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Jaw slack, Narcissa blinked several times before she snapped her mouth closed with an audible click and narrowed her eyes to furious slits. “Are you dismissing me in my own home when I outrank these…” She fluttered her hand contemptuously at Kendra and the men as she searched for an appropriate word. “People?”

She made the word sound like a curse.

He’d dare that and much more, by God. How dare she insult his friends? His almost betrothed? Treat them like they were excrement on her dainty, very expensive, buckled shoe?

“Firstly,” ire made his tone razor-sharp, “ye have nae idea who they are. So ye havena any way of kentin’ if ye outrank them. Secondly, I dinna give a rats hairy arse about rank.”

“You…” She gasped, going pale and weakly clasping a hand to her bosom. “You are so uncouth as to swear in a lady’s presence?”

Now she became a wilting rose?

The Scotsmen, lined up inside the doorway like watchful sentinels, remained stonily silent, their flint-like gazes pinned on the rather wan-faced Lady Montforth.

Never one for female histrionics or dramatics, Kendra rolled her eyes as she unfastened her cloak. He had no doubt it took every bit of her considerable restraint not to tell Narcissa precisely what she thought of her. Which, he had no doubt, would assure a dramatic fit of the vapors.

“And I’ll remind ye, Lady Montforth—kindly, because yer station is as new to ye as mine is to me—I am the lord here,” he said. “My word is law, no’ yers. These are my friends, and ye will treat them with the same respect and regard ye would any of yer pompous and illustrious acquaintances. Is that understood?”

For several moments, he believed she might refuse. A battle raged full-on in her defiant gaze. Finally, lips pursed tight as a goose’s back end, she gave a stiff nod. “Am I to understand you expect me to entertain—her?”

Struggling to wrestle her scorn under control, she turned her pale blue eyes on Kendra.

“Miss Kendra MacKay,” Broden said. “Sister to Liam MacKay, Baron Penderhaven.” He motioned to Liam. “Beside him is Laird Graeme Kennedy, and his brother Camden Kennedy.”

They nodded, stern, unenthusiastic greetings.

“Those two gentlemen,” he indicated Logan and Coburn, “are Laird Logan Rutherford and his cousin Coburn Wallace.”

Though not of the English peerage, each of the Scots held elevated positions by virtue of their births, as well. Not that he expected Narcissa to be aware or revere them as was their due.

“Nae, ye needna entertain me, my lady,” Kendra said, draping her cloak over a nearby chair. She wore a simple burgundy riding habit, the color a perfect complement to her tousled rich, molasses-colored hair and wind-ripened lips.

Narcissa’s eyes narrowed again, and she cinched her mouth impossibly tighter into a terse, disapproving line.

“She’s not at all suitable, my lord.” She shook her intricately coiffed, white-blonde head, something akin to malice creeping into her refined voice. “No, no, I say, she’ll never do. Most unfitting.”

Broden’s fury swelled and crested like violent, surging waves blown ashore during a hurricane. “Enough,” he warned in a low, I’ve-had-enough-of-your-shite tone.

“What can you be thinking?” Narcissa prattled on, either unaware of the storm brewing, or uncaring. “You have a position to uphold. There are certain expectations of a peer. Strictures and protocols that must be observed. Surely, Broden, you must understand how very unsuitable such a creature is.”

Creature?By God and all the saints, he’d banish her to a cottage in the Outer Hebrides.

She flicked a contemptuous glance at Kendra.

Shoulders squared, her head raised in defiance, she unflinchingly met Narcissa’s spiteful glare. A beautiful warrior ready to take on her foe.

Pride nudged aside a portion of Broden’s wrath—a very small portion.

“For heaven’s sake,” Narcissa blathered on as if she believed any of them cared a whit about her odious, biased opinions. “She admitted to traveling with four men without the benefit of a female companion. Some would suggest…”

Harsh inhalations and Broden’s low, threatening growl met the insinuation. He swung a quelling look at her as the others stiffened in affront at her vulgar innuendo.

“Make her your mistress, if you must, my lord. But most assuredly, she cannot become your countess.” She finished, smug and confident she’d succeeded in squashing Kendra beneath her expensive silk shoe.

“My lady,” Liam started, fire in his eyes, but Kendra held up her hand.

“She is standin’ right here, and can hear every insultin’ word ye are spoutin’.” She folded her arms and took the countess’s measure again, this time slowly, deliberately, and contemptuously. “It seems to me there’s a lot more to bein’ a lady of quality and refinement than who one’s father and mother might’ve been.”

Narcissa stepped forward, her hands half-curled into fists. “He’ll never marry you,” She spat, stomping her foot. Actually stomping in the same petulant manner three-year-old Dianella had yesterday when denied a fourth biscuit. “I shall not permit it. A Scottish strumpet the next Countess of Montforth? Never!”