Free Kathryn Caskie - [Royle Sisters 02] by How to Engage an Earl

MacTavish appeared in the doorway with the gentlemen callers, but stood silently, looking at Lady Upperton, then Aunt Prudence, and then at the Royle sisters.
    It was clear that the dyspeptic, ill-tempered Scotsman her penny-pinching sister Mary hadengaged as butler—also without a single reference—was unsure which of the ladies to address first. Then, much to Anne’s horror, she saw his lips move, and he seemed to silently say: Ah, sod it . “My ladies, the Earl of MacLaren, and the Viscount Apsley.”
    The women instantly came to their feet, with the exception of their great-aunt, of course, who continued to sleep.
     
    Bloody hell.
    Laird brought his glass to his mouth and tipped back the rest of his brandy. He and Apsley had endured the pleasantries for nearly half an hour, and not once had Lady Upperton, Miss Royle’s sponsor, left her side.
    It was time to put an end to this farce. Everyone in the room knew the truth of their betrothal anyway. It was time to act.
    “Miss Royle,” he blurted, somewhat louder than he meant. “I would have a word, please.”
    Lady Upperton inserted herself between him and the gel, but before she could manage a protesting word, he reached over the short older lady to Anne and drew her around to his side. “Please.”
    Elizabeth started forward, but Anne wavedher off. “’Tis all right. Really.” She looked up at Laird with those startling golden eyes, and for several brief seconds he quite literally forgot what he was about to say.
    “This way, my lord.” She led him into the passage, meaning certainly to take him to another room, but he stopped her there.
    “I have a plan,” he told her, trying to look confident that this would work and that she had nothing to fret. “One that will benefit us both, I assure you.”
    Miss Anne smiled, a true smile, then exhaled her great relief. “Oh, thank heavens, you’ve seen the reason in it.”
    “Reason in what?”
    “Why, my crying off, of course.”
    “Oh, that. Yes, I agree.”
    Miss Royle relaxed her delicate shoulders. “I am so relieved. You cannot possibly imagine.”
    Laird laid a vertical finger across her lips, quieting her. “Only you can’t cry off just yet.”
    She grasped his hand and pulled his finger away. “Oh. Then when? Friday? The Times is published on Saturday. I am sure the on-dit columnist would love to run the story of our short-lived plan to marry.”
    “You may cry off at the end of the season. I think that should be sufficient time.”
    “Season’s end?” Twin blossoms of pink bloomed on her suddenly anger-pinched face. “That is an impossibility, my lord. How many seasons do you think I have left before I am considered withered on the vine and too old to marry?”
    Laird shrugged, knowing any number he gave, any word he spoke just then, would only make her more agitated.
    “Well, I shall tell you, my lord. I haven’t one to spare! Not one, if I wish a good match in this lifetime.” She reached into the placket opening in her skirt, whisked out the betrothal ring she’d hidden there, and slapped it into his palm.
    He snatched up her hand and shoved the ring onto her finger once more. “I do apologize if this impedes your husband-hunting endeavors this season, but I am afraid you really do not have an option, Miss Royle.”
    “My, you are arrogant. Of course I have a choice. And I will not do it.” She turned her chin defiantly up at him.
    “Yes, you will.” He slipped his hand around her slim waist and hurried her to the front door.“Come, my dear. I have something to show you just outside. I think it might convince you otherwise.”
    Though she walked along with him easily enough, she struggled against his firm grip.
    Laird flung open the front door and gestured to his gleaming town carriage waiting on the street. “See for yourself, lass.” With a flick of his finger, Laird signaled the footman to open the cab door.
    “I vow that there is nothing that could possibly entice me to