A few nervous chuckles rippled through the gathering. They seemed to truly believe he was some kind of wild Highlander. Perhaps there was some advantage in letting them think so.
Haverson’s tone sharpened. “Scotland must be quite charming this season, yet you chose to grace us with your presence here. Though, I suppose the Highlands are still plagued by melancholy, bandits, and if rumors serve, the occasional bear.”
Alasdair’s eyes gleamed. “The bears ken their manners better than some of the folk I’ve met here.”
Laughter burst forth, sharp and knowing. Lord Mayham, a portly viscount, attempted to steer the conversation elsewhere, but Haverson’s jab wasn’t finished.
“And I dare say you’re no stranger to scandal yourself. Word is your cousin’s divorce has made quite the stir.”
Alasdair’s temper flared, his brogue thickening. “Aye, but I hear tell of yer uncle’s debts, my lord. So foul he fled to the Continent wearin’ naught but his nightshirt! The difference between you and me, Haverson, is that I couldnae give a damn about whatfolk say. We can swap tales of family disgrace till the cock crows, if ye’ve the stamina.”
The air thickened with tension.
“And that, gentlemen, is our cue to depart. Seems he’s making friends again,” Seth declared, shaking his head as he clapped a hand on Alasdair’s shoulder.
“Ye ken I dinnae come here for pissing contests, Seth,” Alasdair muttered.
“Aye, but they came for just that, and I’m here to save you the trouble,” his friend retorted.
Alasdair knew Seth was right. With his temper, it would be far too easy to give in to their provocation. Better to slip away.
They wove through the glittering throng toward the refreshment tables. Aye, a moment’s respite with a drink in hand. That was what he needed.
But no sooner had they arrived than Seth was swept up into a lively conversation with a cluster of young matrons. Their laughter tinkled like crystal as they peppered him with questions, eyes bright with curiosity and amusement.
Alasdair hung back, hoping for some peace, but it wasn’t long before a small crowd of debutantes and their mothers closed in around him.
The worst combination of all.
They eyed him like a rare trophy, smiles fixed and eyes sparkling with all the eager intent of those determined to appear clever.
“Your Grace, is it true your estate has bears roaming about freely?” one girl asked, her voice pitched high with barely concealed excitement.
“Can you actually speak proper English, Your Grace? Do say something so we may hear,” another challenged, leaning forward with a teasing smile.
A younger debutante cooed, “He has such a lovely accent.”
“And do all Scots really have to wear kilts to dinner? What happens if it’s freezing outside, Your Grace?” piped up a third, eyes wide with innocent—or not so innocent—curiosity.
Alasdair’s patience frayed like an old rope. This wasn’t overwhelm; it was irritation wrapped in silk and smiles. Whenever the questions came, whether Seth was near or not, his reply often took a sarcastic edge.
“Aye, an’ we tear haggis with our bare hands while dancin’ roun’ the fire like savages, eh?” Alasdair quipped, voice low but dripping with dry wit.
Some laughed, others blinked, unsure whether he was jesting or serious.
“So romantic, though,” a young debutante whispered, fanning herself with exaggerated flair. “So wild.”
That was all he needed to hear. While the unmarried men his age made no secret of their disdain, the women, young and old alike, were ready to accept any tale about him. They could paint him as a savage who couldn’t speak proper English yet still consider him a suitable match because of his title.
He wasn’t naive enough to believe otherwise.
Alasdair’s patience had worn thin. He wasn’t suffocated; he was done. Done with the endless pretense, the backhanded compliments, the shallow curiosity disguised as interest.
“I’ll take my leave,” he said smoothly, voice calm but final, excusing himself with an air that brooked no argument.
The murmurs that followed betrayed surprise, some thinking him abrupt, others quietly annoyed at losing their chance.
“He’s leaving already?”