“I am not concerned about me,” Lorelei said, “but I think you had better get to the Duke of Oakley before the gossip does.”
A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Ye are right. I had hoped to call on Oakley in the morning and have a civil conversation—”
“It will be too late then.”
“Aye.” He nudged Kelso in the direction of Grosvenor Square to take her home. “Best to face the devil in his den sooner than later.”
…
Alasdair returned to Mount Stuart’s home near onto midnight. As he let himself in through the kitchen—no sense in waking up the footman probably asleep by the front door—he noticed light coming from the parlor down the hall. Was Mount Stuart waiting up for him?
He paused, tempted to sneak up the servants’ stairs, since he felt as wrung out as a rag. The last three hours with Oakley—to say nothing of Melissa’s fury—had been grueling. He felt somewhat lucky he still was in one piece. Putting a foot to the stairs, he paused again, then sighed and turned around. He might as well get this over with.
“Ye dinna have to wait up—” He stopped so abruptly in the parlor doorway that he nearly toppled over his toes. “Devon! What are ye doing here?”
His brother was seated in a chair near the still-lit hearth and swirled the whisky in the glass he was holding. “I’ve come to talk some sense into ye, eejit.”
Alasdair suppressed a groan. Of all his brothers, why did Devon have to be the one to show up? He was by far the most hotheaded, ready-to-fight at the wrong glance—and he hated the English.
“Talk sense to me? If ye heard that our land dispute with Argyll has been put on hold because of the Colonies’ rebellion, ’tis nae my fault—”
“Ian feared that would happen. ’Tis nae why I’m here, though.” Devon drained his glass and set it down. “Word came that ye are planning to marry the daughter of the Duke of Oakley. AnEnglishduke. Have ye gone completely barmy? Ye will have toactEnglish. Ye will have to be a part of this”—he gestured around the room—“for the rest of your life.” He rose and started pacing. “Ye are a blathering—”
“Cease your tirade, brother. I am nae marrying Oakley’s daughter.”
Devon snapped his head around. “Nae? Was it a rumor then?”
Alasdair shook his head. “Nae a rumor. Iwasbetrothed to Lady Melissa.” Although some of the language she’d used when he’d broken the news made him wonder how ladylike she was. “’Tis a long story.”
Devon raised a brow, then went to the cart where Mount Stuart had generously left a bottle of whisky. He poured two glasses and handed one to Alasdair. “I am nae going anywhere, so ye might as well start talking.”
Alasdair retrieved the bottle and set in on the small table between the two chairs facing the hearth. “I think we’ll need this.”
And then he started from the beginning… How his pride had been pricked by their sister’s plotting with Lorelei and he’d let himself be persuaded to encourage Lady Melissa in order to assure her father’s allegiance—and the necessary votes—and what a fool he’d been. He finished by telling Devon what had transpired that day. Nowyesterday, since it was well into the morning hours.
Devon’s expression darkened. “I always kenned Neal Cameron was a devil, but I didna think he would stoop to this.”
“Well, there is unfinished business with him for sure.”
“Aye. Laird Cameron will be informed of this treachery once I get back to Scotland,” Devon said.
Alasdair shook his head. “The unfinished business ismine.”
Devon frowned. “Fiona is our sister. Ye doona think the rest of us are going to stand idly by.”
“Nae, but…” Alasdair took a deep breath. “I am going to marry Lorelei.”
Devon looked heavenward, closed his eyes, and sighed. Then he looked at Alasdair. “This makes three of my brothers to marry Sassenachs.”
“Aye. And ye ken full well that Ian and Rory are happy with Emily and Juliana.”
He grimaced. “I suppose Lorelei and her sisters are nae the worst of the English lasses.”
Alasdair eyed him. Maybe it was the late hour, or the amount of whisky they’d drunk, but a thought popped into his head that he couldn’t resist.
“They have a cousin Anne ye could meet.”
Devon scowled at him. “I doona think so. I have nae plans to entangle myself with any more Sassenachs.” He looked at the empty bottle and set his equally empty glass down. “Mount Stuart offered me a room for the night. Since we doona have business with Parliament anymore and, since I dinna have to save ye from an English hell, we can leave in the morning, nae?”
