Page 77 of Duke It Out
“Thanks.” I shake my head. “You too. And Janey, you look amazing.”
Gregor’s in a black tux with an apron over the top and he’s had his cropped hair shorn even shorter for the occasion. Janey’s in a steel grey dress covered in tiny sequins and her hair pinned up in a loose chignon. I’m so used to seeing her in her habitual Breton top and jeans that it’s a surprise to see her so glamorous.
“Where’s your house guest?”
I don’t miss the fleeting moment when Janey and Gregor’s eyes meet as she asks me that.
“Oh, I suspect she’s hoping to make an entrance.”
“We’ve got an HRH here,” Gregor says, swiping a quick swig of Janey’s champagne. “I think she’ll be hard pushed to beat that.” He tips his head in the direction of the doors where the blonde girls are waiting, shifting from foot to foot like a stand of silver birch trees. “Oh, and the Munro laddie, who stands to inherit all of Glenbrannach Estate. That’s what those lassies are waiting for.”
“Rumour has it Finn’s coming,” Kate says, reappearing.
“The day Finn makes it to a ball, I’ll be expecting a herd of flying pigs overhead.” Gregor chuckles. “Right, no rest for the wicked. These canapés aren’t going to make themselves.”
Janey shakes her head as she watches him leave. “He’s completely organised, you know. The kitchen’s run like a military operation but he’s such a control freak he won’t take that bloody apron off and come and enjoy his night off.”
Kate crooks a brow at me briefly. “Maybe you should lure him out with the promise of a dance.”
Janey snorts. “I hardly think so.”
“Plenty of time for it,” says Kate, hooking me by the arm. “Cocktails. Come on.”
We’re two Highland Mists down and there’s still no sign of Anna. The band is playing something I remember from the compulsory Scottish dancing classes we had to do in school. Jamie’s across the other side of the dancefloor in a tartan suit that shouldn’t work but somehow suits him perfectly. He’s twirling Mrs MacKay, the bright-eyed octogenarian from the old gardener’s cottage at the end of the lane and she’s laughing her head off. The room is filling up and the volume of chatter is increasing exponentially as the champagne bottles are emptied.
Rory seems to have been pinned down by a crusty-looking old man with a moustache and a tartan waistcoat. He’s pointing at him in a slightly aggressive manner with one hand and wielding a glass at a jaunty angle with the other.
“Come on,” Kate says, tugging my elbow as the music pauses for a moment. “Let’s go and rescue Rory before that old bugger bores him to death.”
My stomach lurches. The thought of being in close proximity to Rory in full hot Highland duke attire is slightly alarming. I tug at the neckline of my dress, which seems to be going south. Combined with the balconette bra I’m wearing, I’m feeling distinctly bosomy and slightly concerned that if someone does ask me to dance there might be some sort of flying boob incident on the dance floor.
“Donald, how lovely to see you.” Kate’s tone suggests it’s anything but. Rory raises a brow a millimetre. “Have you met Edie?”
He turns to me and looks me up and down in an appraising manner. Then his eyes land on my cleavage and just sort of stay there. I flick a sideways glance at Kate, who widens her eyes and nostrils at the same time. Rory clears his throat.
“Edie’s a writer.”
I put a hand to my chest in what I hope is a sort of combination modest/cleavage hiding motion. Donald drags his gaze upwards, and he looks at me thoughtfully. “Writer, eh? I don’t suppose you write saucy romance?” He gives a horrific dirty chuckle.
I shake my head.Urgh, this man is horrendous.
“Nothing like that,” I say politely.
“She’s very talented,” says Rory firmly. “We are extremely fortunate to have her expertise.”
“Always fancied writing a book myself,” Donald says, taking a slurp of whisky then wiping his moustache. “Perhaps you could come over to Grannich House and give me some… tips.”
Kate makes a tiny noise of horror, and I try and change the grimace of revulsion on my face into a polite smile.
“I’m afraid,” Rory says, putting a hand on my arm and stepping slightly in front of me, “that Edie is all ours.”
Donald’s bushy brows furrow together to form one huge hairy caterpillar. “Bad show,” he says after a moment. “You know your father was always very happy to collaborate when it came to… estate matters.” He gives a leering smile.
I don’t think I even want to know what that means.
“How’s it going with the bull problem?” Kate says, sounding completely innocent.
Donald splutters. “How did you hear about that?”
