Mad About the Marquess (Highland Brides Book 2) Read Online Free PDF Page A

manure you’ve been spreading around?”
    Oh ruddy, bloody hell. Clearly, Lady Winthrop remembered the old scandal full well.
    Alasdair had to call upon all his politician’s tact. “Just a metaphor for my rather execrable attempt at matching young Lady Quince’s wit.”
    Lady Winthrop’s look—all high brows and inquiring eyes—showed her astonishment. “You were attempting to match wits with Quince? And how, pray tell, did you get on? Though you don’t look like you’re bleeding about the face and ears like the rest of them. Dare I hope you held your own?”
    Alasdair was so astonished, he gave her the truth. “I haven’t the faintest idea.”
    “Yes, her style of conversation, to use a polite phrase, is rather a bit too…acrobatic. But you don’t look the worse for wear.” Lady Winthrop gave him a consoling pat on the shoulder. “Well done, you.”
    “I don’t know how well done it was, but I can tell you that lass of yours is wasted in Edinburgh. She’d take Parliament by storm if she unleashed that acrobatic, agile mind of hers in serious debate.”
    “Would she?” Her ladyship’s brows rose, though her gracious smile never faltered. “Pray don’t tell her that, or you’ll have a petition for ladies’ suffrage on your hands. But what an interesting assessment of my daughter’s character, my lord.”
    Oh, devil take him. Now she thought he was, as Quince had said, serious .
    “I’m sure she’s a lovely enough lass.” Alasdair was anxious to change the topic, and save himself from any further scrutiny. “And how is Lady Linnea these days, ma’am?”
    “Ah.” Lady Winthrop was kind enough to turn the conversation his way. “Well, I thank you. She is Lady Powersby, now, and the mother of two rambunctious children. Their Aunt Quince is therefore a favorite of theirs.”
    Of course she was. Like attracted like.  
    Alasdair forbade himself from smiling. “Lady Powersby is to be congratulated.”
    The lady’s mother nodded in acknowledgment. “I will give her your greeting, my lord.”
    “Thank you, Lady Winthrop. Please do.”
    The lady again nodded cordially, but there was still something of her youngest daughter’s straightforwardness to her gaze. “Your attentions to my youngest daughter have been noted, my lord. I do not say so entirely to censure—as I have heard nothing but good of you these past years—but to warn. Quince likes to…” She searched again for an appropriate word for her blithe youngest daughter. “…stir the pot. And I should think you would prefer not to have your particular pot stirred.”
    “Indeed, ma’am.” He had been duly warned off—for his own good, as well as her daughter’s. “Just as you say, my lady.”
    “Thank you, my lord.” She inclined her head cordially. “I bid you good evening.”
    “Good evening, ma’am.” Alasdair bowed deeply, and as soon as Lady Winthrop had disappeared into the crush, he made for the card room where he knew a good drink—meaning a decent, large glass of brandy—could be had.
      But there in the doorway to the card room, absentmindedly patting down his coat pockets, was the Honorable Fergus McElmore.
    “What ho, Fergus my lad,” Alasdair greeted his acquaintance. “Misplaced something, have you?”
    “Hello, auld mon.” Fergus McElmore returned the greeting. “I say, Alasdair, have ye seen my auld snuffbox? That one of my father’s? Damned if I haven’t misplaced it somewhere again . ”
    Perhaps wee Quince Winthrop had the right of it. Perhaps the thefts he had pledged himself to end were nothing but the product of whisky and forgetfulness. “Do that often, do you, Fergus?”
    Fergus reddened enough for his cheeks to match his nose. “More than I ought.”
    “Well, lad, you’re in luck this evening, because as a matter of rare fact, I have seen your snuffbox. Right this way.” Alasdair led Fergus toward the spot where he had begun his wordplay with the intriguing and infuriating Lady