Page 81 of What a Highlander’s Got to Do

“Aye?”

“I think you’d better tell me which one you are again, because I’ve lost track.”

His laughter rose above the conversation. And from his spot at the end of the table, Nick snapped the stem of his wineglass in two.

* * *

She was punting with Declan.

Punting.

Nick stared at the lake and fumed.

Could this debacle get any worse?

All his friends and cousins and uncles were frolicking and he was stuck here overseeing the breakdown of the picnic tables. And she was punting with Declan.

Thank God Mother had agreed to organize the cèilidh for this evening. Nick had had to remind her he had no clue what it entailed. But the truth of the matter was, if he had to host one more event, he was likely to run away.

The town of Brighton wasn’t far and there were, no doubt, attractions more to his taste.

But were there?

Did he really want to drink and carouse? Did he really want to attend dances in the public rooms? Did he want to drink himself silly and engage in urbane conversations with the young men of his stature?

Somehow that all seemed horribly dull.

Besides, Isobel was here.

He had to find a way to pry her from Declan’s company. Get her alone, perhaps. Kiss her, definitely.

It was a damn shame, with so many guests in the mansion, there would be no opportunity for them to find a private place for more.

But even that was all right.

As much as he wanted more with her, he wanted her more.

Just to be with her. To talk. Laugh. Hold her hand.

Something. Anything but watching her punting with Declan.

There was just something wrong with all of that. Declan had always been his favorite cousin.

What a pity he might have to throttle him—

“Oh, dear.”

Nick whipped around. He hadn’t realized his mother had come up behind him. “What is it?” he asked, concerned by the horror in her tone.

“Look.” She nodded toward the house, where two ladies—a matron and a girl—approached.

He narrowed his eyes to make out who it was . . . and he froze.

Hell. Bloody fucking hell.

His mother’s voice was cold when she said, “I thought we weren’t going to invite the Swofford family. Just William.”

His gut clenched. “I didn’t invite them. Did you?”