Brògan wumphed and buried her face in the rag he’d been using to dry her.
“Och, ye knew that already. Ye’ve been using yer feminine wiles on me all along, havenae?” He looked at the dirty, furry carnage they’d left on the garden steps and at the same stuff caking the front of his shirt and his kilt. “I’d be more swayed if ye hadnae left half of London on my front.”
A male throat cleared from the direction of the top of the steps behind him. “Master Aden,” Smythe intoned, “I’m to remind you that you gave your word to Lady Eloise that you would attend her luncheon.”
Aden turned his head to eye the stone-faced butler. “Aye, I said I would, and so I will. What’s got her bonnet full of bees?”
“The luncheon began twenty minutes ago, sir. Your brother Lord Glendarril is in attendance, as are Master Niall and Mrs. MacTaggert.”
“Niall got himself vertical, did he?” Aden intoned, straightening. “Tell Lady Eloise I’ll be down in ten minutes. Come on, Brògan.”
“Did I hear you referring to that… Brògan as a female?” Smythe queried, his expression unchanged.
“Nae, ye didnae. I’ll be needing a bowl of scraps for the lad; he’s had a long journey.”
The butler craned his neck sideways, clearly trying to see Brògan’s undercarriage. “I’ll see to it, sir. Lady Eloise did stress that you were already late, however, and that she would not be pleased if you broke your word.”
She wouldn’t, would she?Well, when a Highlander gave his word, he kept it. “I’ll still need the scraps,” he said, patting his damp thigh as he headed up the shallow steps back into the house.
Luckily the dog kept right on his heels; no doubt she’d sensed that he remained her best chance for a meal and a safe place to sleep. They’d somewhat reversed roles now, since she was damp but clean, and he was slathered with mud. But Eloise seemed to doubt that he meant to make an appearance, and that he meant to keep his word. And buried beneath that, the idea of walking into the small dining room looking as he did, especially when by now most every female of his sister’s acquaintance knew he needed to find a wife, appealed to him more than a little.
“Behave,” he muttered over his shoulder, half to Brògan and half to himself, and he pushed open the double doors of the small dining room.
A wall of high-pitched chatter hit him like a smack to the face—and then all at once dropped into silence.
“Ladies,” he drawled, sketching a loose bow. “I’ve nae had a—”
“Is that Brògan?” Eloise interrupted, leaving the table and hurrying past Aden to crouch in front of the damp dog. “Oh, he’s darling! Why didn’t you ever say you’d left him behind in the Highlands?”
Immediately a herd of females shoved past him to form a circle around Brògan, all the cooing and baby talk nauseating. At the same time, it fascinated him, like watching a worm eat its way through an apple. When a hand patted him on the shoulder, he jumped.
“What do ye expect?” Niall muttered, clearly amused. “The beast’s clean. Ye look like a pigsty.”
Aden half turned to view his younger brother. “Ye look a bit disheveled yerself,bràthair. Almost as if ye havenae worn clothes in nearly a week.”
“Shut yer gobber, Aden,” the newlywed returned, his expression darkening. “I’ll nae have ye embarrassing Amy.”
That made sense. Niall wasn’t just Niall any longer. He was Niall and Amelia-Rose—Amy, for short. At the moment the young lady with the golden hair and forthright manner was ruffling Brògan’s ears, but Aden nodded anyway. “Aye. She has enough of a burden, being married to ye.”
“That’s more like it,” his brother commented, grinning again. “So is that the dog Coll said tried to steal yer boot?”
Of course Coll would have told their youngest brother the actual story—or part of it, anyway. “Aye. Did he alsomention he lost forty pounds to me because he throws with all the finesse of a bull?”
Niall glanced over to the table where Coll still sat, devouring half a baked chicken and helping himself to a good portion of the hot rolls. “He must’ve forgotten that bit. Is that why ye were throwing boots about?”
“Aye. He questioned my word about Oscar.”
“Aden,” Eloise said, prancing up hand in hand with a lass in a yellow-and-green gown, “Brògan is not a male dog.”
Aden sent a glance at the pair of pretty brown eyes and an upcurved mouth standing beside his sister. If this was the lass Eloise had selected for him today, his sister at least knew how to find a bonny one. With a few exceptions most of her friends were bonny, though. It was the tittering, the unwavering commentary on the weather, the sighs and giggles that made him shiver. And almost without exception every one of Eloise’s friends he’d met so far suffered from that disorder.
Stepping between his sister and her bonny friend, he lowered his head. “I gave Brògan a biscuit in exchange for my boot, and she followed me into the house,” he murmured. “Smythe wanted to toss her out, but I dunnae hold with turning away guests. So I told a wee white lie about Brògan being my dog from Scotland. A boy dog. As far as Smythe knows, that’s what she is. Ye ken?”
“Aye,” Eloise answered. “And you ken that I’m trying to help you find a wife, and that making an appearance at my luncheon looking like the inside of a chimney isn’t at all helpful, aye?”
“Aye,” he returned, hiding his scowl. Eloise, sister or not, was English-raised, and a bit of mud and fur was no doubt enough to overset the stoutest Sassenach.
“Good.” She lifted on her toes to kiss him on thecheek. “I’ve always wanted a dog. But Smythe will figure out eventually that you’ve bamboozled him, you know.”
