Page 6 of The Highlander Is All That

“That should provoke them.”

Ranald’s expression was wicked. “Just so.” They shared another grin, and then Ranald sighed. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I plan to get unpacked, find a book, and then rest until dinner.”

Hamish nodded. The last leg of their journey had been particularly trying. But he wasn’t tired. In fact, he craved movement after having been stuck in a smallish carriage for weeks. “I think I’ll have a look around the grounds.”

“Very well. I will see you tonight.”

With that, Hamish headed back into the hall and wandered around for a bit, lost, until he found a staircase leading downstairs. It was, no doubt, a servant’s staircase, but what was he if not that?

He emerged in the kitchens and, after greeting the plump and friendly cook—and snagging a scone from the cooling tray—he followed her directions out into the garden.

Ah, yes. This was what he needed. The scent of mown grass, a hint of flowers, fresh air, and sunshine. He turned his face up to the sky and soaked it in.

Granted, it was a watery sunlight, and it struggled to shine through the haze of coal dust, but it beat the hell out of a musty carriage. He strolled along the path, studying the immaculately trimmed hedges, perfectly arranged rosebushes, and the affected pond in the center of the garden.

Everything was prim, proper, and utterly controlled. How British.

He missed the wild heathers of the Highlands, the raw scraggly trees that clung to the cliffs of the coast, the cold breeze gusting from the sea.

While he had been honored that Lachlan had entrusted him with this mission—for it clearly was important to the duke to support this family he had not known he had until recently—Hamish hated being away from home.

He had a business to run and had been in the process of seducing the lovely widow Dunn when the duke’s summons had come. But when a duke commanded one’s presence, one responded.

Ah, well. The lovely widow could wait.

Hamish stilled and the little hairs on his nape prickled as he caught the trail of a tantalizing song. Like a sailor called by a siren, he followed the sound. As he rounded a corner, a whimsical gazebo came into view. There, leaning against a column, was his angel.

Her face was exquisite, delicate, and finely formed, utterly classical but for the button nose. Her hair, curly and glossy, skimmed her shoulders, and her dress pinched in at the waist, highlighting a fine form.

His breath caught as she tipped up her chin and warbled a few more notes. Then he must have made a noise, for she abruptly stopped singing and turned.

As she saw him, her cheeks turned a charming pink, and Elizabeth clapped her hand over her mouth.

“Doona stop,” he said before he could halt the words.

“Oh dear,” she said with a delightful laugh. “I’ve been caught out.”

“You have a lovely voice,” he said, stepping closer.

He should not step closer. He should not be alone with her, here in the garden. This he knew to the depth of his being. But, to the depth of his being, he could not resist.

Her grin was entrancing. “You are a very kind liar.”

“I’m no’ a liar.”

“Well, thank you, sir.” She gifted him with a mock curtsey.

“Do you often sing in the garden?” he asked.

“Only when I am certain no one can hear.” She turned away and stepped into the gazebo. He couldn’t help but notice the seductive swish of her skirts.

Hell.

He clamped down on his lustful thoughts. She was a girl. One who was far too young to know a thing about seduction. Obviously, his imaginings were born of his own desire, and it would behoove him to remember that. He was here to see her wed. To be her protector. Not to pursue her.

She was the duke’s cousin.

Still, he followed her up the steps into the folly. She sat on a padded bench and he took a seat on the other side, far out of reach.