Page 107 of What a Highlander’s Got to Do

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The Duchess of Moncrieff outdid herself on the betrothal ball. Of course, she’d had a lot of help. Isobel’s mother, her aunts, and all of the duchess’s close friends had conspired to make this the event of the Season.

And judging from the responses to the invitations, everyone who was anyone was coming.

But Isobel wasn’t fooled. She knew the ton planned to come so they could get a good look at the girl who had stolen their viscount away.

She was thoroughly expecting the evening to be a circus of the highest order, but she was willing to tolerate it for Nick’s sake. And that of his mother, for whom she had developed a great fondness. The duchess had taken her under her wing and treated her as though she were already a treasured daughter.

Which hardly caused any guilt at all, if Isobel didn’t think about it.

But truly, she’d never expected the lengths to which Kaitlin would go to make her feel a part of the family. As she entered the ballroom that night, her breath caught. The walls were swathed in plaid, in a combination of the Sinclair blue and the MacAllister red. A re-creation of her family crest held the place of honor over the hearth. And all the members of the string quintet were kilted.

As was the duke. He bowed over her hand as she was presented to him in the receiving line.

“Ah, Isobel,” he said with a warm glint in his eye. “You look lovely tonight.”

“Nonsense, Edward,” his wife said, giving Isobel a hug. “She looks lovely every night.”

While the duke and duchess turned their attention to the rest of Isobel’s party, she hugged Sorcha and moved on to . . .

Oh.

Her heart thudded as she laid eyes on him.

Had there ever been such a glorious specimen of a man?

And while his father wore the MacAllister colors, in honor of his wife, Nick was outfitted in a Sinclair kilt.

She wasn’t sure if he fully understood what a statement that made.

Surely he didn’t realize how it touched her.

“Isobel.” He smiled at her with such heat, she couldn’t look away. When he took her hand, she didn’t want to take it back.

She would have stood there all night, staring at him, if Mama hadn’t given her a nudge.

“You have all night, dear,” she said sotto voce. Then she took Isobel’s arm and led her to the top of the stairs that flowed into the ballroom proper.

As the butler announced her, silence fell. All heads turned her way.

Heat crawled up her cheeks. A touch of trepidation skirled thorough her belly.

But then Ellie Tully, who was standing by the stairs with Robert and Declan—who were also wearing kilts, of the Granger clan—waved and then sprinted up the stairs to her side.

“You’re here,” she gusted, and with a glance at Isobel’s mother, she commandeered Isobel’s arm and guided her to the clutch of friends awaiting her.

They had all been waiting there, just for this. To welcome her and make her feel at home.

It was a lovely gesture.

“Ach,” Declan said with a bow. “Aren’t you a pretty lass?”

She proffered a curtsy. “Thank you, Declan.”

“We’ve been ordered to escort you until The Third has finished with the receiving line,” Robert said with a wink.

“We’d better get our dances in now,” Declan murmured. “Nae doubt once The Third is free, he won’t let you out of his sight.”