“We are protective,” Adair replied appearing beside Callum. She shot them both dirty looks. So much for not shadowing her every move.
“Aye,” Honoria muttered, “to the point where I’d rather be snatched up by traveling folk than remain clustered in this castle.”
“You don’t mean that,” Adair said, looking wounded.
“I mean every word.”
“Tonight, every eligible bachelor from the surrounding clans will be in attendance. You will have your chance to find a more appropriate suitor.”
I’ve already found one.
But to voice that aloud would be futile. “I’m sure they will all be remarkably uninspiring.”
“Honoria.”
“Let the lass be, Adair,” Callum said with the shake of his head. “She will come around in time.”
Do not count on it, brother.
Honoria turned away from the dance floor and pocketed the note from her sister a footman had just handed her. She did not care to draw attention to herself so she would read it later. Isla, nowhere to be found, had likely escaped to her chambers.
Honoria would shortly follow.
It was already well past midnight.
Adair hadn’t been jesting. All the families of the surrounding clans, with every eligible Highlander, it seemed, were in attendance. Honoria was no fool. This was no mere matchmaking ball. Her brothers were conducting business with these men—illegal business.
She huffed out a breath.
She hadn’t wanted to attend, but her brothers more or less dragged her to the event and watched her like hawks, daring her to decline dance requests. Now, her feet hurt from all the reels, but not as much as her heart, which was near crippled. It didn’t matter how well these men danced or how acceptable they were.
None of them were Lash.
“You look as distressingly sad as you look unforgettably lovely, Lady Honoria.”
Honoria turned to the man who had so accurately read her mood. She did not recognize him, but he was handsome, standing taller than most men here, a lock of chestnut hair falling over his brow. There was something familiar about him, as though she ought to recognize him but could not draw his identity to the surface.
“Are gentlemen supposed to remark on a lady’s somber mood?” Honoria asked.
“I suppose not.” He searched her eyes. “You do not recognize me?”
“Am I supposed to?” Her brows drew together, examining him with renewed interest.
He offered his arm. “Walk with me, Lady Honoria.”
Before Honoria could decline, he hooked their arms together and began to stroll. She had no choice but to follow his lead.
“Have we met?” she asked. “You seem oddly familiar, but I can’t put my finger on it.”
His lips stretched into a broad grin. “Dianna must have done a better job than I’d first thought.”
Dianna?
Why did that name sound so familiar? Dianna. Dianna. Dianna. It felt as if she ought to know that name. Honoria eyed the man in speculative thought. The only Dianna that rang any bell was Dianna O’Donnell, and she married. . .
No.
It couldn’t be.
