Page 14 of Wicked Highland Heroes

“I would think it might be better to be as cunning as the devil.” Montgomery laughed. “But that is what he has you for. So, what are your plans while in Manchester?”

Erroll eyed the earl. Montgomery was the only Englishman he’d truly trusted while at Oxford, and one of the few men he trusted at all. “What are you doing tonight?” Erroll asked.

“Attending a party or two, I suppose. There seems to be a sudden rash of soirees taking place. I cannot imagine why.”

“How about meeting me tonight?”

“Am I to run interference?” Paisley asked.

“Something like that.”

“You’re mistaken if you think I can be trapped by even those fine specimens of femininity.”

The sisters had disappeared down the street, but Erroll knew who he referred to. “You might find you like one of them.”

“I have no doubt I would like both of them.”

Erroll wasn’t sure he liked that idea.

“I might take one of them off your hands,” Paisley waggled his brows, “for the evening.”

“They are not those sorts of ladies.”

“Really?” Montgomery said. “When have you dallied with any other sort? The more reputable ones can be…complicated.”

“That is one way of putting it,” Erroll muttered.

Paisley studied him. “You are not actually smitten with one of them? The last time a lady captured your attention was your final year at university. That was what, five years ago? Not long before you signed up for the navy, if I recall. You navy chaps have a wench in every port. Perhaps there is someone you failed to mention?”

“There is not,” Erroll said with emphasis. “And there is not anyone now. I am simply intrigued.”

“Intrigued?” Paisley laughed heartily. “Poor fellow. That is exactly how it starts. You have my sympathy, and my agreement. I will make the rounds with you tonight. That should prove more interesting than hearing third hand accounts of your antics.”

“There will be nothing of consequence to hear,” Erroll replied.

But that didn’t mean he might not redirect Miss Grace Crenshaw’s attention onto the Earl of Paisley. If her attentions could be diverted to another man, and the elder Miss Crenshaw remained steadfast in her refusal to marry him, he might escape the ladies’ father with his bollocks intact.

Erroll was torn between jumping onto the first ship leaving port and the lust that had persisted on his walk back to the hotel. Paisley was right. Being intrigued by a woman could only lead to trouble. Erroll climbed the final flight of stairs to his hotel room. His wound ached just enough to remind him of his folly, and he entered, his mind on the sherry he knew waited on the small table near the parlor window. Erroll stopped short at sight of his father sitting before the hearth, the sherry decanter on the table beside his chair. He supposed he should be glad the intruder was his father and not another disgruntled paramour. Though he might prefer an angry woman to the marquess.

Erroll closed the door. “I did not expect you, sir.”

His father finished the last of the sherry in his glass, then set it on the table. “Then you are a fool.”

Careful not to favor his leg, Erroll crossed to the table where the glasses sat and picked one up. “Only an hour ago I told Tolland that I was not a fool.” Erroll went to the decanter, refilled his father’s glass, then poured his, and seated himself on the settee to the marquess’ left. “To what do I owe the honor of your visit?”

“I am here to oversee your marriage settlement.”

So much for a getaway. Erroll considered telling his father about the marriage contract in his jacket pocket but, instead, finished his sherry in one swig. He would need a second and a third before this conversation concluded. “You are being a little premature. The lady is not cooperating.”

“Which one?”

“You heard about last night’s events, I take it?”

“All of England has heard. Your mother will be none too pleased.”

“You were not so cruel as to inform her?” Erroll blurted.

“I did.”