Free Highlander's Hope by Collette Cameron

idea of a joke. Ewan had used Yancy’s considerable connections to acquire the special license this morning, and Harcourt had been present when Ewan had asked for the favor.
    Blast and damn. There was nothing for it then. Scooting his chair back, Ewan rose to make the introductions. “Mrs. Pettigrove, Miss Stapleton, may I present His Grace, Rochester Lucan-Ashford, the Duke of Harcourt, and his lordship, Bartholomew Yancy, the Earl of Ramsbury and Secretary of War?”
    Ewan raised a brow at the men. “Your Grace, my lord, Mrs. Millicent Pettigrove and Miss Yvette Stapleton. You’re already acquainted with Mr. Carmichael.”
    He avoided addressing Yvette as his betrothed, intending to spare her some embarrassment. His two comrades were having none of it though. The men descended on her, like vultures on carrion. He had known they would, just to irritate him, but had hoped otherwise.
    The Duke raised her hand to his lips. “ Enchanté, Mademoiselle Stapleton. Sethwick’s a most fortunate man indeed. Alas, if only I’d met you first.”
    His dramatic sigh and the way he let his sentence trail off irritated Ewan. And he knew that was precisely why Harcourt had done it.
    Not to be outdone, Yancy made a leg. “Sethwick spoke of your beauty, but his humble words could not describe angelic perfection. ‘Tis no wonder he’s guarded your identity until now.”
    Ewan snorted in disgust at his friends’ flagrant goading. Yvette sent a curious look his direction. Unfamiliar heat crept up his neck and face. Blast and damn, now he was blushing.
    That Harcourt saw it was apparent from the sardonic grin twisting his lips.
    “ Won’t you join us?” Ewan grudgingly invited, his deliberate scowl belaying his words.
    “We’d love to, old chap,” sniggered Harcourt, looking to Yancy. “Wouldn’t we?”
    “Indeed, we would,” agreed Yancy, a smug smile on his lips.
    Ewan’s scowl deepened. So, they were going to ignore his hint, were they? It was his blasted fault. He’d given them this fuel when he’d rushed into Yancy’s office earlier, demanding a marriage license.
    Two chairs were brought forward from the corners of the room. Only Carmichael accepted the offer to dine. Harcourt and Yancy each took a seat, apparently intending an extended visit.
    Ewan eyed Carmichael’s swollen cheek and bruised face. He must have put up quite a fight to get those. At one time, Carmichael had been a professional pugilist.
    Mrs. Pettigrove, a smear of marmalade atop her upper lip, stopped eating to leer at each of the men in turn.
    Ewan surmised she had never dined with such an assortment of males, and her appetite for the opposite sex was taking precedence over her voracious appetite for food.
    “I say, Carmichael, what happened to your face?” Harcourt’s gaze slid to Ewan, then returned to Carmichael.
    “Yes, what did happen? I thought you had an assignment last night?” Why Carmichael hadn’t alerted him to Marquardt’s intrusion.
    His mouth full of food, Carmichael’s gaze swept the table. A flush stole across his battered face. He swallowed. “That’s why I sought you this morning. I was attacked while on watch.” He cast a hesitant glance in the women’s direction. “They knocked me out cold. I awoke in the alley next door.”
    “They?” Ewan frowned.
    Carmichael nodded, “Three,” before turning his attention to his plate once more.
    Ewan leaned against his chair and crossed his arms. His gaze skimmed Yvette. She seemed confused. She kept casting furtive peeks at Carmichael. When Ewan shifted his gaze away from her, he discovered Yancy staring at him with a mocking grin on his face. Harcourt was ogling Yvette.
    “Harcourt, when did you arrive in Town?” Ewan hoped to steer the conversation away from his engagement.
    Harcourt answered indifferently, his piercing eyes never leaving Yvette. “Only yestereve, if you must know.”
    Yancy shifted, then explained why the duke was in his company. “Harcourt arrived