The door shut again. Well, that was fine, then. He was dressed very respectably, if he said so himself. If the residents of Baxter House thought him too shabby, then they could go soak their heads. Coll wouldn’t have stayed standing here on the bloody front step.
The door opened once more. Amelia-Rose stepped outside, wearing an extremely proper blue bonnet that hid her sunshine hair and most of her face, and a pretty peach muslin gown that revealed a nice portion of her bosom. A blue shawl that matched the bonnet covered her shoulders. Abruptly Niall was grateful that Oscar had found him some English-style finery to wear, himself. She was a bonny lass, Amelia-Rose Baxter was. Damned bonny.
“Good morning,” he said, remembering his manners enough to incline his head.
She dipped a curtsy. “Mr. MacTaggert.”
“Niall, if ye please. My other brother’s a Mr. MacTaggert, too, and it’s confusing.”
Her mouth curved a little. “Niall, then. Let’s go meet your brother, shall we?”
“Aye. The—”
He stepped sideways as a second woman emerged from the doorway. This one was a giant, nearly six feet tall with coal-black hair scraped back into a bun that looked solid as iron. Her gown of green-and-brown muslin was nice, if plainer than Amelia-Rose’s, but the dress didn’t do her straight figure any favors.
“And who are ye?” he asked.
“I’m Miss Bansil. Miss Baxter’s companion.”
“Did we invite ye as well, then?”
“I cannot go anywhere with you unless Miss Bansil is present,” Amelia-Rose put in. “It would be scandalous to do otherwise.”
“Well, we dunnae want anything scandalous,” Niall returned dryly.
Coll’s almost-intended took a step toward the street, then stopped. “Where’s your carriage?”
Niall frowned. “Carriage? I rode my horse. Kelpie.”
She faced him. “So you think to carry the three of us on Kelpie?”
He tilted his head at her. Was she teasing at him, or was she genuinely annoyed? “I didnae think that far in advance at all,” he admitted.
“Ah.” Amelia-Rose turned around. “Hughes, have John saddle Mirabel and Daisy,” she told the butler. “And a mount for himself.”
“At once, Miss Baxter,” the vulture returned, and sent a footman back into the depths of the house.
“If I’d known we were forming a parade, I’d have brought drums and a piper,” Niall observed, taking Kelpie’s reins back from the waiting groom.
“That would b…” She trailed off, sending Miss Bansil a quick glance. “We’ll be down shortly,” Amelia-Rose amended, as she and the tower turned back to the house.
Niall was fairly certain she’d been about to say something witty. A shame she’d stopped herself. “What, are ye off to gather more people to ride with us?” He kept his expression cool, but beneath that he continued his long barrage of silent profanity at Coll. Neither of them had any real experience with escorting fashionable ladies to fashionable places, and this morning he’d clearly waded into the loch and found himself in waters well over his head.
“I’m not dressed to ride,” the blond lass returned, her tone amused, as if she’d never run across anyone who wouldn’t know that a horse gown was different from a carriage gown. “Wait by the stable if you don’t care to come inside.”
Well, no one had invited him inside, but he preferred the stable anyway. Horses, he understood. “Aye.”
The groom from whom he’d reclaimed Kelpie had vanished, so with the bay following close behind him he headed around the side of the house toward the strongest smell of hay, mud, and manure. Kelpie bumped him in the shoulder, and he shifted to let the gelding draw even with him.
“Dunnae ye complain,” he said, patting his mount on the neck. “Ye’ve had breakfast, at least. Coll’s likely at some tavern downing half a hog right now. I’d be happy with a bowl of cold porridge and a handful of wild berries.”
He had to ask the groom who’d be accompanying them how to find St. Alban’s Street, then had to fit that into the nearly blank mental map he was trying to put together in his head. It wouldn’t do to lead the lass into a dangerous part of Town, however much the idea of brawling with a Sassenach or two might appeal to him at the moment. Alone he reckoned he could manage just about anywhere, but evidently he was to lead an entire brigade today.
A dozen bruised-looking apples sat in a bucket by the stable door, and he snagged one when no one was looking. It was overripe and mealy, so after one bite he gave the rest of it to Kelpie. The bay wasn’t as particular as he was. If not for the sandwich Eloise had provided him last night he would likely have perished from hunger by now. The damned coffeehouse, if they ever reached it, had best be stocked with an entire roasted cow. A large one.
Mirabel turned out to be a spirited gray mare, which surprised him given the delicate lass meant to ride her. Amelia-Rose seemed very … breakable, even if her tongue had been a wee bit sharp last night. The companion’s horse, Daisy, on the other hand, slept through being saddled. Miss Baxter liked to ride, even if her companion didn’t. That boded well; Coll rode nearly every day, as did he. One thing in common was at least a beginning, even if Lord Glendarril meant to have as little as possible to do with his unwanted wife—if he ever reappeared to marry the lass.
The side door of Baxter House opened, and the two lasses emerged once more. The tall stick wore a plain brown riding habit, but as she stepped aside, something deep in Niall’s chest—and somewhere a bit lower—jolted. Amelia-Rose had donned a crimson riding habit that boasted little black buttons from her waist to her chin. Rather than being demure, though, the heavy material showed every curve above her waist, while the red skirt flowed around her hips and swirled against her legs as she walked.
And she was walking now. Good glory. For a dozen hard beats of his heart he envisioned her with her blond hair tumbled past her shoulders, her expression wide-eyed and breathless, and all those buttons broken open and scattered to the floor. Beneath his proper trousers, his cock jumped again.
He shook himself. Every time he set eyes on her, she pulled at him. Aye, he could admire a bonny lass; he wasn’t dead, after all. But he shouldn’t be admiring this one. He damned well shouldn’t be lusting after her. Amelia-Rose was Coll’s lass. Niall was there merely keeping the agreement open until his oldest brother came to his senses. Nothing more.
Of course if Coll got a look at her this morning, he might just propose on the spot. She was a lithe, sensuous goddess. The thing that troubled Niall most was the idea that Coll could marry such a lass and then decide to leave her behind in London. No, that wasn’t the thought that troubled him the most. But he refused to acknowledge the other one. It would serve nothing but damned bloody trouble.
“Let’s be off, shall we?” she said pertly, apparently unaware she’d nearly made him split his seams. “We shouldn’t keep Lord Glendarril waiting.”
Lord Glendarril was most likely somewhere sleeping off a large dinner and a woman, but that wasn’t for her to know. “Aye.”
He let the groom boost her up into the sidesaddle; until his brain caught up with his cock he wouldn’t be touching her. If he hadn’t been tired, hungry, and boasting a headache so grand that even his hair hurt, he wouldn’t have been imagining doing anything naked and sweaty with Amelia-Rose Baxter. And still somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that was a lie, too.
When everyone else was mounted he swung up on Kelpie and led the parade south and east. Lines of connected townhouses, broken up by small parks filled with more nannies and prams and bairns, gave way to fancy-looking shops, hotels, and gentlemen’s clubs.
The gray mare drew even with him. “Do you know where we’re going?” Amelia-Rose asked.
“More or less. I reckon ye’d inform me if I make a wrong turn.”
“Certainly. We’re a bit too far south at the moment, but this is the less complicated route.”