“Easy, love,” John breathed, stroking her lower back as he turned them both until Lockhart and his sister came into view.
The lord wore a sky-blue linen coat and gold waistcoat with buff breeches. He was handsome, she supposed, if one enjoyed a carp’s mouth, small hands, and smugness. Sabella looked splendid, of course, in sea-green satin. Were those real emeralds?
She brushed her own naked throat and adjusted her shawl. She tried to sip her whisky, but there was none left.
John plucked the glass from her fingers and set it on a nearby table. “Just keep him focused on you. We only need ten minutes or so.”
She swallowed. “Aye.”
“Try to keep your temper.”
“I ken.”
“Do not attack him.”
“I’m nae daft, John Huxley.”
“I love you more than I’ve loved anything or anyone in my entire life, Annie Huxley.”
That purely stole her breath. She didn’t dare look at him. Rather, she stood there with heated shivers running through her veins in wee, sparkling streams.
“And, I suspect, were I ever granted another life and another and another—a thousand lifetimes in a thousand different places—I should still say the same.”
“God Almighty, English.” It took a few deep breaths before she gathered her overheated, love-softened senses enough to reply. “After we’re done here, ye’re going to have a very good night.”
“Hmm. Is that so?”
“Aye. Now stop distractin’ me. I’ve a job to do.”
His hands stroked her arms with light, tingling touches. He whispered in her ear, “Nobody could do it better.”
She nodded. “I’m ready.”
They made their way back through the crowd to where the Lockharts stood between a potted plant and a garish settee.
Sabella’s wide, brilliant smile suggested relief. “Lady Huxley! And Lord Huxley.” She curtsied with perfect grace. “How lovely to see you both.”
Annie reached for her hands, clasping them warmly. She bore no grudge against Sabella, who seemed blind to her brother’s villainous nature. In truth, Annie pitied her. No woman should be trapped under the thumb of a man like Lockhart. “’Tis lovely to see you, as well.”
Sabella took polite command of the conversation, performing introductions between her brother and John.
Lockhart’s gaze sharpened. “Lord Huxley. Am I right in thinking your father is the Earl of Berne?”
John nodded. “Indeed.”
The blond lord’s eyes rested briefly on Annie’s gown. “Here for the hunting, I take it?”
John’s arm tensed beneath Annie’s fingers, but he only replied, “Something like that.”
Annie decided now was the moment to test her conversation skills. First step: tea. No tea? Ask about the day’s activities. “So, Lord Lockhart,” she ventured. “Have ye enjoyed the Glenscannadoo Games so far?”
Lockhart chuckled. “Very diverting, I must say. Although, I’m afraid it’s all a bit rustic for Sabella.” He gave his sister a condescending smile. “She has a delicate constitution.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Sabella demurred. “Some of the events were quite impressive. I very much enjoyed the bagpiping. And the footrace.”
Annie had been standing next to her during the heavy events. She happened to know Sabella had enjoyed a good deal more than music and sprinting. “Have ye tried a bit of dancin’ yet?” she asked. “The MacDonnells play a fine reel.”
Third step in the Lady Lessons guide to polite conversation: Introduce new topics from the present environment. Mrs. Baird had used the examples of complimenting a guest’s gown or commenting on the state of the weather.
But Annie had a mission, and she needed to move this conversation forward apace.
Sabella answered first. “No, I’m afraid not.” She glanced toward the terrace, her expression faintly wistful. “We only arrived a short while ago.”
John took the hint, bowing and offering, “Miss Lockhart, I should be honored if you would join me. The reel is one of my favorite dances.”
Before Lockhart could say anything, Sabella accepted and John led her away.
As Annie had hoped, Lockhart focused upon her and, after a moment of frowning at Annie’s hair, he grudgingly suggested, “Perhaps we should dance, as well.”
“Och, no, m’lord,” she retorted. “Why would I, a viscountess, dance with the likes of ye?”
Leaf-green eyes focused upon her with sudden alert intensity. “I beg your pardon?”
She gave an imperious sniff and brushed past him to lower herself gracefully onto the settee. As soon as he pivoted to face her, she raised a brow. “In England, ye’d be naught more than a baron. Scarcely titled at all.”
A muscle twitched next to his eye. “Incredible,” he murmured. “You’ve only just been plucked from a Highland scullery, and you’re suggesting I am the inferior, here.”
“Nae suggestin’. Sayin’.” She gave him a grin. “Ye ken what they say.” Her eyes fell to his gloves. “Wee hands, wee … man.”
His carp mouth twisted. “Your vulgarity should be shocking, I suppose, except for one thing.” His head tilted. “I’d expect nothing less from a MacPherson.”
Triumph surged like lightning. She had him. By God, she had him! But not entirely. There was much more to be done.
She pretended puzzlement. “Are ye speakin’ of my brothers?”
“I’d rather not.”
But she needed him to. “Aye. Only natural. Them bein’ so much larger.” Again, she eyed his hands. “A pure shame. Some men carry cabers. Some struggle to lift their teacups.”
“I think this conversation has run its course.”
“Did a MacPherson steal yer woman, then?” It was a guess, and a wild one at that. Annie had questioned Broderick extensively about any tie he might have to Lockhart, and he’d sworn there was none. But Lockhart’s hatred was obviously a deep, personal fire. Which meant either the man was a wee bit peculiar and had wanted affection that Broderick refused to provide. Or Lockhart had lost a woman to Broderick.
Lockhart went utterly rigid, his eyes strangely serpentine. “Any woman I considered mine would remain so until I deemed otherwise.”
Yes, that was it. Time to close the trap tighter. She grinned. “Unless she didnae. What happened? Bit of a problem hoistin’ yer teacup?” She cast a pointed glance at his breeches. “Or perhaps she simply prefers Highland whisky to weak Lowland tea.”
A flash of venom erupted as a snarl. “You’re treading on dangerous ground, Lady Huxley.”
“Like Broderick did?” She leaned forward and held his gaze. “I’d wager ye discovered yer lass fancied him. I’d wager ye werenae too pleased by her preference.”
“I’d wager your brother is no longer the sort of man a lass fancies.”