Page 11 of The Lyon and the Unicorn
“Ballocks?” Murdo suggested.
She giggled, but the young man frowned.
“Clarry, you promised Mama Betty you’d behave tonight. You’ll never triumph in London if you can’t learn.”
Her smile disappeared and Murdo’s heart tightened at the dejection in her eyes.
“I think your sister’s perfect as she is,” he said.
“And who areyou?” the young man asked.
“An admirer—that’s whatheis,” his twin said.
“Don’t be a fool, Nate. How can a man admire our sister when he doesn’t know her?”
“Perhaps that’swhyhe admires her.”
“You’rehardly awash with admirers, Nate,” Miss Martingale said, “though doubtless you’ll say that’s because you’re my brother and nobody wants me for a sister-in-law.”
“Then they can go to hell and rot, Clarry. Nobody insults my favorite sister.”
“She’s ouronlysister.”
“Don’t spoil the moment, Corn. I’m trying to be gallant.”
“You wouldn’t know gallantry if it stabbed you in the arse,” Miss Martingale said. Then she glanced at her mother, as if awaiting admonishment.
Murdo grinned at the duchess. “How can I not admire yer daughter when she speaks with such frankness?” he said. “Forgive me for not observing etiquette, but let me make reparation. Would ye do me the honor of introducing me to yer daughter?”
“I don’t know who you are myself,” the duchess said.
“Permit me to introduce myself,” Murdo said, clicking his heels together and bowing. “I’m Murdo Alastair James McTavish.”
“Then, Murdo Alastair James McTavish, I am Elizabeth, Duchess of Pittchester.” She gestured to the young men. “These are my sons, Lord Cornelius Martingale and Lord Nathaniel Martingale. And this”—she placed a hand on the young woman’s shoulder—“is my daughter, Miss Clara Martingale.”
Miss Martingale flinched, and Murdo understood enough, from Miss Peacock’s tales, why she was referred to as a mereMiss.
“May I dance the next with ye, Miss Martingale?” he said, offering his hand. “Though I fear I’m ungainly on my feet.”
She glanced at his boots, then lifted her gaze slowly, pausing at his bare knees. Her nostrils flared and Murdo’s manhood twitched under his plaid as he caught a spark of desire in her eyes.
Aye, lass, there’s arealman standing before ye tonight.
What might she make of him if he lifted his plaid to reveal the jewels that lay beneath?
She parted her lips, and the tip of her tongue flicked out to moisten her lower lip.
She reached toward Murdo’s proffered hand, and his skin tightened in anticipation.
Then a gong sounded, and she jerked back.
“Time for supper,mes amis!” Lady Cholmondeley trilled.
“Might I escort your daughter to supper, Yer Grace?” Murdo asked.
Doubt and mistrust swirled in Miss Martingale’s eyes, then she shook her head.
Swallowing his disappointment, Murdo bowed again. “Perhaps another time.”
