Page 62 of A Highland Lass for the English Duke

Something jumped in the pit of Will's stomach.

"Will? Will? Comest thou into the dance!" Lettie called. But her call went unheeded.

His eyes were with Lissie. There, at the back of the room with Trenton. Smiling. Laughing. Flirting. Having too much fun.

By himself in the crowd, Will seethed and wondered how this could have ever happened.

CHAPTER 15

"Whit's up wi' ye, Lissie? Dinnae say the dancing plague o' London town has taken ye?"

Annice's voice rang mischievously from up the stairs, taking off Lissie's Scottish accent to a tee. Did Annice do it mischievously? That alone should have been enough to make Lissie sit up and take note.

But Lissie was sad. From her cloistered bedchamber, she pulled up her furs and shivered. It was summer—allegedly. And yet, even here in London, it seemed the weather could be as grim and unpredictable as the Highlands.

Today was gray and wet. Snuggling in the velvets, Lissie settled back down into her sheets. She was quite happy to block out the sounds from the house, with them the chambermaids, many of whom had unsuccessfully tried to come into the room and unshutter the light.

She had kept them out. And kept out the light. The only small cracks that infiltrated were cold and gray, piercing the gloom of the room. In the hearth, a small fire was burning, but its heat did not reach her. Wrapping herself in deeper, Lissie lay back in the bed.

He was dancing with Lettie.

After everything he had said about her, too! She could not believe he had spent all night dancing with her. And the little time he did not, he was talking to her friends, Lady Caroline and Alice.

Lissie fumed as she thought back to the night before...or was it a couple of days ago? She had been in this room so long, she was beginning to lose all time.

Outside, Annice rapped hard on the door.

"Lissie. Elisabeth!" she quickly corrected, as if she had only just remembered her position.

In truth, Annice was as Scottish as she was, she just hid it well. To begin with, she had believed she was English, but slowly, the truth had come out. Like her accent, which had increased daily since Lissie arrived.

"What is it, Annice?" asked Lissie bleakly. She could not for the life of her see what the excitement was about. It was just another drab, dreich London day.

"Agnes," reminded Annice, tutting. But even this could not get in the way of her good mood. Finally, she turned toward the door.

"He's getting wed, your duke, so you best start looking elsewhere for a match."

Getting wed?

Just like that, Will, Duke of Iverst, was married—and not to her! As if that wasn't bad enough, Annice had the gall to look pleased about it. Lissie, who had momentarily lifted her head up from the pillow, lay back down again.

"Och," she said flatly.

Annice, who had thought that she was offering her a gem, looked crestfallen.

"Och, is that all you have to say? Aren't you going to ask me whom?"

"I ken whom; that muckle clootie dumpling, Lettie!" Lissie huffed. Beneath the blankets, she could not see the amused look in Annice's eyes, but she heard it alright in her voice.

"Well, 'tis for the best. As I said, Elisabeth, 'tis only fitting he chooses a proper English wife."

Now Lissie sat up in rage.

"Proper English! Crivvens—she's a Lithuanian German French! By those terms, I qualify as Sassenach."

Lissie pouted as she sat up, pulling the bedsheets around her. The reaction she got was not one she liked.

"Well, it is of no importance, Elisabeth. Think instead of the opportunity!"