Free Bridegroom Wore Plaid by Grace Burrowes Page B

discomposed.”
    Illumination flared in Ian’s brain. Pride he could understand. Genie saw Gil more as a henchman, perhaps, and that was why she’d allowed him to aid her while Ian stood around, surreptitiously stuffing his plain handkerchief back in his pocket.
    “I bungled that,” he said. “We’d just started a real conversation, and I damned near dropped her on her head. Beg pardon for my language.”
    He felt a shiver go through Miss Augusta. Perhaps he’d shocked her.
    Another shivery little tremble, and then he heard her snort.
    “You’re laughing at me, Miss Augusta Merrick. A belted earl on his own demesne, and I am an object of ridicule.”
    “You are pouting ,” she said, letting her mirth become audible. “A great, grand, strapping, handsome man, complete with title, gorgeous green eyes, and loyal minions, and you’re pouting because your younger brother stepped into the breach.”
    “Was her ankle really turned?” He’d been too much a gentleman to inspect it himself. Hadn’t even felt an inclination to peek with his gorgeous green eyes, truth be known.
    “Oh, yes. There’s a lovely bruise rising right below her ankle. She wasn’t bamming us, my lord. But if she had been, perhaps it would have been a ploy to find aid and comfort in your arms, had you but offered.”
    Had he but offered ? When the lady was cuddled in Gil’s embrace as if a dragon were in pursuit of her virtue? “Let’s find the others. My sister is loose without supervision in the company of a guest far too much a gentleman for his own good.”
    Augusta kept up easily with Ian’s stride. “Matthew is a gentleman, you know. He won’t take liberties with your sister unless invited to do so, widow or not, Englishman or not.”
    “It isn’t my sister I’m worried about.”
    ***
    Augusta closed the door to her bedroom, leaned against it, and smiled broadly.
    Wasn’t it lovely, to go striding through the woods with a handsome man at her side, one who apparently enjoyed his own property and wasn’t bound by the notion that a lady must mince about, clinging helplessly to his arm.
    Though she had clung, just a little. How easily Ian had lifted Genie into his arms. How adorable he’d looked, standing by, wanting to help but letting his brother be the one to aid the lady.
    Augusta glanced around at the plaid decor surrounding her and decided Scotland was good for her. The MacGregors were good for her, getting her out in company, providing her handsome escorts, putting hearty fare before her at meals… Augusta tried to recall why she’d been so reluctant to join this family journey in the first place.
    Uncle Willard hadn’t urged her to come, but Aunt had—had insisted in fact, and Augusta had sought desperately for some sign from her uncle that he was willing to spend the coin to bring her along. He’d been particularly unforthcoming, his silences considering and unnerving. Julia had asked for her assistance, though, because two girls with one chaperone would always have to be in company, and such an arrangement was not conducive to fostering a betrothal.
    Augusta was pleased to see a tea service waiting for her on the escritoire by the windows. The earl’s staff was very thoughtful. She must compliment Lady Mary Frances on this, and find a way to do it that wouldn’t offend the woman’s pride.
    Mary Fran was also making an effort to bring Matthew out of the grim mood he’d brought back with him from the Crimea. Uncle had prevailed on Matthew to come home before the official fighting was underway, though everybody spoke of war as if it were inevitable.
    Matthew had been smiling at Mary Fran as they’d all wandered back to the house—all save Con and Julia, who’d gotten off to God knew where—and Matthew’s smile had been more like the easy, charming smile he’d sported to such advantage as a younger man.
    All in all, it had been a wonderful outing. Augusta sat on her big, fluffy bed and bent to unlace her old