Alasdair nodded as a lifesaving—or at least, a delaying—thought struck him. “Aye. The lass should take all the time she needs to find exactly what she would like.”
A mixture of expressions crossed the duke’s face. He probably hadn’t liked the use of “lass,” but Alasdair was not about to start sounding like an Englishman. On the other hand, his reply had shown consideration for his daughter. That was a plus, although in more ways than one. The more time Melissa took, the longer he could delay setting a wedding date.
That idea was short-lived.
“I will contact my solicitors tomorrow,” the duke said. “They can get us a list of available properties. No sense in delaying. I am sure Melissa will want to marry while everyone is still in town for the Season.”
Alasdair felt his throat constrict and it didn’t have anything to do with the damn cravat he was wearing. The parson’s noose had just grown tighter.
There were only weeks left in the Season.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Erik had received another missive from his cousin. Neal was getting impatient and wanted to know why the mission had not been accomplished. He’d felt like responding that abducting the two bitches wasn’t as easy as it had sounded originally—not that he had any intention of failing. The first problem was waiting for the tide. It had to be ebbing in the afternoon in order for him to get the boat out of London quickly once he had them on board.
The other problem was getting them alone, which meant he needed to make his move on a Monday when the Bute chit went to her bluestocking meeting. He didn’t want any witnesses, especially not one whose father was the former prime minister. Unfortunately, even though he’d watched the house every Monday, after the botched attempt in St. Giles, they had not ventured out unescorted.
Which was why he was attending Lady Molyneux’s Sunday afternoon fete. Tomorrow was a Monday, and the tide would be running on time.
He sauntered over to where Fiona stood near a French window talking to Louisa and Lorelei. He greeted her friends cordially and bowed to her. “It is a fine afternoon. Would you care to stroll with me in the gardens, Miss MacGregor?”
Fiona smiled at him and laid her hand on the arm he extended. “Ye will excuse me?” she asked her friends.
“Of course,” they said in unison.
He waited until they were out of earshot and smiled at her. “I daresay it is rather nice to have you to myself for a few minutes, although perhaps we should stay within sight of others.”
“I suppose that is best.”
“I would certainly not want to compromise you in any way.”
Fiona gave him a pointed look. “Do ye mean like what happened to Lorelei?”
“A most unfortunate set of circumstances.” He paused. “Is Westwood going to marry her?”
“I doona ken.”
Erik caught himself before he could scowl at her. She didn’t know? Was she lying or had Westwood not proposed yet? It would complicate things if the marquess had, which was one more reason that he needed to act today. Of course, there was the possibility that, given the forced situation, the man might be glad if his intended simply disappeared.
A thought struck him. Perhaps the Marquess of Westwood could be incriminated once the investigations into the disappearances started. He’d thought to lay bits of evidence that would lead to Campbell, since the land dispute between him and MacGregor was well known, but an unwanted wife was equal motivation. Erik put the thoughts aside for further contemplation.
“I suppose a better question would be… Does your friend want to marry him? She seems to be quite independent, just like you.”
Fiona arched a brow. “We have been told ’tis nae a good trait for ladies.”
“Nonsense. Only a man who does not appreciate a woman’s intellect would think that.” Erik managed to swallow the bile that rose by having to say those words.
She smiled. “Ye understand?”
He understood all right. Women wanted nothing more than to control men. They used all their wiles to seduce men and bring them to their knees. Look what had happened to his cousin Neal. And Erik had been duped into trusting a Jezebel years ago and nearly been imprisoned. They were all the spawn of the devil. But he smiled back.
“Of course. And I have not forgotten that you said you wanted to go for a sail on my ketch, either.”
“Oh, I would!” Her eyes lit up, then she looked down. “But Alasdair would never allow it.”
“I am sure he means only to protect you, but…” He deliberately struck a thoughtful mode. “Would he have to know?”
She looked up. “What do ye mean?”
