Page 3 of A Highland Lass for the English Duke

"It's the only way to retain the family gold," reminded Grace. "And avert famine and war!"

Marching into the center of the chamber, Lissie shook her head.

"Nay," she said, point-blank. "I will nae wed Donald."

There was a moment as this sunk in. Finally, Lissie relented.

"I have another way," she said valiantly. "I will find another man an' bring greatness to the clan."

Fiona looked at Grace, Grace at Aileen, and then at McTavish, who stared.

"Another man?" he said, his jaw dropping. All around, they looked at her like she was mad.

"Nae just any man," said Lissie, her eyes twinkling. She was beginning to enjoy their fear. "A lord. I shall wed a lord an' bring him to our sweet homeland."

There was silence. Then Fiona laughed out loud. They all did. For several straight minutes, laughter rocked the Duncan hall.

Lissie's collar prickled up.

"Where on Earth will ye find such a credulous fool?" said her sister, snapping. Fiona's patience was wearing thin.

But so was Lissie's. She met the flash in Fiona's eyes and returned it, double.

Then, she smiled. "Why, in London, dear sister, where else?"

1 brawl

CHAPTER 1

"Where is he?" John de Blois burst straight through the door, his eyes bulging and his after-dinner claret showing in his cheeks.

At his bureau sat William Rothingham, quill in his hand. The study was well-appointed, with a solid oak writing bureau and finely carved wooden chair furnishing it grandly.

However, for the third duke of Iverst, this modest townhouse seemed hideously cramped. The family estate in Kent was where his real home was, and right then, it was where he longed to be. London was not somewhere Will felt like home. It was full of pox, flux, and bad air. Every winter it was cursed by the plague, and every summer it was visited by the sweat.

If that was not enough, it was also in the middle of an unfortunate little quarrel called the War of the Roses. So, all in all, London was a place Will could not wait to leave.

At thirty years of age, William was more than averagely handsome, with well-set features and thick black hair. His blue eyes lit any room he was in, and it seemed certain he would have any pick of the ladies about town.

But William had no time for women. In fact, he had no time for anything. Helping his beleaguered king and running his estates was more than enough use of his energies. A woman would only complicate things.

However, sometimes a brother could be just as bad. Because at the first sign of John de Blois, Will knew instinctively this was about Trenton.

And he was not wrong.

"I know he's in here!" snarled John, a man around thirty with a pronounced paunch. His pudgy English face was drawn into a tight frown.

Will, who had been trying to determine what should be done with habitual drunkard Jack Clott, set down his quill.

"John?" he said concernedly. Jack's fate would have to wait, as John de Blois was pacing the lengths of the room, threatening to wear out the thick rug. "Who are referring to?"

"Trenton, o' course!" snapped John.

Wearily, Will sighed. "What has he done now?"

Trenton was Will's twenty-year-old brother, whose only discernible talent was keeping the local gossip-mongers at work.

"What has he done?" huffed John, as Will sat back in his chair and waited. Obviously, he was going to get the full nine yards from John. Pouring a fresh glass of claret, Will resigned himself to a wasted afternoon.