Page 2 of The Scot’s Seduction (Heirs & Spares #2)

M urdoch smothered some choice words as the four of them walked single file into the interfering lady’s town house.

He’d arrived in London only a few days ago, determined to take on the burden of caring for his late sister’s daughter, despite it upsetting his orderly life.

He’d only visited the city a few times; his sister, Aileen, however, had loved it the minute she first set foot in the blasted place, and then she’d gone and fallen in love with an Englishman.

If only their parents hadn’t given in to Aileen’s insistence on a proper debut, he might be comfortably at home, sitting in front of a fire while perusing the latest innovations in soil drainage.

“This way, if you please,” the interfering lady said, giving him a look that dared him to refuse.

Instead of contemplating soil, however, he was trooping down the hall of an elegant home, feeling as out of place as a draft of whisky in a china teacup. Making things worse was Murdoch’s having to avoid the small kittens that were accompanying them.

“Please find a seat,” the lady said as Emily, the lady’s servant, and Murdoch stepped into the room.

It was elegantly appointed, with tall windows that let in the sunlight and furniture that Murdoch wasn’t certain would support his weight.

The lady—he couldn’t recall her name, just that it sounded precious—shut the door as Emily plopped herself down in one of the spindly chairs.

He eyed a few of the more fragile-looking pieces before walking to the sofa, waiting for the lady to choose a seat before sitting himself.

Unfortunately, she also chose the sofa, which meant that they were sitting closer than made Murdoch comfortable.

His leg was only a few inches away from hers, though it didn’t seem to bother her at all.

In fact, it appeared as though nothing would rattle her; she had an air of self-possession, one likely borne from her age, which was past that of a young girl, as well as her captivating appearance.

She wasn’t traditionally pretty, not like Emily; instead, she had an alluring appearance, one that made it hard to look away from her.

Her hair was black, strands of it currently falling out of whatever coiffure she’d had before she flung herself out of her house to confront him.

Her eyes were hazel, and tilted at the corners, giving her an enigmatic, feline appearance.

Her mouth was wide, her lips full, and she had a strong, stubborn chin.

She wore a green gown, one that didn’t look as fancy as the gowns he’d seen since arriving in London.

But it did nothing to hide her figure, which was plush and appealing.

He’d find her very appealing indeed, if he wasn’t currently irked at her interference and wondering how much worse this day was going to get.

She gave him a bright look that only increased his apprehension, then took a deep breath before speaking.

“Miss Emily, can you expand on what the disagreement with your uncle is about?”

Murdoch folded his arms over his chest and pinned his gaze on his niece. She took after Aileen—small-boned and fair—rather than his and his brothers’ dark, hulking size, and it stung to be reminded so strongly of his stubborn yet much beloved sister.

If only Aileen and her husband, David, hadn’t been home that evening.

The fire seemed to have started in their bedroom, then swept through the rest of the house, leaving the Davenport home a blackened shell.

Emily had been in the country with David’s family, and Aileen and David had planned to join her the next day.

All the servants made it out alive, but Aileen and David had not.

Murdoch shook his head free of the painful thoughts as Emily began to speak. Thank goodness she was resilient—she’d stayed with David’s family for the next few years, and they had helped her mourn and recover.

“My mother wished for me to make my debut, as she did,” Emily began, giving him a challenging look.

“We’d talk about what kind of gowns I’d wear, and who I’d meet, and what would happen.

She said that I would have the chance to meet someone as wonderful as my father.

” Her chin quivered, and Murdoch felt an answering tug in the vicinity of his heart.

“I’ve lived with my grandmother since they—well, since then, but she is not well enough to leave the country, and she is not my legal guardian anyway. ”

Her expression darkened, and he wished he’d been able to make a better impression on her when they first met.

Instead, he’d gruffly said who he was and that he was there to do his duty to his sister.

He realized now that a young lady might misunderstand his gruffness as his not caring, or his duty to mean an obligation.

He’d tried to explain but had only ended up antagonizing her more.

He was never good at talking. He much preferred writing out what he meant to say, or just skipping that entirely and showing what he was doing.

His lack of conversation was why he was currently sitting thigh to thigh with a woman who had clearly never pondered the density of a sward and if it was suitable for sheep.

In fact, if he were to say anything remotely sward-related, he imagined she’d give him a look even worse than the one with which she’d regarded him outside.

“My uncle is my guardian,” Emily explained. “And he,” she said, pointing an accusatory finger toward him, “is demanding I do things I do not wish to. Lady Drusilla, you have to help me.”

Lady Drusilla gave him a look so disdainful he felt as though he’d shrunk by a few feet. Perhaps then he’d feel more comfortable in the room’s chairs. A black kitten darted over his foot, making him jump, which made her expression even more fierce.

“He wants you to get married, then?” Lady Drusilla said. She kept her disapproving gaze on him as he shifted uncomfortably. “Even though that is not what you want?”

“No!” Emily replied, as Murdoch shook his head.

“He wants me to enjoy my Season, to take my time in making such an important decision.” Emily’s tone made it sound as though he wanted her to wear shackles around her ankles while she danced.

“He says he’ll be checking into anyone who might want to marry me to make sure he is not a fortune-hunting bampot.

Whatever a bampot is,” she added with a sniff.

“Enjoy your Season?” Lady Drusilla echoed. “A fortune-hunting whatever it is?” Her expression was no longer disdainful. In fact, she looked adorably confused. No. Not adorable. Not at all. This was still the lady who’d had the audacity to interfere with him and his ward.

“But...what is it you want, then?” Lady Drusilla asked Emily.

Emily widened her eyes, making her appear even more innocently beautiful. “I want to get married as soon as I can!”

Lady Drusilla blinked. “You do?”

Emily nodded her head vigorously. “My mother came here for her debut, and she spotted my father at her first party. They fell absolutely in love at that moment, and I know that will happen to me. Except,” she said, glaring at Murdoch, “my uncle says that is romantic nonsense, and I will need to know the gentleman better.”

Murdoch folded his arms over his chest and gave Lady Drusilla a meaningful look, one that said, Do you see what I am dealing with here? along with And don’t you wish you hadn’t interfered?

She flushed, and he felt a stab of triumph.

“So now you know why we were brangling in front of your house,” he said as he rose.

He gestured for Emily to do the same, but she just sat and glowered at him.

“I apologize for the misunderstanding, my lady, and I hope you’ll forgive the intrusion.

” Even though you forced us to intrude. But I won’t point that out—that would be petty.

“No,” Emily said flatly.

Murdoch blinked at her. “No?” he repeated, sounding as flummoxed as he felt.

“No,” she said again. She jerked her chin toward him. “I will not be held prisoner to what you hope for my future. I want to make my debut without a Scottish oaf of an uncle.”

Now it was his turn to flush. He had always been self-conscious about his size, and since arriving in London, he’d realized just how different his manners and attitude were from those of his niece.

She was all dainty grace and finger sandwiches; he was bluntly honest and preferred food that would actually fill one up, thank you very much.

A hearty stew, or half a loaf of bannock.

“Miss Davenport,” Lady Drusilla said, reprimanding the young woman, “that is no way to speak to your guardian.” She glanced at him, an amused light in her eyes. “He is your uncle, and he is Scottish, but he is not an oaf.”

Just as he was about to offer her his gratitude for the correction, she continued.

“He might be seen as either a lout or a yahoo, but not an oaf,” she said, making him glad, for once, that he was slow to speak.

“But the point is, one does not speak of one’s family that way, no matter how large and unmannerly they might be.

” And then she offered him a dazzling smile.

He scowled in return, but she only smiled more, which made him feel, unpleasantly enough, more loutish, yahooish, and, yes, even more oafish than before.

Damn her.

“I have an idea,” Emily said brightly, her tone so startlingly different from before that Murdoch’s heart seized in his chest. “How about you help me make my debut? It won’t take long, I have an enormous fortune, and I am pretty, I know that.

I could be engaged within a week or so.” She batted her eyelashes as she gave Lady Drusilla a pleading look.

The woman in the corner, the one who’d been hanging on to Murdoch’s shoulders outside like a monkey, gave a snort. She hadn’t spoken as of yet, and it startled all of them into turning toward her, which made her laugh—not the response Murdoch would have expected.