Lachlan nodded, because he couldn’t very well tell her that his plans had changed, that he was no longer interested in any heiresses. He’d be banished from Sherring Cross if he did. Also, he still needed her help so that hecouldstay here, because he certainly couldn’t see himself appealing to Megan’s husband to let him stay so he could seduce his wife. That really wouldn’t go over well at all.
So he said, “She sounds ideal, Aunt Margaret. You’ll have tae be introducing me tae her when she does arrive—that is, if I’m no’ on my way back tae the Highlands afore then, which seems more likely the case now,” he ended with a sigh.
She leaned over to pat his hand. “Don’t you worry about that now. Our Dev would never be so churlish as to give you the boot just for some little misunderstanding that occurred ages ago. In fact, I will go and speak with him now, just to put your mind at ease. So do make yourself at home, Lachlan, m’boy, you’ll be staying.”
6
“He’s not staying, and that’s final!”
It wasn’t the first time Devlin had said that in the last few hours, but no one seemed to be paying any attention to him—at least on that subject.
Megan had been the first to find him and inform him who his aunt’s Scottish relative was, and she had left him to mull over what rotten luck that turned out to be. Then Margaret had shown up in his study to drop some ridiculous tale of woe in his lap, explaining that the Highlander had actually been robbed of his inheritance, and so had turned to reaving merely as a means to keep kith and kin together.
A stepmother absconding with the family jewels, as it were, and completely disappearing? Not bloody likely. More likely it was a tale the Scot had come up with because he knew it would stir the sympathies of their mutual aunt, and other such gullible ladies. But now even Megan was changing her tune, when she had at first seemed highly indignant that Lachlan MacGregor was under her roof.
They were in the parlor where the household usually gathered before dinner. His grandmother and her sister, Margaret, had their heads together on the sofa, speaking so softly their voices wouldn’t carry to Devlin and Megan, who stood by the fireplace. Lord Wright, who had come up from London to purchase one of Sherring Cross’s prize thoroughbreds and so was staying the night, was speaking with Lady Kimberly about the weather, of all mundane topics. Too bad he was in his fifties and already married, because he showed a marked interest in the lady.
At least the subject under discussion had the decency to not make an appearance. This was fortunate, because Devlin couldn’t be sure of his own reaction if he came face to face with that scoundrel again. He was still in the house somewhere due only to common courtesy, allowing him to get a fresh start in the morning for his journey back to the Highlands, or wherever he now chose to go.
That Devlin had had to restate his decision was due to Megan now suggesting they let the Highlander stay on. She had yet to say why she had changed her mind, but he was sure she would get to her reasons in her own sweet time, since she never let him wonder for long about her motives—at least, not overly long.
As for his statement, she merely said, “You’re not really angry over some silly thing that happened more than a year ago, are you?”
Devlin raised a brow at her. “Silly thing? The man got down on his knees and proposed marriage to you upon meeting you, and when you refused him out-of-hand as any sane woman would have, he abducted you.”
“Yes, but you got me backandsoundly thrashed him for it,” she reminded him. “Or had you forgotten that you’ve already had your revenge?”
Anyone who didn’t know Devlin very well wouldn’t have recognized that slight turning of his lips as a sign of smug satisfaction. The pleasant memory that prompted it didn’t last long, however.
“That hardly pertains to what he does for a living,” he said. “Good God, he’s a bloody thief. Why do you ladies keep overlooking that simple fact? And because of that, he could be my aunt’s stepson, rather than just her nephew, and he would still not be welcome in my house.”
Heads were turning their way, and Megan whispered to him, “Not so loud, if you please. And might I point out that you haven’t even noticed Lady Kimberly, she’s so—unnoticeable—which means we’re going to have a devil of a time finding her a husband, and here you are kicking out one of the possibilities. Have you forgotten already that we were going to try and match those two?”
Now he realized why she’d changed her mind, but it made no difference at all in his opinion. “‘Were’ is the operative word, Megan. His past activities donotmake him a suitable match for an earl’s daughter.”
“Oh, give over, Dev,” she cut him off impatiently. “He’s a Scottish lord, and head of his clan to boot. That makes him highly suitable for an earl’s daughter, and well you know it. And his objectionable past activities can be overlooked, due to the circumstances that prompted them. You heard what your aunt said. The poor man was desperate. Yet he’s put that behind him. And he’s here to find a rich wife so it willstaybehind him. With the dowry that comes with Lady Kimberly, he’d hardly have reason to continue his reaving ways, now would he?”
He snorted. “Unless he enjoyed them, which would be a very good reason for him to continue haunting the border for victims, wife or not. And you can’t deny he did seem to enjoy robbing us, Megan.”
“Seemed to, maybe, but we don’t know that for certain. And the very fact that he’s here looking for a rich wife is proof, as I see it, that he doesn’t want to continue in that vein. I don’t see why we can’t give him the chance to show that he’s sincere. Even your grandmother is willing to do that.”
“If he’s sincere, I’ll eat my—”
“Don’t make promises you might regret,” she cut in with a grin. “And admit it, you just don’t like the chap.Thatis your main objection.”
“That is only a small part of it,” he insisted. “And enough has been said about that blackguard. He isnotstaying, and that’s final!”
7
So the Scotsman really was a thief. MacGregor had said it himself, called himself a reaver, but Kimberly hadn’t taken that seriously, since the conversation she’d been forced to overhear between him and the duchess in the entryway had seemed more like simple banter than fact. But now the duke had confirmed it.
MacGregor was an actual thief,and, he had once tried to rob Their Graces. And that wasn’t even the worst. He was not just a thief, but an abductor of women. Amazing. Though even more amazing was that a magistrate hadn’t been summoned posthaste to deal with the fellow. But Kimberly assumed that was because he was somehow related to the duke’s aunt.
The only reason she had gone down to dinner tonight, feeling as miserable as she did, was on the off chance that she might see the Scot again. Silly of her. And he hadn’t even made an appearance. She would have been much better served to have gone to bed early, particularly since now that she was trying to get some sleep, whoever was in the next room to hers was making that impossible.
There was banging going on, creaking, an occasional burst of laughter, and voices just loud enough to be bothersome, but not loud enough to distinguish any words. She was reminded of the sleepless night at that inn, though those walls had been thinner, allowing her to distinguish the Scot’s brogue in the occasional words she’d heard. This racket was just as bad, however, and if it persisted much longer, she was going to be forced to do something, though she wasn’t sure what.
Pounding on the walls, she supposed, would cause her the least effort. As tired as she was, she had absolutely no desire to go seek out the housekeeper, if that lady happened to still be up, just to be moved to another room, which would require even more time. Not for the first time, she wished she weren’t such a light sleeper, or she might have at least had a chance of getting to sleep even with that racket going on.
