One Hot Scot by Suzanne Enoch Page B

and angry.
    “It was our understanding that you sent Lady Rowena to us for her Season,” Charlotte’s father stated. From his tight expression he was furious, and that didn’t surprise her at all. People—much less bellowing blue-eyed devil Scotsmen—did not barge into proper households such as theirs unannounced. Ever.
    “Because ye wouldnae think twice over sending a young lass into a foreign land with no advance word. Or is it only a Scotsman ye’d believe would do such a mad thing?”
    “She told us you’d sent her here,” Charlotte put in.
    The Marquis of Glengask turned around to face her. “She told an idiot lie and ye believed it. Now get out of m’way, lass, and we’ll be away from this damned place.”
    Rowena had called her brother a beast, and Charlotte saw nothing to contradict that assessment. And she did not like men who thought with their fists and large muscles. Not any more than she liked being called a lass and dismissed—twice now—as something no more significant than a flea. She squared her shoulders. “I am Lady Charlotte Hanover, and you will address me properly, sir. Furthermore, until we are assured that your sister is safe in your company, she isn’t going anywhere.”
    “Charlotte!” her mother hissed.
    Yes, her family would more than likely simply be relieved to have this disruption gone from the house. But this was not the way anyone remotely civilized conducted business, or anything else. She refused to look away from his gaze, though he was clearly expecting her to do so.
    “Well then, Lady Charlotte,” he said succinctly, exaggerating the roll of the R in her name, “I don’t suppose MacLawry family business is any of yers. I ordered my sister to remain at home, and she didnae. I am therefore here to bring her back where she belongs. As I’ve clearly offended ye, I’ll be waiting outside. Happily.”
    He took a step closer, lifting an artfully curved eyebrow as he did so. Obviously he was giving her the choice between stepping aside or being bodily lifted out of the way yet again. She elevated her chin to keep her gaze squarely on his. “Your sister traveled a very great distance on her own and against your wishes, then, Lord Glengask. It seems to me that she wants very badly either to be in London, or to be away from you. I do not take you for someone who is crossed lightly.”
    The eyebrow dove with its twin into a scowl. “It seems to me that this is still none of yer affair.” He sent a glance at her father, who still stood in front of his chair and looked as though he’d rather be in the House of Lords discussing taxes. “Do ye allow yer women to speak for ye, then?”
    Lord Hest cleared his throat. “My daughter is correct, Glengask. You’ve stormed, clearly enraged, into a proper household and continue to behave like a bedlamite and a devil. It would be irresponsible of me to release Lady Rowena into your care without knowing her feelings and without some assurance of her well-being.”
    “‘Her well-being’?” Glengask repeated darkly. “How would ye respond, then, if Lady Charlotte here fled without a word and then when ye ran her down some foreign stranger refused to return her to ye?”
    “Firstly, I would hope I never gave my daughter—either of my daughters—cause to flee their own home. And secondly, we are hardly foreign here. Nor are we precisely strangers, as your mother and my wife were the dearest of friends.”
    “You somehow knew to come here to find Winnie,” Charlotte added, before the marquis could begin an argument over the degree of their acquaintance. The man seemed to have an argument for everything, after all. “Clearly we are not unknown to you. Nor you to us.”
    “Ye’ll have to keep me locked away forever and ever.” Rowena’s unsteady voice came from directly behind Charlotte. A moment later shaking fingers gripped hers. “I only want to see London.”
    “And so now ye’ve seen it.” Glengask looked from his