“I would love naught more, my lady.”
She smiled, hooking her arm into his. “Lord Graham is impossibly old. Why my cousin would even make him believe hewould be considered is beyond me. Lord Wingot is, well, Lord Wingot, and for that I have no interest whatsoever. Lord Kelly is the right age, if I am being honest, and if I were actually looking, but he seems rather pompous to me. A trait I find intolerable. Not to mention his height.
“And that leaves Baron Battersby, the poor lad.” She looked over her shoulder at Joan, who still followed at a far enough distance to make them aware of her presence, but not close enough to hear their conversation. “To be fair, I believe he is much better suited to Joan.” She giggled and gave his arm a squeeze.
He dipped down close to her ear. “I do believe ye are correct on that. She did appear to be quite smitten with him as well.” He patted her hand lightly, and took note that she didn’t pull away.
“I did notice that, too.”
As they made their way back toward Buckwood Manor, Finlay found himself enjoying their easy conversation mayhap a little too much.
“I was being truthful earlier,” he confessed.
Looking up at him, her eyes round, her pink tongue darting out to wet her lips and he wanted naught more than to bend and capture it between his teeth. She must have sensed his train of thought as her cheeks tinged pink.
She broke eye contact and asked, “About what?”
“When I said I would like to call upon ye on the morrow. I meant it.”
He watched an array of emotions play across her beautiful face. Aye, there was definitely more to Lady Willamina Watson than she was telling him. He could only assume it was more than just her not wanting to get married again. Something had happened to her.
Who had hurt her? He wanted to know. He would track them down and make them pay. “If I come, will ye see me?”
Seconds ticked by as he waited for an answer. The time seemed like an eternity. He was half expecting for the sun to set and the night sky to bathe them in moonlight.
“I think I would like that,” she answered finally.
He held back a cry of triumph, and instead inclined his head to her. “Then I shall do so.”
When they entered the parlor, Graham and Wingot were nowhere to be found. Battersby’s face lit up at the sight of Joan and he quickly approached her. However, Kelly sat in a chair near the fireplace, whisky in hand, talking to Buchanan.
“Ah, ye have finally returned,” Buchanan stated as he stood and Kelly followed suit.
“Have Lords Graham and Wingot left already?” Willamina asked, not even attempting to hide that she could not care less that they had.
“Aye, something about other matters to attend. I assume ye enjoyed your stroll through the gardens?”
“’Twas lovely.” He turned to Willamina. “And now that I have safely returned ye to your cousin, I shall take my leave. Thank ye for allowing me to escort ye for a walk.” He bowed and then wanted to drown in the smile she gifted upon him.
“Buchanan, thank ye for welcoming me into your home. We shall have to meet for a drink one day soon.” Much like the game Buchanan had mentioned the previous night, Finlay really had no interest in doing such a thing, but he was trying to play nice. Making an enemy out of Buchanan would not serve his burgeoning plan. “Kelly, I am certain I will see ye in the clubs.”
“Domenic,” Buchanan called, “Please show Lord Primrose out.”
The rest of the day would be spent longing for when he could see Willamina again on the morrow. And when he did, he would have a plan in place. It was percolating in his brain, slowlygrowing into a life of its own. If Willamina accepted, it would solve both of their problems.
He had only arrived at Rosewood Manor thirty minutes prior when the silence of the house was disturbed. “Finlay!”
He groaned at the sound of his brother’s voice calling out to him. What could he want, or worse yet, what did he need? More coin to feed his drinking habit, Finlay assumed. His and Yvette’s house was paid for, so it couldn’t be that.
“In the study!” Finlay called out, settling into his desk chair and waiting for his brother to enter.
Only it was not just his brother that walked through the door. Hell’s teeth. Yvette hung on to Fingal, trying to keep herself upright. Both of them were completely drunk. The sour smell of liquor followed them into the room, making Finlay wrinkle his nose.
“Brother,” Fingal called, the word drawn out. His arm was draped over Yvette’s shoulder now that she was leaning against the wall.
She was close in age to him and Fingal, but before marrying his brother, she hadn’t had an easy life. In all their meetings and discussions, it had not been confirmed that she was probably one of the many whores that Fingal had kept employed throughout the city. Finlay did not say that as an insult to his brother’s wife. But she was his brother’s usual type of woman. No chase. No courting.
Finlay was certain that was how they’d first met.
“I would like ye to meet my wife.”
