Page 9 of By Any Other Name

Andrew gazed at him blankly.

“A sort of grayish stone church,” Gregory offered. “Has one of those pie-crust arches over the doorway. A few blocks north of here.”

“Oh, yes, I think I recall seeing it.”

“She told me a few other things, but I’m not sure they’re accurate.”

“You think she lied to you?” Andrew’s brows soared higher.

“It’s a distinct possibility. She’s twenty-two years old. And she said her father was a clergyman in some small town.”

“Good Gad!” Now Andrew’s eyebrows were in danger of reaching his hairline. “A yellow-headed termagant?”

“She is blond,” Gregory admitted, startled by the description. “Though I wouldn’t call her a termagant.”

“If it’s the clergyman’s blond daughter I know, she certainly is. Her name is Eleanor McIntyre, but I would not advise finding her, Greg. You’ll be disappointed.”

“I’m willing to risk it.”

“It’s clear you haven’t spent much time in her company. I’ll grant you, she’s a handsome female, but about as sweet an armful as a bouquet of thistles.”

“You seem to have a decided opinion about her.”

“I should say so. I’ve danced with her. The dancing was nice enough. But when I asked her to promenade around the room afterward, she spent the entire time lecturing me.”

“Lecturing! About what?”

“Easier to say what she didn’t lecture me about. The evils of gambling. The demons of alcohol. The plight of the poor. At another party, I made the mistake of asking her if she’d care to take a stroll along the gallery. She acted as though I’d proposed to seduce her. She went on about the wickedness of men scattering their illegitimate progeny all over. As if I’d ever produced a by-blow! She is the most rigid, straitlaced, rule-abiding, prudish woman it has ever been my misfortune to meet.”

“Perhaps we are talking about a different lady.” Gregory thought about the object of his pursuit and the way her mouth had yielded beneath his the night before. “I would not term her prudish.”

“I hope it is a different girl. Miss McIntyre is not the sort of woman any man would want to attach his affections to.”

“Still . . . I should like to meet her, just to make sure.”

Andrew stared at him. “Are you serious?”

“Yes. Can you introduce us?”

“I could. But that would mean I’d have to talk to her.”

Gregory chuckled. “Come, Andy, surely she cannot be that fearsome.”

“She scares the devil out of me.” Andrew heaved a great sigh. “But if you are determined to throw yourself into the fire, I imagine she’ll be at Lady Stewart’s Christmas ball this evening. It’s an enormous affair. I have an invitation.”

“Cousin, you are a true friend.”

“Hmph. Best save your thanks until after you’ve talked to her.”

Gregory left his cousin’s home in a far better mood than the one in which he had arrived. However little Andrew’s description matched the adventurous young woman Gregory had met, it seemed likely they were the same person. How many blond, twenty-two-year-old daughters of a country parson could be visiting Edinburgh?

Gregory ignored his cousin’s martyred air when he insisted on arriving at the party that evening at an unfashionably early time. The ball was, as Andrew had predicted, a crush. While Christmas remained an austere celebration in much of Scotland, Lady Stewart clearly had adopted a more English style. Boughs of fir decorated banisters and mantels, and fat red candles ringed by holly glowed on every available surface. Mistletoe dangled in doorways, ready to ensnare the unwary. Gregory thought of catching the girl he sought under one of the mistletoe balls, and he smiled.

Andrew announced his intention to seek the comforts of the host’s smoking room and the bowl of wassail that awaited there. Gregory, however, insisted on a tour of the party in search of Miss McIntyre. There was no sign of “Rolly.”

“She probably had enough sense not to come early,” Andrew opined. “I say we visit the wassail bowl. Everything will look brighter afterward.”

Gregory sighed and turned for a last look at the entrance to the ballroom. A woman and man had just stepped into the room. As they moved forward, the two young women behind them were framed in the wide doorway.