Page 17 of What a Scot Wants
“What do ye mean by that?” Ronan asked.
“If the rumors about her are to be believed, your fair bride has taken it upon herself to chase many a suitor away,” Lord Riverley replied, making her stomach heave with despair.
“It’ll take more than feathers or a fountain of tulle to chase me away,” Ronan replied.
“If I didn’t know you better, Duke, I’d mistake your doggedness for something more…ardent.”
A low rumble of laughter perked her ears. It brought up a rash of gooseflesh on her arms. Lord, but he had an earthy, deeply sensual laugh.
“Ye ken my reason,” he replied. “I willnae lose the distillery.”
“Then you must do whatever it takes.” Lord Riverley’s figure appeared in the wash of light upon the grass. “Even if it means marrying the lady.”
Riverley stood alone in the light for a moment. Then, slowly, Ronan’s large form emerged from the shadows. He stared at his brother-in-law in such an intense way that Imogen could almost picture him reaching for his sword next. To her surprise, the Frenchman did not bat an eye.
His words were a growl. “I willnae be forced into a marriage, either.”
“You could do far worse,” Lord Riverley went on, his tone still jovial. “She might be a little unorthodox with the charity work she does, and perhaps not part of the inner circles most women crave admittance to, but Lady Imogen is lovely—out of that dress, of course.”
To Imogen’s shock, the duke took a menacing step closer to the marquess.
“Settle down, brother. You know I only have eyes for your sister,” Lord Riverley drawled, crushing out his cheroot. “Though one wonders why you bristle like a jealous lover over an innocent observation if you are as indifferent as you claim.”
“Careful,brother.” Exhaling loudly, Ronan raked a hand through his hair. “What do ye ken of this charity she’s involved in? For women who’ve been hurt?”
“Yes,” Lord Riverley replied. “A shelter of sorts.”
“McClintock seemed protective of her,” Ronan went on. “Defensive. Ye ken if there’s some history between them?”
McClintock?Imogen’s breath came short. Ronan knew Shane McClintock? Had spoken with him? Her ears buzzed with alarm. The owner of the Golden Antler had supported Haven over the years, and he had, on occasion, even sent a few young ladies he employed to Imogen and Emma. Oddly enough, even though he was the owner of a gaming hell, Mr. McClintock was one of the only men she trusted.
He’d helped her that awful night so long ago…
The night her entire world had turned sideways, when a man she’d put her faith in—her father had put his faith in—had shown his true colors. He had hurt someone she’d dearly loved…and she hadn’t known until her friend had drawn her last breath.
Imogen’s palms began to sweat even as a flash of cold flushed across her chest and back. She squeezed her eyes shut.Don’t think of it. He’s gone now. Breathe.
“McClintock is old enough to be her father, and besides, he doesn’t mess with upper-class ladies,” Riverley replied. “Especially the sort to draw negative attention.”
“I have a feeling I’ve attracted my fair share of negative attention tonight as well,” Ronan said with another low roll of laughter. The Frenchman joined him.
“As you intended, no doubt.”
“Aye, though I didnae ken the old wool would be so itchy. I cannae wait to be home so I can rip the thing off and feed the hearth with it.” He groaned, tugging at the folds of the plaid. “No’ to mention this claymore weighs more than a slab of bloody stone.”
Riverley chuckled. “Going soft, Highlander?”
“No’ so soft I cannae wipe the floor with ye,” he tossed back. “Though this thing probably couldnae cut butter, it’s so dull. Mother nearly swooned when I took it off the wall.”
The men shared a laugh for a moment, and then the Frenchman cleared his throat.
“I’m not certain I know what you’re planning, Ronan, but the crude and boorish Scot might not be the best route, especially not for a woman of Lady Imogen’s…”
“Expertise?” Ronan supplied. “Ye might be right. Though I have enjoyed myself more than I expected.”
Riverley clapped him on the back, and the men moved out of sight. “Well, at least you can agree she’s not boring.”
Imogen crept back from the balustrade, her emotions tripping over themselves. That stinking fraud! So his crass, ignorant behavior was about as genuine as her act? Trying to persuade her in the opposite direction, just as she was doing to him. And as he had been speaking to his brother-in-law, he hadn’t seemed at all daunted.
