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Garrick grabbed the mug Conrad had shoved toward him. “But I do see the appeal.”

Garrick couldn’t even manage the goodwill to smile.

Conrad continued, “The Earl of Kenshire is not a man to be trifled with. Judging by his expression, a brawl may break out yet, even if you don’t start it.”

Garrick resisted the urge to look. “Good.”

He ignored Conrad’s exaggerated sigh of frustration.

“So ’tis not enough for you to start a war in Scotland?” Conrad asked. “You’ve a mind to have one here as well?”

“I haven’t started a war.”

“So what exactly have you done? And don’t say ‘nothing.’”

Thus far he’d avoided speaking to his friend about Linkirk, but Conrad was not put off so easily. “I may have postponed the wedding. And I’ve asked Mother to return to England.”

“And?” Conrad waited.

But there was nothing more to tell. “And I will speak to her upon her return.”

“Dear God, Garrick. Please tell me you’re not relying on an appeal to the woman who stands to lose her inheritance if you back out of this agreement.”

“Conrad,” he warned.

“Garrick, please tell me Linkirk’s future does not rest on a discussion with your mother. You must—”

“Not now.”

Conrad, surprisingly, fell silent.

The meal finished, guests began to move from their benches to other parts of the hall. The harpist Mable had found in Clave’s village continued to play, lending a harmonious atmosphere to the gathering. In his estimation, it was a scene his parents would have been proud of. If only he could enjoy it.

He looked, unable to stop himself.

Emma was staring straight at him.

Garrick stood, grabbed his pewter mug, and walked toward her. He heard Conrad’s expletive, but his friend underestimated him. Garrick was capable of composing himself, even if he wanted nothing more than to eliminate Davenhill’s grin with the back of his hand.

“My lady,” he bowed. “My lord,” he said to her brother.

Seemingly grateful for the excuse to leave the table, Geoffrey stood and offered a hand to his sister. “A fine evening indeed,” he said, guiding her away from the table.

Garrick avoided Davenhill’s gaze. The baron was likely furious with him for removing his entertainment for the evening. Good.

“I trust your meal was enjoyable?” Garrick asked as he led the way toward a brazier in the corner.

“Very much,” Geoffrey said.

Emma simply smiled.

“And yours, my lady?” He let himself look at her, and the charge between them nearly felled him. How could Geoffrey fail to notice it?

“Delicious,” she said.

His cock hardened, the implications of her answer clear. Emma was a saucy minx, and she teased him, knowing he was in a poor position with Geoffrey between them.

“Then I am pleased,” he said. “I was sure to have Cook dig deep in Clave’s storeroom for the finest of spices for the main course.”