Page 86 of What a Highlander’s Got to Do

Nick knew damn well who the loveliest was. His response was something of a snarl.

“All right. ’Tis Isobel, of course. She’s charming, beautiful, witty, well bred. Scottish.” This last bit, he added as though it were a second thought, but his tone made clear the opposite was more likely. “We’d make a good fit, I think. Do you no’?”

“No.” A snap.

Declan lurched back and clutched at his chest like a matron preparing to swoon. “No? What do you mean no?”

“Not Isobel.”

His cousin’s smile was a slithery as a snake’s. “But Edward. You made quite clear you had no interest in any of them. Just a minute ago, in fact.”

Nick wanted to punch him. He closed his fist on his cut-crystal tumbler instead. “Keep away from her.”

Declan surveyed him for a moment, then said, “I would. If I thought you were interested. And if I thought she was interested in you.”

Bile crawled up his throat. “What do you mean? Did she say she wasn’t interested in me?” Oh, God. What a horrible thought.

“No’ directly. But she did say she prefers a Scotsman. And while she made clear she has no intention of marrying—”

“When the bloody hell did you have that conversation?”

“Why, at lunch, of course.”

No way—no way—was he sitting at the end with the old ladies at another meal.

“At any rate, while she made clear she has no intention of marrying, I’m certain she could be seduced—”

A red veil descended. “Enough!” Nick leaped to his feet. “You are no’ seducing Isobel! She’s mine. Do you hear me? Mine!”

For some reason his outburst did little to crush Declan—possibly because he’d been digging at Nick for just such a thing. And possibly because Declan had vexed him to the point of letting his brogue out.

Indeed, his cousin grinned triumphantly. “There we go. That’s better. And now that we have the truth, you and I can plan.”

Nick gaped at him. “Plan? Plan what?”

“Och.” Declan scrubbed his face. “Shame on your mother for keeping you in England so long. Do you no’ know one must plan a seduction?”

Plan a seduction?

As irritated as he was at Declan at the moment, he liked that idea. He liked it a lot.

“Though with this one, it must be more subtle. You’re not simply planning to seduce her body—”

“No?”

“You must also seduce her heart. She’s a Scots lass, my friend. Let me teach you what a Scots lass wants. Come now. Tonight is the cèilidh. It’s the perfect opportunity! We’ve no time to waste.”

Chapter Sixteen

The duchess had arranged for the cèilidh to be held outside, on the south side of the house, in the gardens, which was the perfect spot for it. When Isobel arrived, with Catriona by her side, she caught her breath.

Though the sun had not yet gone down, lovely lanterns lit the paths and hung in the trees like fireflies. The grand patio, around which the garden was laid out like spokes of a wheel, was set with tables and a dancing floor, and a string quartet next to the fountain played Gaelic melodies.

The tables themselves were draped with alternating plaids, with the Sinclair tartan being the most prominent, in honor of Aunt Lana. The aroma of delicious Scottish dishes—like haggis and Cullen skink and Scotch pie—filled the air, making Isobel ache with homesickness . . . but it was a good ache.

“Goodness,” Catriona said. “She has certainly outdone herself.”

Indeed, she had thought of everything.