“Good thing ye told me,” he returned, shifting a breath closer to her. “Have ye considered what I said at the picnic?” he said almost soundlessly. “That ye may not want to be what Coll wants ye to be?”
“I thought you were here on his behalf.”
“I am. Mostly.”
Amelia-Rose could hear the other young ladies—and their mamas—around her, discussing in murmured tones how very handsome this Highlander was, even if his manners were atrocious. She could hear them passing on the tale of how while his brother was very nearly promised to Miss Baxter, both of the younger MacTaggerts were unattached.
“Ye’ve naught to say about that?” he went on, his voice flatter. “I suppose that’s an answer, too, then.”
“You’re only teasing me.”
“Am I?”
“My parents and your mother signed an agreement. I would very much like not to be a part of it, but I am. Don’t make things more difficult.” She took a breath. There she went, being too outspoken again, when mostly she just wanted … No. That wouldn’t help anything. “Tell me something else pleasant about your brother. Be his advocate again.”
“Nae. I reckon I’m nae in the mood. I reckon I’ll sit here in silence and look solemn and brooding.”
He wasn’t going to march off and embarrass her. Perhaps that wasn’t what she was supposed to take away from his statement, but that was what took hold in her heart and didn’t let go. Niall MacTaggert liked her, enjoyed her company, and while she felt precisely the same, she’d told him to stop it. And he still remained beside her, when he could easily hurt her fragile reputation.
Oh, this was confusing. It didn’t help that the man seated and attempting to brood beside her—three inches above six feet, lean and hard-muscled, very like the ancient pagan god she’d imagined him to be when she’d first set eyes on him—simply couldn’t be ignored. That undertone of wildness to him made her wonder whether he meant to behave, or if he might just stand up and dance after all. Or suddenly decide to kiss her. She took a slow breath. Thank goodness she couldn’t be chastised for thinking improper things, or she would be in a great deal of trouble.
“Tell me, Niall,” she whispered, not satisfied with gazing at his profile in silence, “once your brother is wed, will you return to Scotland?”
“Are we friendly again, then?”
“Were we not? It was a disagreement, not a battle.” That sounded like something she should say, anyway.
“If ye’d been a Highlander, we’d have to make amends over a whisky and then throw some darts or someaught.”
“At each other? Good heavens.”
He snorted. “I’d return if I could,” he said, evidently accepting her explanation. “Lady Aldriss’s got it in her mind that Aden and I both have to marry English lasses. I’m nae certain if it’s because she reckons that’ll see us back in London more often, or if she means for them to civilize us.”
“That doesn’t seem fair,” she commented, realizing she’d spoken too loudly when her mother sent her an annoyed glance.
“Aye. I dunnae want to be civilized.”
She’d been thinking more about the idea of him marrying just because his mother said so. She didn’t have much choice, herself; at nineteen she couldn’t wed without her parents’ approval, and she had no means other than that which they provided her. He, however, didn’t act as if he was beholden to anyone. “You’re a man grown, and not the heir. Couldn’t you do as you wished?”
“Aldriss’s nae a wealthy property,” he murmured, his tone intimate. His fingers brushed the edge of her gown, and a slow shiver went up her spine. “When someone else holds the purse strings, it’s nae an easy thing to stomp yer boots and declare ye’ve nae wish to be part of the foolishness.”
Perhaps they weren’t so different after all. “Oh, I understand that. But—”
“Amelia-Rose,” her mother hissed. “For heaven’s sake. You don’t need to charm him.”
All the blood left her face. Obviously he’d heard that; half the audience probably had. When she glanced at him, though, a half smile curved his mouth. Before she could face forward again, he caught her gaze with those impossibly light-green eyes of his. “Too late. I’m already charmed, adae. Whether ye dunnae wish me to tell ye so or not.”
And she was charmed, as well. If only he’d been the oldest MacTaggert. If only her mother wasn’t mad for a title in the family. If only, if only, if only.
Chapter Seven
“Ye didnae have to say I would escort them,” Coll grumbled, pulling on his jacket and glowering while Oscar smoothed out any wrinkles across his shoulders. “Meeting them there would’ve sufficed, aye?”
“It might have,” Niall agreed, tossing an apple in the air and catching it again. “If ye hadnae vanished five minutes into yer first meeting and then become a ghost fer the next five days. I’ve run through my damned list of manly ailments and acceptable business dealings ye could be up to.”
“That’s nae on me; I told ye I dunnae want an English lass. Even less one that spits back at me after three minutes of conversation. Where are the lasses Da told us about? The ones who’ll do as we say and dunnae care where their husbands might be?”
Niall dug his fingers into the apple before he resuming tossing it again. “She gave ye the answer ye deserved, ye clod. Be polite to her, and ye may find she’s polite to ye. This isnae her fault. Her parents signed an agreement the same way ours did. Ye might even consider telling her what ye want. Mayhap she’d want to stay behind in London.”
He could believe that, since she seemed to enjoy Town far more than he could ever imagine doing. The part she might object to was being left behind while Coll went back to the Highlands to bed whomever he wished, only to return when he wanted to get himself an heir. That could be a problem, but it wasn’t his to worry over, thank God. He had his own bride to find, and that fascinating golden-haired lass wasn’t available. Even if he imagined she wished she was. Even if he knew he wished she was.
The viscount turned around so Oscar could adjust his cravat. “If that’s so, we should get on with marrying. Nae need fer me to dress up like a dandy and prance about.”
A couple of days ago, Niall might have agreed with him. Making Amelia-Rose’s acquaintance had given him some perspective on the importance of appearances to those who spent their time in Mayfair. “The lass would look on ye more kindly if it at least appeared like ye cared enough to try to win her affection, ye great lummox. Ye’d nae have liked it if she’d stomped off and left ye sitting.”
With a perfunctory knock on the half-open door, Aden joined them in Coll’s bedchamber. “Niall’s got the right of it, Coll. Ye ken ye need to wed the lass. Do it with a smile and ye’ll at least be able to sleep at night without worrying that she’ll slit yer throat while ye snore in yer marriage bed. And if ye get her with a son on yer first night, ye’ll nae have to return except to collect the lad.”
In response to that, Niall clenched his jaw. Both his brothers could be ham-fisted when the mood struck them. Amelia-Rose didn’t deserve the resentment being piled on her. Nor would she enjoy Coll climbing on top of her when neither of them wanted to be there. The idea of the two of them together in bed, even if they did find some common respect, made his blood boil.
He shook himself. They were to be married, unless Coll couldn’t behave himself for ten minutes. They needed to be married, for the sake of Aldriss Park. In logical terms it all made sense. Whenever he closed his damned eyes, though, he saw her smiling, the surprised quirk of her mouth when he demonstrated that he had wits, and the bright-blue sadness in her eyes when she asked him whether Coll would like her better if she was meek.
That thought brought him back to the idea of his brother kissing her, bedding her—Niall stood up. “Get on with it, will ye?” he snapped.
Lord Glendarril lifted an eyebrow. “With what?”
“Ye’d best arrive to Baxter House on time, or they’ll reckon ye’ve run for it again.”
Coll scowled. “Ye’re coming with me, Niall.”
“Nae. I’ll nae fit in the coach with ye and the three Baxters.”