Page 13 of The Highlander Is All That

“I couldn’t give a fig about the duke.”

“Ah. So it is his minions you resent.”

She stared at him, her heart pounding in her chest. Fury and frustration and annoyance swamped her soul. “We do not need you.”

He grinned again and shrugged. “I doona doubt that for a moment.”

Driven by vexation, she stepped toward him. “We do not want you here either.”

“Again, quite obvious. But the duchess had other ideas.” Again, with that warm and friendly smile. He could, at the very least, have the decency to respond to her animosity in kind.

“I . . . The duchess?”

“Aye. The Duchess of Caithness. Lana Sinclair.”

Anne blinked. “What does she have to do with anything?”

He stepped toward her, closing the distance between them, but Anne did not back away. She was far too curious now. “Her Grace is the one who convinced the duke that if he couldna attend your season, someone should come in his stead.”

Anne snorted. She absolutely ignored the fact that this Scottish baron had hazel irises circled with black that somehow made them mesmerizing. “And what would your presence here accomplish, exactly?”

He chuckled and his breath gusted over her face. His scent made her body warm. Naturally, she turned away.

“Her Grace wanted you, and the entire world, to know that the duke fully supports his cousins.”

“Nonsense. He lent us this house and paid for everything.”

“Some would say that is but a token.”

Anne whirled around, her mouth agape. The season was costing thousands. “Hardly a token.”

“It is. To a man of his means. But he wanted to do more. He truly wanted to come, truly wanted to meet you all, which I hope can happen in time. You see, Lachlan never had family and . . .”

Anne stepped toward him again. She had no idea why. “And . . . what?”

“I know it sounds odd, for a duke, but he’s been lonely. He’s always wanted a family and never thought it possible. At any rate, he was thrilled to discover your connection and wanted to be here for you.”

“But Her Grace is increasing.”

“Indeed. He canna expose Lana to the rigors of travel and he willna leave her.”

A Scotsman who would not leave his woman. What an incongruous concept. “But he sent you in his place. Expected you to leave your family . . .”

Bower smiled again and his eyes took on a twinkle, one that made Anne catch her breath. “Catriona was pleased to see me leave.”

Something pricked at her heart. She refused to think it was jealousy. Yes, he was a handsome and charming man—he was even charming her from a foul mood—of course he would have a wife. Anne crossed her arms over her chest and sniffed. “She is so devoted a wife?”

He threw back his head and laughed, a sound that arrested her. “Ah, lass, Catriona is no’ my wife.”

His lover then? Somehow that was not any better.

“She’s my daughter.” He leaned in and said, conspiratorially, “She’s five and itching for independence.”

“At five?” So young?

He shrugged. “She’s a Scots lass. As wild as the tors.”

“And you left her?”