Mama and I left.” She retrieved her hand and placed it over her heart. “I did not know about this agreement between Mama and Father. The first I heard of it was after we had dinner to celebrate the engagement. I found Mama writing a letter, and she looked up at me and smiled, and she had tears in her eyes. She said, ‘That stubborn old man has to come here now. And your brothers, too. We finally get our boys back, Eloise.’”
That was interesting, and he put it in the back of his mind where he could contemplate it more closely later. He damned well didn’t have time to unravel any of it now. “That letter wasnae quite so joyous for us,” he countered. “Da swears it’s killed him, and…” Niall trailed off at the alarmed look on her face.
“You weren’t just jesting about that? I thought you were trying to point out how little you all wanted to be dragged down here.”
“I’d nae put too much stock in Da turning up his toes, piuthar,” he went on. “I’ve killed him twice all on my own, and between Coll and Aden he’s taken his last breath at least a dozen times.”
Her expression eased a little. “How did you kill him, then?”
He grinned, relieved that he hadn’t made her dislike him. They were family, but barely acquaintances at the same time. “I jumped off the roof of Aldriss into a snowbank when I was sixteen,” he admitted. “And I’m nae telling ye the other one because ye’re a lass and have delicate sensibilities.” And because Lord Marmont had sworn to cut off his balls if anyone ever breathed a word about Niall’s escapade with Delilah MacDougall, the marquis’s youngest daughter. Niall remained rather fond of his balls, and he preferred to keep them just where they were.
Eloise sighed. “I wish I’d been there to see that,” she said, clearly not reading his mind, thank Saint Andrew. “Father wrote me on occasion, but he never really talked about anything scandalous. Mostly sheep and lambs, and sometimes how proud he was of one or all of you.” Eloise leaned forward a little. “Please don’t ever tell him I let Mama read his letters. I think the first letter she sent him directly in seventeen years was the one that brought you down here.”
“I’d nae tell. Da swore up and down he’d nae ever communicate with her again, in writing, in person, or as a spirit.” Coll and Aden would never believe their father had written to Eloise, even, given Lord Aldriss’s dislike of “civilized extravagances” like reading and writing. “Ye said Lady Aldriss wanted someaught from me?”
“Oh, yes. I forgot. She wants to know where Coll is, how his rendezvous went, and whether you met any likely young ladies in the park.”
And there he was again, standing in the middle, mending the angry edges back together. Whether he liked the position or not, for the moment, at least, he needed to remain there—right in the mi
ddle. They had too much to lose for him to step aside.
“I’d appreciate if ye’d tell the countess Coll’s nae back yet from seeing Amelia-Rose, Aden and I are going to familiarize ourselves with Mayfair, and I met a large herd of lasses but couldnae tell ye any of their names to save my life.”
She nodded. “This time.” Eloise held up one finger. “This time only. I don’t make a habit of lying.”
He leaned down to kiss her cheek. “I dunnae, either. Now. What’s a barouche, do ye have one here, and where would a lad go hereabouts if he wanted to punch someone?”
“I … Good heavens. A barouche is a large, open-topped vehicle, yes, we have one here, and I have no idea about the other thing. Gentleman Jackson’s is the only boxing establishment of which I’m aware. Smythe could give you the address, I’m certain.”
“That’s a beginning, then. Thank ye.” Niall turned around to open Aden’s door as Oscar arrived with a heaping tray of food.
“But you cannot have the barouche today, if that’s what you’re asking,” Eloise went on. “Matthew and I are taking it to a picnic this afternoon.”
Niall faced her again. “Lady Margaret’s alfresco fete?” he asked.
“Yes! How did you—”
“I reckon I need another favor, then.” He explained about Amelia-Rose’s request for an escort and a barouche, but left out the bit where she’d more or less threatened to bring down his already tottering stack of half-truths if he didn’t comply. The lass had outmaneuvered him, and he could appreciate that. Coll likely wouldn’t, but Coll wasn’t there.
“Of course you may join us,” Eloise said, smiling. “This is why I wanted my brothers about.”
“To join ye on picnics?”
“To be here. To disturb my plans and frown at the unacceptable men of my acquaintance.”
Niall frowned. “Are ye acquainted with any unacceptable men?”
She laughed. “Oh, yes! That frown, right there.”
If she expected him to go on picnics every day she was daft, but he didn’t say that part aloud. Instead he returned to Aden’s bedchamber to catch his brother up in more detail about the theater, coffee, their mother’s threats, and the picnic. Again he left out the devious bits, telling himself that there wasn’t time for all that now. He also left out the exact color of Amelia-Rose’s eyes, and the way her hair turned golden in the sunlight, because he was fairly certain he wasn’t supposed to notice those things.
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