Free Once Upon a Highland Autumn by Lecia Cornwall Page A

mother and onto him. Her jaw dropped, and her complexion turned from pink to ashen white. He realized he could have said it more gently, but it was done now.
    Margaret/Megan McNabb folded her arms over her chest and squinted at him. “And I would never marry him .”
    Oddly, it felt like the unkindest insult he’d ever received. “You would never—?” he spluttered. “I expected this to be a quiet supper, not an ambush.”
    “Then go,” she said. “We shall not detain you a moment longer.” She reached up and began to pluck the pins out of her hair, dislodging the roses too, and the thick dark waves tumbled over her shoulders.
    For an instant, Kit was speechless. He watched as she transformed from a passable debutant to a rare beauty. Her mother gasped. “What are you doing?” she asked. “Margaret, please—” But the pins scattered. Her color was high, her face radiant, her hair a glorious tangle. She looked like a woman who had just been bedded, or should be.
    “Megan, Mother. My name is Megan.” She said something more in Gaelic, something that made her mother and sister blush, and her aunt giggle. Kit had the feeling that he had just been insulted yet again. He felt his skin heat. He bowed stiffly.
    “I shall bid you goodnight,” he said. “It was a—” He paused. He could hardly say it had been a pleasure. “Thank you for inviting me, Lady Eleanor.”
    “Have you recalled a prior engagement, my lord?” Megan demanded tartly. “I wish her luck, poor lass.”
    He colored. “And here’s to your future husband, my lady,” he said, and drained his whisky in a single gulp. “I have no doubt he will need all the luck—and all the whisky—in the world.”
    He watched her jaw drop at the insult, wondered what had gotten into him. He had been brought up to be polite, solicitous, and chivalrous to women. An apology hovered on his lips, but the look of glittering fury on her face changed his mind. Lady Megan’s pretty eyes were dark now, almost black. “Go,” she said, and he read the word on her lips, even if he could not hear her over the countess’s desperate protestations.
    Kit turned on his heel and strode out. What right had she to be insulted? He was an earl, wealthy, handsome, and quite charming—usually. He waited for the sound of tears, or screams, but aside from the countess’s strident lecture, Megan McNabb said nothing more, as if he’d been dismissed and forgotten. As he waited for the butler to bring his hat, she came out of the drawing room, sent him a single scathing glance and proceeded up the stairs, her chin high, her movements elegant, as if he didn’t matter in the least. He watched the graceful sway of her hips until she disappeared, and winced as a distant door slammed.
    He turned to see Lady Eleanor watching her niece as well. “Pity you couldn’t stay for dinner, but understandable. I doubt I’ll get any dinner myself. I daresay there’ll be ruffled feathers to be soothed. I have qualms about breakfast, too.”
    “My apologies, Lady Fraser. I wasn’t expecting—”
    “Och, never mind. Hunting season is about to begin here in the Highlands. I have no doubt Devorguilla will find more biddable quarry to suit her purposes. Ah—here’s Graves at last. Well, it’s a small village, my lord. I daresay if you’re still planning to stay we’ll see you again before long,” Eleanor said.
    Graves’s expression remained bland as he opened the door, as if dinner guests left before the meal all the time—but if this is the way every gentleman was received, Kit was hardly surprised. Outside, his coach had been brought round, and he climbed in, pounded on the roof, and set off at a fast trot.
    He leaned back into the plush squabs as the castle disappeared from sight and the village lights twinkled in the distance. Once again, he had successfully avoided entanglement with a hopeful debutante and her scheming mama. Once again, he’d kept his freedom.
    He looked out into