Page 91 of Wicked Highland Heroes

He took two paces and pulled her into a hug, which she seemed to tolerate as only a sister could. When he drew back, he said, “Did you miss me?”

“We always miss you, but we saw you only two months ago in London.”

“Two months? I would rather see you every day.” Grudging warmth rippled through Eve at the obvious affection in his voice.

“Then you should not have left London,” Juliet replied, and Eve decided she liked the girl—both girls, in fact.

He tweaked a lock of Juliet’s hair. “Leave it to you to be reasonable. You are right, of course, and I shall stay longer just to prove I am not uttering sweet words for their own sake. Now, ladies, let me introduce our guests. This,” he nodded toward Eve, “is Miss Eve Crenshaw.”

“My lady.” Eve curtsied.

“Oh, she is nice,” Camilla said.

“No need for curtsies here,” Lord Rushton said. “And this is her sister, Miss Grace Crenshaw. This gentleman is their friend Oscar and the last is Lord Somerset. As you, my friends, may have guessed, these are my sisters, Camilla and Juliet.”

The girls curtsied.

“You said no curtsies, my lord,” Grace cried.

“Indeed,” Camilla said, “but Mamma would not be pleased if we did not curtsy, no matter what Rush says.”

“And Mamma is always right,” he agreed.

“Indeed she is.”

Eve jumped at the sound of a mature female voice. A tall, lithe, dark-haired woman glided into the foyer from the hallway to the left.

“Mother.”

Mother. Eve’s stomach knotted.

Lord Rushton met his mother halfway across the foyer and folded her into an embrace. When they separated, he said, “You are looking well, madam.” The formality of his words was undone by the tenderness in his voice and the hint of a smile.

She lifted a brow and Eve recognized the same look she’d see on the earl’s face. “Better than you, my son. Your father commands you go to him straight away.”

“I will visit my father presently,” Lord Rushton said.

“You will visit him once you have introduced me to your guests,” the marchioness said. “He awaits you in his study.”

The earl’s brows rose as hers had, but he said in a casual tone, “As you wish,” and first introduced Grace, who dropped into a proper curtsey.

“My lady.”

“You are the younger Crenshaw sister, if I am not mistaken,” her ladyship said.

Grace rose. “I am.”

Eve detected no censure in the marchioness’ demeanor and wondered how much she’d heard of the story that brought them to Ravenhall. A tremor rocked Eve’s stomach. Did the lady know she’d shot her son?

Lord Rushton turned to Eve and said, “Miss Eve Crenshaw, my mother, the Marchioness of Rushton.”

Eve also curtsied. “A pleasure to meet you, my lady.”

The marchioness inclined her head in acknowledgement, but said nothing. Eve’s heart beat faster. Was the lady’s lack of response an indication she knew—and was angry?

“This is Oscar—” Lord Rushton abruptly stopped. “Oscar, I should be whipped. I don’t know your surname.”

“Kent,” Oscar replied.