Page 37 of The Highlander Is All That

She forced her gaze away, but it cost her.

“Good morning, Lady Esmeralda,” the baron said, bowing over her hand. When Hamish did the same, Elizabeth had to look away again. This time, she caught Catherine’s eye.

“Are you all right?” her friend asked.

Elizabeth flashed her a toothy smile. “Megrim.”

Catherine’s eyes widened. “Oh.” Her gaze flicked to Hamish and back. “Oh dear.”

“It’s nothing,” she gritted. “I’m fine.” The last thing she wanted was to catch anyone’s attention, especially the tall handsome man with flaming red hair who thought her childish and unattractive.

On that note, she set down her cake. God forbid she plump up as well.

Naturally, once the men were settled with coffee and bacon—which apparently Henley would bring on command—conversation turned to the evening before, much to Elizabeth’s discomfort. Not that she didn’t want to go over it all again, relive the annoyance of Lady Jersey’s flirtation and Hamish’s subsequent mortification at her hands, but she didn’t. It was far too painful to hear him protest his interest. That arrow fell too close to the heart for comfort.

It was practically a relief when a deep Scottish voice boomed from the foyer, “By all the Gods,” shattering the conversational thread.

Duncan Mackay’s familiar voice was unmistakable.

Catherine issued a sigh, which was completely subsumed by Hamish’s whoop. At which Aunt Esmeralda steadied her teacup on her saucer and muttered, “Now really.”

Hamish, Ranald, and Duncan ignored her and greeted one another with great hugs and manly slaps on the back.

Catherine turned to Elizabeth and whispered, “They know one another?”

“Apparently.” She forced a grin. “No doubt all Scotsmen know one another.”

“Indeed.”

“What the bluidy hell are you doing here?” Hamish asked.

“Language?” Aunt Esmeralda bleated.

“Ach, I beg your pardon, lass,” Hamish said with that crooked grin that was far too like a flirtation for Elizabeth’s comfort.

Her aunt wagged her folded fan at Hamish. “Never forget we are in the presence of innocents, sir.”

“Och, how could I forget?” Hamish said with a chuckle. He turned to Duncan and said, “We’ve been sent by the duke.”

Duncan boggled. “Caithness?”

Ranald nodded with a pained smile on his face. “Aye. The duke sent us as his representatives for the season.”

Lady Esmeralda’s nose curled. “That bloody duke. He was supposed to come.”

“Language,” Victoria whispered.

“I say, Duncan,” Hamish said. “Why are you in London?”

Duncan glanced at Catherine. “Ahem. Business.”

“Ah.”

“Lady Catherine.” Aunt Esmeralda broke into this reunion. Probably because it bored her. “Would you favor us with a song on the pianoforte?”

Catherine hid her grimace. She hated playing the pianoforte. And it showed. “Of course, Lady Esmeralda,” she said, and then she nodded in advance apology to the company. Duncan followed her and stood by her side, turning pages, which was probably one of the reasons she played so badly. Who could focus with a man like that at one’s side?

Catherine had butchered Mozart before, but in this, she surpassed even herself.