“Youcan wait a little longer. I have a new wife at home I’ve kept waiting long enough.”
Before he took another step, however, James sensibly called out, “Cameron?” hoping no response would end the matter right there, since Anthony wasn’t being reasonable. Unfortunately, he got ample response.
Georgina and Mac both swung around at once upon hearing the name Cameron. She was apprehensive about actually facing the entire room, yet did so with the hope of seeing Malcolm. Perhaps it was he who had been hailed. Mac, however, braced himself in an aggressive stance as soon as he saw the tall, dark-haired aristocrat shake off his blond companion’s hand, his eyes, clearly hostile, glued to Mac. In seconds, the man had closed the space between them.
Georgina couldn’t help it. She gawked at the tall, black-haired man who stepped up to Mac, the most handsome, blue-eyed devil she’d ever seen. In her mind it registered that he had to be one of the “lairds” Mac had tried to tell her about, and that this was not exactly the image she harbored of such creatures. There was nothing foppish about this gentleman. His clothes were obviously of the best quality, but understated; no loud satins or bold velvets here. If not for the excessively fashionable cravat, he was done up as any one of her brothers might be when they chose to turn themselves out elegantly.
All of that registered in her mind, but it didn’t stop her nervousness from doubling, for there wasn’t anything friendly in the man’s demeanor. There was in fact an anger about him that seemed just barely held in check, and it seemed to be directed solely at Mac.
“Cameron?” the man asked Mac in a quiet tone.
“The name’s MacDonell, mon, Ian MacDonell.”
“You’re lying.”
Georgina’s jaw dropped when she heard that growled accusation, then she gasped as the man jerked Mac forward by his lapels and lifted, until the two men were glowering at each other, their faces only inches apart, Mac’s smoky-gray eyes blazing with indignation. She couldn’t let them fight, for God’s sake. Mac might love a brawl as well as any sailor, but devil take it, that wasn’t what they were here for. And they couldn’t afford the attention it would draw—at least she couldn’t.
Without considering the fact that she didn’t know how to wield it, Georgina slipped the knife from her sleeve. She wasn’t actually going tousethe thing, just quietly threaten the elegant gentleman into backing off. But before she could get a good grip on the knife with her oversized gloves, it was knocked out of her hand.
She really panicked then, remembering too late that Mac’s accoster wasn’t alone. She didn’t know why they had chosen her and Mac to pick on when there was a whole room full of tough customers if they were merely looking for some sport. But she had heard of such things, how the arrogant lords liked to throw their weight around, intimidating the lower classes with their rank and the power behind it. But she wasn’t going to just stand there and be abused. Oh, no. The fact that she was supposed to remain inconspicuous went right out of her mind at the injustice of this unprovoked attack, like the injustice that had lost her Malcolm.
She turned and attacked, blindly, furiously, with all the bitterness and resentment built up over the last six years toward the English and their aristocrats in particular, kicking and hitting, but, unfortunately, doing nothing more than hurting her fists and toes. The blasted fellow felt like a brick wall. But that only made her so furious she didn’t have sense enough to stop.
This might have gone on indefinitely if the brick wall hadn’t decided he’d had enough. Georgina was suddenly flipped about and hefted off her feet without the least bit of effort, and horror of horrors, the hand holding her up was clamped to her breast.
If that wasn’t bad enough, the dark-haired gent still holding Mac suddenly exclaimed in a loud voice, “Good God,he’sa woman!”
“I know,” the brick wall replied, and Georgina recognized an amused tone when she heard it.
“Now you’ve done it, you miserable curs!” she snarled at them both, well aware that her disguise had just become useless. “Mac, do something!”
Mac attempted to, but the arm he pulled back and swung at the dark-haired gent was caught by his fist and slammed down on the bar.
“There’s no need for that, MacDonell,” the dark one said. “I made a mistake. Wrong color eyes. I apologize.”
Mac was disconcerted at how easily he had been outmaneuvered. He wasn’t that much smaller than the Englishman, yet he couldn’t raise his fist off the bar to save his soul. And he had the feeling that even if he could, it wouldn’t do him much good.
Prudently, he nodded his acceptance of the apology and gained his release by doing so. But Georgina was still held tight by the other rogue, the blond one Mac had felt instinctively was the more dangerous of the two when he’d first seen them.
“Ye’ll be letting go, mon, if ye ken what’s good fer ye. I canna let ye monhandle—”
“Be easy, MacDonell,” the dark one interjected in a hushed tone. “He means the lass no harm. Perhaps you’ll let us accompany you outside?”
“There’s nae need—”
“Look around you, dear fellow,” the blond one interrupted him. “There appears to be every need, thanks to my brother’s loud blunder.”
Mac did look and swore under his breath. Just about every eye in the room was gazing with speculation at the lass, who had been transferred to the big gent’s hip, one thick arm holding her there like a sack of grain as he carried her toward the door. And, miracle of miracles, she wasn’t voicing any complaints at this crude handling, at least not that Mac could notice, for her protest had swiftly died with a tight squeeze about the ribs. So Mac wisely held his tongue, too, and followed, realizing that if it weren’t such a menacing-looking fellow who was carrying her, they wouldn’t get very far.
Georgina had also come to the realization that she was in deep trouble if she didn’t get out of there fast, which wastheirfault, but didn’t change the fact. And if the brick wall could get her outside without incident, then she’d let him, even if he was doing it in a way that was absolutely mortifying. This kept her temper simmering impotently.
As it happened, though, they were stopped, but by a pretty barmaid who suddenly appeared and latched possessively onto her toter’s free arm. “’Ere now, ye’re not leavin’, are ye?”
Georgina pulled her cap back enough to see just how lovely the girl really was, and to hear the brick wall reply, “I’ll be back later, my dear.”
The barmaid brightened, not even bothering to look at Georgina, and she realized with amazement that the girl was actually desirous of this caveman’s company. There was just no accounting for some people’s taste, she supposed.
“I finish work at two,” the barmaid told him.
