The Devil Wears Kilts by Suzanne Enoch Read Free Book Online

being in total agreement with everything you utter, I suppose? And for your information, an argument does not equate a wish to brawl,” she said stiffly, picking up her pace.
    “Where I come from, it does. If ye question a man’s judgment in caring for his own, ye’re like to meet his fist. If ye’re a man to begin with, that is. I’d nae strike a woman.”
    “What a relief,” she returned sarcastically. “A fight is the resort of those who can’t sensibly and logically defend their position with words. It’s for prideful braggarts and bullies who think only of themselves.”
    “Words dunnae win battles, lass.”
    Evidently he enjoyed an argument as well, whether he’d admit to it or not, since he persisted in countering everything she said. Goodness, he had no manners at all. “No, Lord Glengask. Words prevent battles—or brawls, or duels—from beginning in the first place.”
    “Hm.”
    She glanced up at him again. He could disagree with her, of course, even though his philosophy of battle before compromise was clearly wrong. But dismissing her—her argument—as insignificant, was not acceptable. “That’s your response?” she said aloud.
    “My response is that I cannae argue the reasons I’m willing to fight. Nae to someone who’s never met a cause worth fighting for, lass. Ye’re English; I cannae expect ye to understand.”
    That rather made her want to yell and stomp her feet, but luckily they arrived at the dress shop before she could conjure an appropriate retort. No wonder the Scots had such a reputation for savagery and barbarism. The men, at the least, were clearly lunatics.
    Winnie went directly to the skeins of rich, jewel-colored fabric, which would never do for Almack’s. “A debutante must wear white,” Charlotte said, turning her back to the hot-blooded mountain and nodding as the dressmaker herself appeared from the back of the shop. “Mrs. Arven, we require an Almack’s gown for Lady Rowena here. Would you show her some appropriate material?”
    “Oh, certainly, my lady. This way, Lady Rowena, Lady Jane,” Mrs. Arven replied, somehow managing to clap her hands together, curtsy, and walk all at the same time.
    The massive dogs stood in the corner where the marquis had ordered them to go, their muzzles wrinkled as if they couldn’t puzzle out the scent of perfume and freshly laundered cloth. The two guards or grooms or whatever they were looked nearly as out of place in the small, feminine shop, and even more so when a chattering quartet of young ladies and a glowering mama crowded inside, as well. The Marquis of Glengask, barely dressed for polite company, wasn’t much better suited, and he was even more difficult to overlook.
    “Lady Charlotte Hanover, isn’t it?” the mama said, pushing past her brood to walk closer and offer her hand.
    Charlotte looked at her more closely, not easy to do considering the woman’s enormous green hat. “Lady Breckett,” she returned, putting on a smile. “And this must be Miss Florence.”
    The round brunette with the freckled nose tore her gaze from Glengask and giggled. “I am. And these are my cousins, Elizabeth, Victoria, and Lucille Hunsacker.”
    “Ladies.”
    “Is Lady Jane selecting a gown for Almack’s?” Lady Breckett asked, joining her daughter in glancing past Charlotte at the hard, shadowed mountain in the corner. She should likely introduce him, but abruptly she didn’t want to.
    She told herself that her reluctance was entirely logical. All she needed was to begin tongues wagging that she traveled in the company of Scottish brutes and devils. Heaven forfend if he began a brawl with the fainthearted Lady Breckett. Or even an argument.
    “Jane has hers already,” Charlotte said aloud. “My mother is also sponsoring a dear family friend. Are you attending the assembly this Wednesday, Miss Florence?”
    “Oh, yes.” Florence bounced on her toes. “I’ve been practicing every dance, and most especially the