Page 50 of Wicked Highland Heroes

Her expression darkened. “Honor, you say?”

Too late, Erroll realized his mistake.

“You are a fine one to talk about my honor, when you sneaked into my room in the dead of night and accosted me.”

Laughter erupted in the crowd.

“I did not accost you.” Memory of the pleasurable discomfort as his face was mashed between her lush breasts followed with startling—and potentially embarrassing—intensity, and he said in irritation, “It was you who pointed a gun at me.”

“Christ,” Graham muttered, “and you English call us barbarians.”

She snorted. “If you had not barged into my bedchambers, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“That was not my fault,” Erroll said. “Neither is this. I am not the one who plotted to have a man kidnapped.”

This time she didn’t blush. “Lord Halifax did not kidnap me because of that.”

“You are correct, madam. Your kidnapping is entirely my fault, but I plan to rectify that.” Erroll turned his attention to Halifax. “If the dear earl does not take up his pistol, I will publish in the London Times that he kidnapped and raped you. Then I will visit every club and hell in London and repeat the accusation.”

Halifax’s mouth twisted in rage. “That is a damned lie.”

Erroll shrugged. “Not for lack of trying on your part. I feel certain the tarnish to your reputation will never quite disappear, particularly if I avail myself of every opportunity to recount the story.”

“All right you Scottish bastard,” Halifax snarled. “You will have your duel, but instruct your kinsmen to let me go once I put a bullet through your heart.”

A collective gasp went up in the crowd.

“Wait,” Halifax’s second said. “Rushton—Erroll MacLean, your father is the Marquess of Rushton?”

“At your service,” Erroll said.

“It would seem we Scots are barbarians after all,” he said.

“But not barbarians who rape women.”

“Aye.” The man looked at Halifax. “His lordship is right. We cannot conduct a duel in the square. Move along.”

“Really, sir,” Eve Crenshaw said, “is getting shot twice in one week a good idea?”

Graham whooped. “By God, she is the woman who shot you?”

“News travels fast,” Erroll muttered, and wondered how quickly this newest turn of events would reach his father’s sharp ears.

“News like this does.” Graham laughed. “This outdoes even your reputation, MacLean.”

He was more right than Erroll liked. “Halifax—”

“Come now, Rushton,” he cut in. “The lady is unharmed. We are in Gretna where you can marry her and circumvent all gossip. Surely that is what you had in mind when you disappeared with her into the gardens at Lady Grendall’s party. Our tempers have cooled enough to see that it is best to part on good terms. If tomorrow you feel the same, as is the custom, have a letter sent round my way. You must admit, forcing a duel like this is highly irregular.”

“It is, indeed, highly irregular—for a gentleman to kidnap another man’s intended wife. But you mistake a cool head for a lack of conviction. The only thing that kept me from shooting you on sight is the fact I stopped you from doing Miss Crenshaw any real harm.” Erroll swung his gaze onto her. “I did succeed?” It hadn’t occurred to him that he might have stopped Halifax from raping her a second or third time. Maybe Halifax hadn’t waited as Erroll assumed.

“He did nothing more than tear my dress,” she said.

“That will suffice.” Erroll shifted his gaze back to the earl. “Now, Halifax.”

*****

The fear Eve saw in Lord Rushton’s eyes when he’d said “I did succeed?” was matched by the cold fury evident in the simple words, “Now, Halifax.”