Tempting The Laird. Julia London
about,” MacLaren said, eyeing Hamlin shrewdly as he gripped his hand and shook it heartily.
“Thank you,” Hamlin said.
When MacLaren had taken a good long look at him, he shifted his gaze to Norwood, and something flowed between those two men that Hamlin didn’t care for. That was precisely the reason he hadn’t wanted to come here this evening—the unwelcome scrutiny, the assumptions about what had happened at Blackthorn.
“My dear friend Countess Orlov and her cousin, Mr. Vasily Orlov,” Norwood continued, introducing him to a middle-aged woman with dark hair and rouged cheeks, and her fastidiously dressed cousin, who wore a sash across his chest with several medals pinned to it.
He was then introduced to an English family, the Wilke-Smythes, whose relation to Norwood was quite unclear. Lord Furness, a corpulent man who, from what Hamlin could glean, was an old friend. He seemed already well on his way to being thoroughly pissed. Next was Mrs. Templeton, a woman with a full bust and a painted fan, which she employed with great verve in the direction of her décolletage.
“Lastly, my dear niece Miss Mackenzie, who has already had the great pleasure of making your acquaintance,” Norwood said, and waved airily at his niece.
She had made it quite clear it was not a pleasure, as he recalled. Miss Mackenzie rose elegantly from her inelegant perch on the arm of a settee. “It was indeed a great pleasure, your grace,” she said with a wee lopsided smile that made it seem as if she was teasing him. She was wearing a shimmering gown of silver silk cut so daringly low across her bosom that standing over her, Hamlin had a most enticing view of creamy, full breasts. Her eyes, the remarkably brilliant gray-blue orbs, were shining at him a mix of mirth and curiosity. Her golden hair had been fashionably arranged on top of her head, pinned with a pair of tiny ornamental bluebirds, and a pair of long curls dangled across her collarbone.
He inclined his head. “Miss Mackenzie.”
She sank into a curtsy at the same moment she offered her hand to him. He reluctantly took it, bowing over it, touching his lips to her knuckles. It struck him as somehow incongruent that a woman with such an audacious manner should have such an elegant hand that smelled of flowers.
He lifted her up and let go of her hand.
“There, then, the introductions are done,” Norwood said. “You are in want of a whisky, your grace, are you not? I know a Scotsman such as yourself enjoys a tot of it now and again. My stock has come from my sister, Lady Mackenzie of Balhaire, and she assures me it has been distilled with the greatest care.”
“No, thank you,” Hamlin said. He would prefer to keep all his wits about him this evening.
Miss Mackenzie arched a brow. “Do you doubt the quality of our whisky, then, your grace? I’ve brought it all the way from our secret stores at Balhaire.”
“I’ve no opinion of your whisky. I donna care for it,” he said, but really, it was the whisky that didn’t agree with him. The worst argument he’d ever had with Glenna came after an evening of drinking whisky. Hamlin had sworn it off after that night. He’d never believed himself to be one who suffered the ravages of demon drink, but a bad marriage could certainly illuminate the tendency in a man.
The lass smiled and said, “There you have it, uncle—that is two of us, both Scots, who donna care for whisky.”
“What? I’ve seen you enjoy more than a sip of whisky, my darling,” the earl said, and laughed roundly.
She shrugged, still smiling.
“Will you have wine?” Norwood asked Hamlin.
“Thank you.”
“Rumpel! Where are you, Rumpel?” Norwood called, turning about and wandering off to find someone to pour a glass of wine.
His niece, however, showed herself to be more expedient. She walked to a sideboard, poured a glass of wine and returned, handing it to Hamlin.
He took it from her, eyeing her with skepticism. “Thank you.”
“’Tis my pleasure, your grace. I find that a wee bit of wine eases me in unfamiliar places. It helps loosen my tongue.” She smiled prettily.
Did she think him uneasy? She stood before him, her hands clasped at her back. She made no effort to move away or to speak. No one else approached, which didn’t surprise Hamlin in the least. He’d been a pariah for nearly a year and knew the role well.
“Will it surprise you, then, if I tell you I didna believe you’d accept our offer to dine?” she asked.
He considered that a moment. “No.”
“Well, I didna believe it. But I’m so verra glad you’ve come.”
He arched a brow with skepticism. “Why?” he said flatly.
She blinked with surprise. She gave a cheerful little laugh and leaned slightly forward to whisper, “Because, by all accounts, your grace, you’re a verra interesting man.”
That surprised him. Was she openly and, without any apparent misgivings, referencing the untoward rumors about him? “You shouldna listen to the tales told about town, Miss Mackenzie.”
“What tales?” she asked, and that mischievous smile appeared again. “What town?”
“Here we are!” Norwood said, reappearing in their midst. He’d brought the butler, who carried a silver tray on which stood a small crystal goblet of wine. Norwood spotted the wine Hamlin already held. “Oh,” he said, looking confused. “Well, never mind it, Rumpel,” he said, and waved off the glass of wine the butler was trying to present to Hamlin. “You may take that away. I beg your pardon, Montrose, if my niece has nattered on. Have you, darling?” he asked, smiling fondly at her. He probably doted on her, which would explain her impudence. She’d probably been allowed to behave however she pleased all her life.
“Whatever do you mean, uncle?” Miss Mackenzie asked laughingly.
“Only that you are passionate about many things, my love, and given opportunity, will expound with great enthusiasm.”
Miss Mackenzie was not offended—she laughed roundly. “You dare say that of me, uncle? Was it no’ you who caused your guests to retire en masse just last evening with your lengthy thoughts about the poor reverend’s most recent sermon?”
“That was an entirely different matter,” Norwood said with a sniff of indignation. “That was an important matter of theology run amok!”
“Milord.” The butler had returned, sans tray and wine. “Dinner is served.”
“Aha, very good.” Norwood stepped to the middle of the room and called for attention. “If you would, friends, make your way to the dining room. We do not promenade at Dungotty, we go in together as equals. And we dine at our leisure! I’ll not insist we race through our courses like the Empress Maria Theresa of Austria, whom I know firsthand to be quite rigid in her rules for dining. Countess Orlov has been so good as to help me determine the places for everyone. You will find a name card at each setting. Catriona, darling, will you see the duke in, please?” With that he turned about and offered his arm to the young Miss Wilke-Smythe.
Miss Mackenzie held her hand aloft in midair. “You heard my uncle—I’m to do the escorting of our esteemed visitor, who, it would seem, is no’ our equal after all, but above us mortals and worthy of a special escort.”
The woman was as impudent as Eula.
She smiled slyly at his hesitation. “Please donna give him reason to scold me.”
With an inward sigh, Hamlin put his hand under her arm and promenaded her into the dining room ahead of everyone but Norwood.
The dining room was painted in gold leaf and decorated with an array of portraits of men and women alike. The table had been set with fine china, sparkling crystal, and silver utensils and candelabras polished to such sheen that