Egan had stepped down to the ground and was chuckling to himself.
“You ben buzzard.” George dropped to the ground with a clumsy thud. “Well, you had me for a second. I guess the Crowned Rose will have to do. I’m sure the whisky’s all the same.”
“As long as it’s Scottish whisky, it’s fine by me. Let’s go. Maybe a drink and a chit will cheer you up since there’s no unicorn in sight.”
“That’ll have to do,” George grinned.
The two men walked into the tavern and found a table in a back corner. Egan knew his sheer size often caused a stir. It could also be his permanent scowl that he made little effort to hide. It could be the fact that he was a duke. Or it could be the kilt.
It always came back to the kilt.
But in the busyness of this particular tavern, on this particular evening, he and George were able to slip in unnoticed.
Egan didn’t pay attention when a voice, lost in the racket, asked them, “What are you having?”
He let George answer for the two of them as he scanned the room for any trouble.
“Did you see that beauty?” George asked in hushed tones. “She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my entire life.”
“Really? The most beautiful? In your entire life?”
“Without doubt…” George was watching someone pass through the crowds, but Egan couldn’t see who it was amidst all the bodies.
“That hair…” George didn’t finish his sentence.
Egan didn’t care to discuss hair. He had a few business matters he had hoped to discuss with George. “Do you still regret not accepting Stonecastle’s invitation, George?”
“The Duke?”
“Is there another?”
“No.” George flashed a grin. “And no.” He took a swig, and made a gesture to some unknown figure for another drink. “I don’t regret it. Sure, he wanted to throw a crush of a masquerade, but it made more sense for us to attend the wedding. We see Stonecastle enough. And it’s not as though Bedmont was going to make it out either. He has too much going on with his railway contraptions. Like he’ll take a break from that when he’s saying he’s so close to a breakthrough.”
“Contraptions? Is that what you’re calling them?”
The second drink that George had ordered was placed carefully on the table.
“Where did you come from?” George asked the barmaid.
Egan slapped his hand over his face. Couldn’t George have come up with a better line to snag the most beautiful woman he had ever seen? Perhaps he was just nervous.
“I’ve been here my whole life,” a sweet voice answered.
Egan ignored the beginnings of the repartee and stood up to leave George alone with his woman. On second thought, now that he was actually listening, that voice was too sweet to pass up a glance. When he turned his head, he caught his breath. That hair.
That hair? That’s what George noticed first? The woman beside him, who came up to his chest at most, was the most beautiful womanhehad ever seen in his entire life. Not to sound like he was repeating what George had just said, but holy mother, she was breathtaking. Her hair was something to speak of, assuredly, being a warm chestnut brown that a man could snuggle. Snuggle? That was not a word Egan used. Ever. But he wanted to drive his hand through that warm madness and then devour her rose tinted lips. Then he would trail his lips down her soft jaw, along her neck, down to her–
He stopped himself. George had already spoken of his interest in the girl. It would not do to step in anddoanything about his spontaneously ravaging thoughts.
“Where are you going? We were just talking about Bedmont and his railways. I wanted to know what you thought I might make on a small investment with him and his contraptions.”
Thump. Egan sat back down.
“Do you mean the steam locomotive?” the sweet voice asked with even more honey dripping from her lips.
He would drip honey on those lips and lick it up, and then he would drip honey a little lower and–
Holy hell, he had to stop. He did not want any bedsport this evening with George’s potential interest. Surely he could find another beauty.
