Beside her, Lorelei heard Louisa’s sharp intake of breath. It was totally improper for a lady to ask such a bold question, but Fiona wouldn’t know that. Or, truthfully, she probably wouldn’t care. In either case, Erik didn’t seem to be bothered by a lack of Society manners, since he smiled back at her.
“Perhaps we may.”
“I shall look forward to it,” Fiona replied.
Before Erik could get the idea that Fiona would go alone with him, Lorelei intervened.Someproprieties did need to be followed. “That sounds like fun. I would love to go too.”
Erik smiled. “Of course.”
Their grumpy driver came ambling down the quay just then and Louisa tugged at Fiona’s sleeve. “Time to go.”
“Aye.” Fiona looked longingly at the boat before turning away. “I canna wait to go aboard.”
…
Erik watched as the three bitches walked away. Enduring lunch with them had been a Herculean effort, since they all had opinions about the state of affairs—men’saffairs—and had been quite vocal. Unfortunately, though, he needed to win their trust—including the Bute female, since he’d lost his temper at whist—if his plan for his cousin Neal was to work. He’d considered having Francois put a few drops of poison in the tarts—the man had done it at the French Court, which was why he was a fugitive to begin with—but the disappearance of three women whose destination had been known was too risky.
Much better to stick with the original plan. Less messy in the end. That Fiona MacGregor liked boats was a stroke of luck. And the Caldwell chit thought it would be fun to come along, too? The winds of Fate must truly be with him.
They might have their wishes sooner than they thought.
Only it would be a one-way sail for both of them.
Chapter Fifteen
As he looked around the main room at White’s Thursday evening, Alasdair wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to men’s social clubs in London. This was considered one of the two best clubs in the city, the other being Boodle’s. Perhaps mostelitewould be a better way of phrasing it, which was why he was glad he wasn’t a permanent member. In Scotland, a clan’s laird had always drunk with his people and was as likely to be seen with them in a tavern as well. There was no class distinction. A man proved himself by his word and by his deed, not because of who his parents were. But, as he reminded himself once again, he wasn’t here to make lifelong friends. Mount Stuart had sponsored him so his face and name would be familiar when it came time for Parliament to vote on the land deeds.
At least White’s was now serving MacGregor whisky, thanks to Ian’s new bride, Lorelei’s sister Emily. Alasdair downed half a dram and set the glass down just as Gavin and Westwood came through the door. He suppressed a groan as they walked toward his table.
“Might we join you?” Westwood asked and before Alasdair could answer, Gavin waved him off.
“No need to be formal.” Gavin pulled out a chair and sat down. “I’ll even buy the next round.”
Not that money actually exchanged hands here. Everything was put on an account and bills were sent discreetly at the end of each month. He was a bit suspicious over the offer, but Campbell might be trying to impress Westwood, since he’d also need more than just his uncle’s vote.
Without being summoned, the waiter brought over three glasses of MacGregor whisky. Gavin raised one hand slightly to indicate it was his tab, which was answered with an, “Of course, sir.” Alasdair did have to admit to himself that the staff was well-trained. After his initial visit—when he’d had only two drinks—the next time he’d come in, the same waiter had come to him and asked if he’d be having the MacGregor again. After that, only a simple nod passed and the drink was brought to him.
“Excellent whisky,” Westwood said. “Just the right amount of peat smoke flavor.”
The man did seem to know how to savor it. He’d held the liquid in his mouth, letting the taste sink in before he swallowed. “Thank ye.”
“We didn’t see you at Almack’s last night,” Gavin said after he’d taken a healthy sip of his own. “I dare say Lady Melissa seemed a bit put out.”
Alasdair saw Westwood’s mouth tighten at the mention of her name and he wondered again what had gone on with the pair of them. Lady Melissa always seemed to cling to him more tightly if Westwood was around, although he wasn’t sure why. Near-saint that the marquess was, he’d never threaten or insult her in any way. Interestingly, Melissa found everything Alasdair said amusing. It had taken him a few times to realize this happened mostly when Westwood was not far away and not because he was the most brilliant conversationalist in attendance.
It also made him realize that Melissa was using him as a prop to make sure the marquess noticed she was having a good time without him. If Lorelei had treated Alasdair that way, more than his pride would have been hurt. Oddly, though, he didn’t care what Melissa’s motives were.
Still, she was the reason he had not attended the dance last night. What Campbell had told him about her remarks at the art outing had stuck with him. Even though he made sure he danced with the other young ladiesandLorelei at Almack’s, Melissa somehow managed to be by his side at every pause during those evenings. He thought maybe a night without his presence would stop the gossip. He eyed Gavin, wondering why he’d brought it up.
“I’m sure Lady Melissa had other partners.”
Westwood gave him a sharp look, but said nothing as Gavin continued.
“Actually, I think she left early.”
“Why?”
“I would not know.” Gavin grinned. “I was busy dancing with Fiona when she made her exit.”
