But he’d been a bit outta his mind at the time.

She had come to him.

It wasn’t to be believed. He’d thought about her often in the past eighteen months while he’d been trying to make something of the disaster his father left of the estate. He’d not been able to forget her. Only twice in his life had the mere sight of a woman across a room spun his world upside down.

The first time that happened, his fragile Marie paid for it with her life and the life of their wee bairn. The doctor said it’d been the babe’s size—big like his father—too big for his dainty mother to bring forth. Even seven years later, the dark hollowness that had grown inside him from the day he’d held her breathless body in his arms and knew he’d killed her still clung to him. He’d not curse another woman like that. Miss Teresa Finch-Freeworth with her outrageous propositions and warm, vibrant smile deserved better.

He scowled. He’d enough of managing females now, anyway. Seven of them.

Seven husbands for seven brides . . .

She meant to go through with it. If she did, he’d be honor bound to kiss her, touch her, and make love to her. Then to wed her.

He couldn’t allow it. He’d not use a woman like that for any reason, not when he didn’t intend to marry her. But she was as determined as she was bonnie. He’d have to deter her from pursuing her program.

Finch-Freeworth closed the carriage door and with a firm stride returned to him.

“My lord, your sisters seem like gentlewomen and I don’t mind my sister going about town with them. But I’ll know what intentions you have toward her or I’ll make an end to their acquaintance this instant.”

Duncan liked his directness. “I’ve no intentions toward yer sister.”

“She said that. But she’s prepared to go to a great deal of trouble on your behalf. If she succeeds—”

“She willna.” He’d make certain of it. He knew a few places in town where bachelors were in short supply. He’d fill the month with visits to every one of them.

“Probably, but she’s a good-hearted girl and I won’t stand for her being hurt. Or worse.” He stood in a fighting stance now. Clearly he had soldiering in his past. “Are you a man of good character where women are concerned?”

“If ye care to learn o’ ma character, sir, ye’d best be inquiring o’ Yale. He’ll tell ye all ye need.”

There. He’d done it. Wyn Yale—damn his hide—would tell Finch-

Freeworth the truth, and they’d cut the connection. Then the temptation to proceed with her as he’d done the last time a woman’s smile made his heart stop would be gone.

“I’ll do that.” With a bow, Finch-Freeworth departed.

Sorcha appeared beside Duncan. “Who was that?”

“Her brither.”

“Hm. She’s resolved, then.”

“Aye.”

“No as resolved as I am to make something o’ that blast south burn.

Duncan, ye’ve got to allou me to draw funds from the bank to—”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because there no be funds in the bank to be drawn.”

“There must be. Yer hiring four chambers in this hotel an breakfast, lunch, tea, an dinner every day.”

“I’ve no paid a penny for those.” He’d called in an old debt from the hotelier, a man for whom he’d done several jobs the likes of which his sisters would never imagine.

“But, what—”

“Dinna ask, Sorcha.” He set a hard gaze on her. “I’ve told ye afore: Ye dinna want to ken.”

She nodded briskly, but her brow was tight. Along with Una she was the best of the lot. While he’d worked for Myles here in town to earn money to send home, for five years she’d kept the estate running with that money. Her competence in managing the land was all that had stood between his people and starvation.

“I’ve so many ideas, Duncan, but I need capital to pay for them. I’m that frustrated. If I could make a wee improvement here or there, I could do so much.” She was silent a moment. “Ye’ve got to wed an heiress. ’Tis the anly way.”

He stared out the open door. “I canna.”

“Stubborn ox. Too guid for a rich tradesman’s daughter?”

He allowed himself a smile he did not feel. “Aye. Something like that.”

She let that sit for a moment. Then: “Yer lying to me. Una told me the truth o’ it.”

Una was too perceptive. She understood why he refused to wed again.

“Sorcha, ye’ve got to marry.”

“Duncan—”

“I’ll no hear otherwise. Chuise a man. Any man that can give ye a bairn. A widower, if ye wish: a man that’s already proved he can father sons. Bring him afore me an I’ll see it done to yer liking.” By ancient right the Eads earldom allowed a woman to inherit and pass the title to her child. No lord of Eads had ever failed to produce heirs, but there was a first for everything.

Beneath the cap of smooth black hair tied tight at the nape of her neck, Sorcha’s eyes flashed like a brewing storm. “Ye’ll have to tie me up an drag me to the altar.” There was no childish defiance in her face, only cool, clean determination—the other side of the coin from the vibrant, fiery-haired woman who’d stood before him quivering yet insisting he wed her.

“Yer too much like I was, sister,” he said. “Ye’ll be worse aff for it in the end.”

She hitched a fist on a hip and cocked her head. “Tell me, brither: Hou would it be possible to be worse aff than ye nou?” She strode up the stairs.

Duncan drew his watch from his pocket. Thick gold with the crest of clan Eads embossed upon it, it was the last family heirloom remaining. It’d have to go now. He’d seen the quick calculation in the lady’s lily pad eyes; he couldn’t have her spending her pin money on his sisters. That, and if he was going to distract the matchmaker from her program he’d need to look the part of a gentleman. A trip to the pawn broker then to the tailor, and he’d be ready to embark on his own mission to save the virtue of a clever maiden from himself.

5

There were lessons to be learned from taking four Highland Scotswomen of modest means and little London experience to the drawing room of one of society’s grandest ladies at the fashionable hour.

For instance, nine out of ten London ladies and seven out of ten London gentlemen do not apparently understand brogue. Also, three out of five debutantes are atrociously spiteful, and two out of five young gentlemen actually emit drool from their mouths when introduced to a girl of Moira’s beauty. Finally, Scottish ladies do not hold their tongues when their elders chastise them unjustly.

The visit to Lady Beaufetheringstone’s house was not, however, a thorough wash. Tobias’s championing of the Eads ladies was enough to make a sister cry in gratitude. Lady B was splendid too. Upon their departure she apologized for the horrendous manners of several of her guests (“I will cut them from my guest list!”) and said she wished Lady Una and Lady Moira to attend her ball three days hence. Young Lady Lily may attend too if she could restrain herself from knocking over every potted plant, vase, and footman. Lady Abigail was welcome to enjoy the Beaufetheringstone library to her heart’s content during the ball (“Really, my dear, dancing is the least of what goes on at one of my balls. But you may bury your nose in a book if you prefer.”).

All in all, it could have gone worse.

Teresa sank back against the squabs of the carriage Toby had hired for them and closed her eyes.

“I’m sorry it didna go aff as ye planned,” Una said. “I’m afeart we havena much talent for high society.”

“Yet.” Teresa sat straight up. “You only require a touch of town bronze, which will come in time.” Time she did not have. Twenty-six days and counting. “Isn’t that true, Toby?”

He smiled comfortably at Una. “Quite right.”

Una returned his smile.

“May we stop at the bookshop on our way home?” Abigail asked.

Teresa needed a nap then a pot of tea before she started planning again.

And she was eager to take up her pen and add the knocking-over-the-

footman incident to her latest little tale about the make-believe town of Harpers Crest Cove. Freddie would love it.

But Moira’s face was drawn and Lily was tucked miserably into her corner of the carriage, entirely unlike her usual sunny self.

“Yes. Let’s stop at the bookshop,” Teresa said. “If I remember correctly, there is a shop nearby that sells the tastiest lemon ices imaginable.”

Lily’s eyes brightened. “I do like ices.”

“Ye like all confections,” Abigail said. “Ye even liked that book about confections I found for ye last week.”

Lily smiled, restored to her usual glow. “I should have liked to read it through, but I’d nothing to trade for it.”

“Ah.” Tobias reached into his pocket. “It just so happens that I have a book here that I’ve been meaning to sell.” He pulled forth a small volume. “We shall trade this for your confectioner’s book, Lady Lily.”

“Oh, thank ye!” She took the proffered volume cheerily.

Una caught Teresa’s eye and her brow lifted. Teresa offered a breezy smile, but she’d glimpsed the title. It was her brother’s most cherished book, a history by an ancient Greek historian that he had carried with him to war and back again.

“Thank ye, sir,” Una said. “Yer kind to our family.”

“I pray you, don’t thank me, my lady,” he replied. “It’s my pleasure.”

The bookshop was an elegant little cabinet at the end of a long corridor from an unremarkable door leading off the street, snug, smelling of lemon polish, and ceiling to floor with books. But the wood of the bookshelves sparkled, the chairs arranged here and there were beautifully upholstered, and several very fine albeit tiny oil paintings decorated the miniscule wall space. The shopkeeper greeted them distractedly. Then abruptly he came to attention and slid off his stool behind the desk. He straightened his spectacles and smoothed out his otherwise neat waistcoat.