“How could I not, milord?” Baroness Oliphant asked breathlessly as she stood. “When I received your note expressing interest in furthering your acquaintance with my beautiful, perfect daughter, we wereallthrilled. Such an honor!”
“Aye, well…” Lysander peered over her shoulder. “Is yer daughter joining us?”
“For tea, of course! If you will follow Oliphant here—Oliphant, lead my lords to theprivateparlor—my daughters and I will join you shortly.”
Lysander’s brow twitched, but Max didn’t see anything wrong with the request. Likely had something to do with propriety or some such nonsense, but he just nodded to the butler—whom he assumed was the Oliphant she spoke of—and followed the older man.
After depositing them in an out-of-the-way parlor Max had never been in before, the butler bowed and backed out of the doorway, leaving it open.
Max dropped into one of the large chairs, his legs stretched out in front of him. “Youdoget the fancy treatment, huh?”
Lysander was pacing, and it was almost amusing to see him so agitated.
“Dinnae think I didnae notice how oftenyeget called ‘milord’ when ye’re with me.”
Max snorted. He wasn’t alord. He’d spent his life being treated like a servant by the man he’d thought was his father—a very different history than these people assumed.
“Look, Lysander, I can’t even keepyourfancy titles straight, much less anyone else’s. I’m happy being just me.”
“Aye, but being the guest of honor at that ball didnae hurt either.” Lysander stopped pacing and planted his hands on his hips. “Ye’re a prize now as well. Maybe ye’ll enjoy meeting Tiffany’s sister.”
“Don’t forget, I’ve met them both already. When Baroness Oliphant found out ‘the laird’s new son’ was staying at her inn, she was overjoyed. I had dinner with them a few weeks back.”
“And?” Lysander asked eagerly.
Not interested in popping his friend’s bubble of excitement when it came to Tiffany, Max just shrugged.
But before he could push for more, Lysander’s head suddenly swung toward the door. “They’re coming!” he hissed, as he threw himself into the chair beside Max’s. “How do I look?”
Max’s brows rose, amused at his brother’s flustered actions. “Like a man anxious to meet a woman.”
Lysander’s chuckle sounded rueful. “That about sums up humanity, eh?”
From the corridor, two different voices drifted into the room. “Oh, do stop fussing, Tiffany. You look lovely.”
“But do I look lovely enough forhim? He is here!”
Max watched Lysander’s lips curl upward proudly.
“You look lovely enough to intrigue a duke.” That must be Bonnie, the other daughter.
Tiffany’s chuckle was throaty and low. Neither of them likely realized the door was open and they could be heard. “I know Mother wanted me to seize the attention of the Duke of Cashard, but I am quite delighted with the outcome of the ball. A viscount is the perfect catch for me!”
The sound the other woman made was rather indelicate. “Then you are lovely enough to catch anearl.”
“Oh, Bonnie, I am not interested in thelaird.”
“Then you look lovely enough for an earl’sheir.” This sounded teasing.
“Goodness, not him! Did you see him at the ball, Bonnie?” Tiffany chuckled again. “All scarred and scowling andbrutal. He was wearing akilt, Bonnie, like some kind of—of?—”
“Barbarian?”
“Yes, a barbarian! Can you imagine having to sit across the table from—fromthatat meals?” Tiffany’s tone had hardened. “Or worse, listen to him talk. Hmm, do you think hecanspeak reasonably, or does he just shout cold commands? And letting those hands touch you?—”
“That is enough, Tiffany,” came Bonnie’s hushed voice, sounding hollow. Max wondered what her expression must look like.
But he didn’t have to guess about Lysander’s because he was looking right at the man. His brother had paled as Tiffany had spoken, and now Lysander’s lips were pressed together in anger. His pale eyes cut toward Max, who shrugged apologetically.
