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“I don’t know. When I found her she was trying to hide by lying on the floor.”

He waved it off. “I’m not bothered by it. I doubt she’ll do it again, not since you scared the daylights out of her.”

Ollie expected the conversation to be over, but Mrs. Chapman lingered with the hatbox. Obviously, there was something else. “You may as well tell me what’s on your mind before Fergus comes out here,” Ollie said.

Mrs. Chapman paled at the mention of Fergus . “Forgive my intrusion.” She closed her eyes as she spoke. “But is there something going on between you and Miss Sparrow?”

Ollie was suddenly quite aware of his face and how badly the muscles wanted to twitch. “No,” was all he replied with. What exactly did she expect him to say?

“A woman doesn’t go tip-toeing about a gentleman’s bedroom for no reason,” Mrs. Chapman replied.

“Her reasoning was boredom.”

“Mr. McNab—”

“No, Mrs. Chapman. I assure you nothing untoward is occurring and I have no idea why you would think that in the first place.” This was the truth, too.

His scoundrel ways were not unknown to Mrs. Chapman, but surely, she could see for herself there was no attraction between Evelyn and himself.

Well, all right, there was no attraction from Evelyn, at least. Ollie wasn’t so daft to believe he could ignore his ever-growing attraction to her.

He’d thought she was beautiful from the moment he’d first laid eyes on her! But at least he was able to hide it.

Or he hoped so, anyway.

But he knew how she was. He may have been a scoundrel, but women were always willing participants in whatever happened between him and them.

And, perhaps most importantly, Evelyn was as attracted to Ollie as she would be to a brick wall.

His admiration of her beauty, of her mind, would never be reciprocated.

So, despite the fact that he desperately wanted to explore the willowy redhead and see that auburn hair spilled over his dark bedding—and knowing she had been at his bedside only made it worse—he would keep his admiration to himself.

Mrs. Chapman said Ollie’s name, bringing him back down to Earth. Her arms were crossed, eyes halfway closed and mouth in a tight line as she waited for him to refocus.

However, before she could pester him further about his attraction to Evelyn, Fergus began bellowing for her.

He had to go deal with them now. “Let Evelyn continue to sleep so she doesn’t come downstairs,” he said to Mrs. Chapman as he began walking toward the parlor. “I will get them out post-haste.”

Mrs. Chapman bowed. “Yes, Mr. McNab.”

While the housekeeper disappeared, Ollie put a hand on the parlor’s doorknob, closed his eyes for a moment, and steeled himself. If his grandparents discovered Evelyn was here, that would be disastrous. The sooner he could get them out, the better.

Ollie went into the parlor and found Fergus pacing while Marjory sat upright in a wingback chair, her head rested against the back, eyes closed and jaw slack.

Hambone was nearly a mirrored kitty version of Marjory.

The cat was asleep at the duchess’s feet, on her furry back, paws up in the air, kitty tongue hanging out of an open, sharp-toothed mouth.

A staccatoed snore from Marjory cut through the room.

“Oliver, there you are!” Fergus said with a deep, jovial chuckle upon his grandson’s appearance in the room. The man’s familiar Scottish accent remained thick as frozen butter. Fergus, unlike Ollie, was as towering and wide shouldered as Victor and Dantes, and as hairy as a wolf.

Fergus ambled over and shook Ollie’s hand with crushing strength. Ollie’s eyes watered as he resisted the urge to yelp.

“Does your housekeeper understand me when I speak?” Fergus asked, one eye squinting more than the other.

“Of course she does,” he wheezed. “Why?”

Fergus thrust an open palm in the direction of the sideboard, where several liquor bottles and their respective glasses sat.

“She isn’t a footman, Fergus. You are welcome to pour a drink for yourself, you know.”

Fergus grumbled. “If you had proper staff instead of only a housekeeper and cook, then there wouldn’t be any need for me to pour a blasted drink for myself.”

“What would I need a full staff for? It’s only me here.”

“Yes, what about a wife? Since we’re on that subject.” Fergus patted Ollie hard on his upper back, then gripped his shoulder to direct him over to the sideboard.

Irritated, Ollie poured his grandfather a drink and handed it over.

“What about your grandmother?” Fergus indicated his glass before taking a sip.

Ollie frowned and poured his sleeping grandmother a drink. Why had she come here just to pass out in his chair? Without thinking, he mumbled to himself, “What is it, lady’s napping hour?”

“What was that?” Fergus crossed his arms and leaned toward his grandson.

Ollie realized his error and decided to pour himself a drink, too. “Nothing.”

“Who else is napping for you to call it ‘lady’s napping hour’?”

“The cook.” Ollie took a hasty sip. It was too big of a sip and it burned his mouth. His eyes began to water.

Fergus narrowed his gaze at Ollie but let the subject drop. “Back to the conversation about a wife.”

“Ah, Christ.”

Fergus gave him a pointed look. “We’re having Duncan Campbell and his wife and daughter over for dinner in a week. You will be joining us.”

“Thanks, but no.”

“It wasn’t a request, Oliver. It was a command.”

Ollie’s neck was beginning to feel stiff. How many times had he heard that line? “I thought you hated the Campbells.”

“I never said that.”

“You rant about the Campbells every time you’re in your cups, going on and on about how they terrorized our clan for thousands of years and are the devil’s spawn, or something like that.”

Fergus eyed Ollie. “Perhaps that’s what you need, laddie. A Scottish devil woman.”

Marjory interrupted with another loud snore.

“I’m perfectly fine on my own,” Ollie replied. “Not looking for a wife. But thanks.”

“One week, my house, at this time.” Fergus threw back the drink and held his empty glass out for a refill. “They’re expecting you there, including Isla.”

Ollie grudgingly refilled it. “Who the blazes is Isla?”

“The daughter! She’s a bonny lass, which is all you care about, anyway.”

“That’s not all I care about.”

“Och,” Fergus replied dismissively, clearly not believing Ollie for a moment.

What did he look for in a woman? It wasn’t something he had ever really thought about.

The women he had history with had little in common, except for being attractive.

It was all he’d cared about at the time.

One day he would want a wife and family, but that day was not now.

He was twenty-six, far too young for such a thing.

In thinking about it, though, he would want a kind, patient woman.

One who was smart enough to make up for his lack of brains, but despite her intelligence didn’t realize how brainless he was.

Wasn’t hypersensitive to cats. And, of course, beautiful, too.

He did enjoy the touch of a beautiful woman.

He was, after all, only a man. Evelyn ticks those boxes , a voice in his head said.

A rustling noise captured his attention and then, “Oh, Oliver! You’ve finally decided to join us,” Marjory said sleepily from her chair.

With a yawn, she stood up and crossed the room to her husband and grandson.

Hambone, startled out of her deep sleep, mewed loudly at the duchess, as if offended, and trotted out of the room.

Fergus handed the portly, graying woman her drink.

For a while, conversation went away from Ollie, and they caught up on the happenings in Fergus and Marjory’s social circle, the nobs whom Ollie had grown up around after leaving Whitechapel.

Mostly, they discussed whose grandchildren were getting married or having babies.

But they kept bringing up Miss Isla Campbell.

Miss Campbell volunteers for the poor. Miss Campbell helped plan a garden that won awards.

Miss Campbell this, Miss Campbell that. That was all good for Miss Campbell, but Ollie really could not care about some woman he hadn’t known existed until a few minutes ago.

It wasn’t lost on him how much they seemed to be focusing on the subject of marriage and babies, though. However, if Ollie allowed them to talk about it now and get it out of their system, let some of that excitement out, when he bailed on the dinner next week they wouldn’t be nearly as mad.

He checked a nearby wall clock and realized they had already been here for half an hour.

Ollie started to fidget with a button on the sleeve of his jacket.

The longer they stayed, the more nervous he became at them somehow discovering Evelyn’s presence in his house.

“It was great for you to drop by completely unexpectedly, but—”

“No ‘buts,’ laddie.” Fergus chuckled. “We know you avoid us as much as you can. Now tonight, we are having dinner together like proper family. Whether you like it or not.”

Hambone, as if sensing her human’s inner distress, came over and began to weave between his legs. She then sat and stared up at him, a toy felt mouse hanging from her mouth.

It must be nice to be a cat.

At this, Mrs. Chapman came into the parlor to inform them dinner was ready to be served. As Fergus and Marjory left the parlor, the housekeeper pulled Ollie to the side.

“Miss Sparrow is awake,” she whispered to Ollie in a sharp voice.

Ollie felt a sense of dread. “What do you mean, she’s awake? Did you tell her not to come down?”

“I haven’t seen her. As I was coming into this room, I could hear her moving around upstairs. Footfalls and other generic sounds. Drawers opening, perhaps.”

They both stepped out into the hallway and stilled to listen to the sounds of the house. There was nothing but empty, quiet air. Even Fergus and Marjory were silent in a rare moment.

“Are you sure?” Ollie asked, his shoulders easing at the lack of noise.