With what might have been a growl, the viscount stalked off toward his nearly betrothed. “I’m ready to wager that Coll’s going to make a run for it back to Scotland.” Aden pulled out a coin, spun it in his fingers, and pocketed it again.
“I don’t want any of you to go, now that I finally have you here with me.” Eloise took Niall’s arm, standing between him and Aden. “Coll is aware that I didn’t know about the agreement either, isn’t he?”
“Aye, he is,” Niall said, kissing her on the cheek. “And Amelia-Rose is a finer lass than he gives her credit for. He’s just decided they’ll nae get along because he doesnae want to like anything English.”
“Coll likes a challenge,” Aden put in. “Someaught he can see and fight through and declare victory over. This is all about him surrendering to someone else’s will, and that’s nae in his character.”
No, it wasn’t. Aden, though, was the one who’d apparently stacked the deck to make certain Coll lost the card turn. And this agreement between the Baxters and Francesca wouldn’t work with either of the younger brothers, anyway; Mrs. Baxter wanted her daughter to be addressed as Lady something or other, and a simple mister would never do. Even if he’d drawn the low card, Amelia-Rose Baxter wouldn’t have been meant for him.
Niall shook himself. The doldrums didn’t suit him. And he had no idea why he should be feeling them after making the acquaintance of an English lass only five days ago. There was no destiny they’d been denied, no fairy tale written. He liked her, aye. More than he would ever take the time to decipher, now. Because she would marry his brother. He wouldn’t spend endless nights wondering how things might have been different. He wouldn’t imagine she tasted like strawberries and tea, or that her hair smelled like lemons. Or that her skin would be soft beneath his rough hands, and that she would shiver in delight when he touched her.
Niall shook himself again. Stop it, ye idiot. “Do ye nae have a partner, Eloise?” he made himself ask.
As he finished speaking, a tall, whip-thin young man edged forward, his hand outstretched as if he wanted to collect Eloise and at the same time stay as far away from her brothers as possible. “If I may, Lady Eloise?”
“Who’s this one?” Aden asked, narrowing one eye.
The tall lad swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing like a worm in a rook’s throat. “I … Um … I’m Frederick. Frederick Spearman.”
Niall took a step closer. “Spearman, eh? Ye come from warrior stock then, Frederick? Did yer ancestors get bloody coming after mine?”
“I … Oh, dear. The—”
“Oh, stop it,” Eloise cut in with a nearly hidden grin, freeing her hands and rescuing Frederick from whatever the lad thought they meant to do to him. “Aden, go find your partner.”
“She’s definitely a MacTaggert,” Aden commented, and strolled off to take the hand of a very large, pink-cheeked lass.
That was Aden, seeking out the ones who heard everything, who were generally ignored and discounted and for that reason knew everything about everyone. If there had been a lass without a partner he would have stood with her, himself, but as far as he could tell every lass who wanted to dance was doing so.
The circle of dancers Amelia-Rose and Coll had joined turned and dipped and held fingers all the way across the ballroom. Even as he realized he would never be able to hear any of their conversation from where he stood, Niall stopped himself from relocating. Coll might bark at her, but he’d never harm the lass—and she could hold her own. If she chose to do so. Whatever they might say was none of his affair, anyway.
“I continue to appreciate your assistance in keeping Coll from making a disastrous decision.”
Taking a breath, he looked away from the quadrille to face Francesca. “I told ye why I’m involved. Ye might consider that putting a bull and a swan together to suit yer own whimsy might have been a piss-poor decision to begin with. But then ye dunnae ken who Coll is, or Aden or me, so I dunnae reckon what we want figures into any of this meddling of yers.”
Her brow furrowed. “You strike at me every time we speak. Your brothers just ignore me, which to my surprise I find preferable.”
Niall inclined his head. “As ye wish.”
Turning on his heel, he stalked over to the open balcony door and made his way through the crowd of parents and unmatched men to the wrought-iron railing. Lady Aldriss could say his brothers ignored her, but he was the one she kept approaching. Did she reckon he was the softest of them? Or that he had the fewest memories of her, and so had less reason to be angered by her departure?
“You’re one of that Highlands mob that belongs to Lady Aldriss, aren’t you?” a very proper British voice boomed behind him. “You should be wearing a kilt so we recognize you.”
Rolling his shoulders, Niall turned around. The man standing there was nearly his height, but broader and … squish-faced in a way that put his nose and mouth too close together and his eyes too low on his forehead. A toad, he decided. The fellow looked like a great, sullen toad. “Aye, I’m a Highlander, though I dunnae belong to anyone. Ye have an insult to hand me, I reckon. Get on with it.”
The pair of men standing to either side of the toad sidestepped away from him a little. It might have been to make flight easier, or it might have been an attempt at flanking their quarry. Niall didn’t much care. All day he’d been angry, and tonight had put a nice, heady foam on his fury. He knew the exact reason for his anger, and the fact that he couldn’t do anything about Amelia-Rose’s future only made it worse. So there he was, and a fight seemed a damned fine idea.
“There you are, Lord Eddlington,” Francesca cooed from the doorway. The toad stiffened his shoulders.
“Lady Aldriss.” He inclined his head, no easy task, Niall imagined, for a man without a neck.
“I had heard the silliest rumor, my lord,” the countess went on, gliding to stand between Niall and the toad, “about you letting go your chef. You must tell me if it’s true, because I would very much like to hire Miss Beasley if she’s left your household. She is a wonder.”
“It was a disagreement over wages, my lady,” the toad grumbled. “All settled. She’s not available.”
“I thought it must be a mistake,” Francesca went on with a warm smile, taking the toad’s arm and guiding him toward the ballroom door, his two toadies following along behind like dogs. “Everyone knows how fond you are of Miss Beasley’s … cooking. Do give her my regards.”
With that she gave a small push, and abruptly she and Niall were alone again on the balcony. “That toad’s bedding his cook?” Niall commented, looking back inside through the window. “Poor lass.”
“I never said any such thing.” She moved back in front of him again. “But that is how we battle here in London. Not with our fists.”
“He started it. I reckon he wanted a brawl.”
“Yes, he did. Everyone’s whispering about his affair with his cook, and with one punch he could have turned the gossip to those MacTaggert barbarians that Lady Aldriss set loose on London. He thought you an easy and convenient target, Niall.”
He snorted. “I may have been willing and convenient, but in two seconds it wouldnae have been just me he had to worry about. Coll would’ve broken him in half if I didnae drop him first.”
Francesca sighed. “That isn’t the point, my dear. Yes, the three of you could likely take on the entire male guest list here and triumph. But Lord Eddlington was attempting to use you. If you’d bloodied his nose, all the better. It’s not as if he has any good looks to protect, anyway.”
That surprised him a bit. “Ye’ve insulted him now.”