Page 103 of Wicked Highland Heroes

Chapter Sixteen

Erroll rose as his father approached, and pulled Miss Crenshaw up with him. “Good afternoon, sir,” he said as the marquess halted in front of them. “May I present Miss Eve Crenshaw? Miss Crenshaw, my father, the Marquess of Rushton.”

She dipped into a perfect curtsy. “My lord.” She rose.

“Miss Crenshaw,” he said. “I trust you are well?”

“Very well, my lord, thank you.”

Erroll was impressed. The lady had collected herself in two heartbeats and was conducting herself as if she hadn’t arrived at Ravenhall ahead of what promised to be one of the biggest scandals of the decade. To his father’s credit, he wasn’t revealing any of his earlier misgivings concerning her. But the marquess was nothing if not the modicum of gentility.

“And the rest of your party, they are well?” his father asked.

“Indeed,” she answered. “My sister is enjoying herself immensely. She has already visited the ladies solar and the…pink parlor, I believe it is called. She tells me it is immense.”

The marquess nodded. “That is Lady Rushton’s favorite. So you have not seen it, then?”

“Not yet. Grace is more energetic than I. But I’m sure I will.”

“How are you finding Ravenhall, otherwise?” he asked.

“It is beautiful—” she laughed and Erroll liked the sound “—and large.”

“Erroll must show you around. He knows the castle’s every nook and cranny.”

“I would be happy to act as guide,” Erroll said.

She angled her head in acknowledgment. “I shall inform Grace.”

“I believe I mentioned the lion’s den, madam.”

Her gaze sharpened. “I suggest you procure a whip.”

That was the best advice he’d heard in some time, and he knew just which Crenshaw sister he would use it on.

The marquess cleared his throat. “I see you were having tea. When you are finished, Erroll, I need a word.”

“Pray, do not let me stop you,” Miss Crenshaw said. “I am ready to return to my chambers.”

“No need to rush,” his father said.

“It is no rush.” She looked at Erroll. “My lord.” With that she curtsied and left.

When she disappeared into the hallway, the marquess said, “Your mother expects us to attend church tomorrow.”

“Church?” Erroll blurted. “I haven’t attended church since I was twelve.”

“That may have been a mistake. But that aside, she wants us there for the next three Sundays to hear the banns read.”

So his mother planned to ensure that the marquess heard that Erroll intended to marry Eve Crenshaw, not Grace Crenshaw. “I suppose we must go, then,” he said, and pictured Miss Eve Crenshaw leaping from the pew with a curse when her name was spoken. But as much as the elder sister didn’t want to marry him, the younger sister was even more determined that she should marry him. He recalled her cry, “He is mine!” when she’d discovered him on top of Eve in her bed. Grace would likely throw just such a tantrum that would start the church-goers buzzing, while his mother watched with wicked delight.

“Did you seek me out just to inform me we are to attend church?” It would be like his father to do just that, especially if his mother suggested it.

“No.” The marquess nodded to the bench at the table.

They sat and Erroll poured the tea he and Eve had left untouched.

“After the service, your mother wants to visit the graveyard,” the marquess said.