A tallish gentleman muscled through the group, bearing a striking resemblance to Campbell Smith. She instantly placed him. Mr. Smith’s brother!
Without a word, he leaned close, scrutinizing Lucy.
Lucy’s pulse hammered in her ears. Unnerved, she searched about for safety.
And found anything but.
A tall, broadly powerful gentleman stood at the fringe—a stranger, in the sense the rest of the McQuoid-Smiths were. That was where all similarities between him and them started and ended.
While the entire family milled like chickens seeking their heads, this man held command. He was still. Controlled.
Of himself.
Of the chaos.
Of Lucy’s gaze…
His features were the hard sort—as though cut from unyielding Highland stone. No cleft softened his chin. No smile lines eased the sternness of his jaw.
But it was his eyes. Penetrating. Dark. Shadowed, assessing, entirely too focused on her.
A chill wrapped around her spine.
She had been wrong to ever believe she was invisible.
This gentleman, clad in stark black save for the snowy cravat at his throat, saw Lucy all too clearly.
And for the love of Jesus and Mary, she wished he didn’t.
Fingers slipped into hers, breaking her connection to him.
“What is your name?” a young lady with angelic eyes asked softly.
“Lucy,” she blurted.
“I’m Andromena,” the girl said, her voice music-soft.
“Mr. Smith’s sister,” Lucy murmured, recognizing the youngest girl.
Andromena brightened. “He spoke of me to you!”
Immediately realizing the further confusion she sowed, Lucy faltered. “I…”
Another young woman saved Lucy from answering. “Did he mention me?” she piped in cheerily. “Fleur McQuoid? I am his favorite cousin.”
Lucy again found herself saved by one austere voice of reason in the crowd. “Can we please hold off on the questions for Miss LeBeau until Campbell is himself?”
A number of McQuoids converged on the injured gentleman.
Crestfallen, Lucy looked over at poor Mr. Smith. In all the years she’d known the strong, capable Mr. Smith, she’d never seen him so still, so silent.
A ball of emotion formed in her throat.
She made to look away when a sudden chill prickled along her spine.
It was him.
The grim stranger stared at Lucy, his eyes colder than even the coldest Scottish winter. He measured her, weighing her truths and letting it be known to Lucy—he didn’t trust her.
