Read Online Virtue and Valor: Highland Heather Romancing a Scot Series by Collette Cameron - Free Book Online

her from disputing the arranged game.
    The woman approaching was nothing short of exquisite, yet he almost missed the disheveled sprite from the stables. Who was the real Isobel? This composed perfection waiting to take her seat, or the free-spirited, dust-covered girl lying beneath him and tickling his sides in the stable?
    Silverware clattering drew his attention to the other side of the table.
    One hand fisted beside his plate, Ross’s gaze narrowed as Isobel gracefully made her way across the room. Interesting and annoying. Was everyone not kin to Isobel enamored of her?
    Yancy didn’t pretend he wasn’t delighted she’d be seated next to him. He offered Ross a sideways smile, just short of gloating. Determined to be his most charming self, Yancy intended to woo Isobel into regarding him more favorably, despite their shabby start earlier.
    She avoided meeting his eyes and slid onto the chair.
    “Thank you.”
    “Your gown is most becoming, Miss Ferguson.” Yancy pushed her chair in.
    “It’s kind of you to say so.”
    He caught a whiff of her heady perfume. His damned body reacted predictably. Sporting an obvious bulge in his pantaloons, he hastily sought his seat.
    He was worse than a buck in the rut around her, and he shouldn’t be. He was no wet behind the ears milksop pursuing his first conquest. That had been Julia. The thought of her doused his ardor faster than icy water separated fighting dogs.
    “I am looking forward to the chess game.” Harcourt helped himself to a generous portion of meat before selecting two kinds of cheese to add to his full plate.
    Isobel made an odd noise and took a quick sip of her wine.
    Harcourt peered around the huge hall. “Are we to watch the match in here?”
    Yancy shot him a quelling glance.
    “No, Your Grace. The chess set is in the parlor. It’s quite old. The game belonged to Ewan’s great-great grandfather.” Isobel took another sip of wine then set about filling her plate. “And I assure you, the match will not be worthy of an audience. I shouldn’t want to bore you or the others. No one need feel obliged to attend.”
    “On the contrary, I am certain the contest will prove highly diverting. I’m quite looking forward to it.” Harcourt perused the diners. “As is everyone else, I’m sure.”
    “I know I am.” Yancy smiled, pretending not to see the troubled look Isobel sliced him.
    “ Aye .” Dugall nodded, sending a shock of black hair over his forehead. “Me sister’s trounced me every time I play her.”
    “I distinctly recall Yancy beating me soundly at Oxford.” Sethwick paused in buttering a piece of bread. “And I’ve never seen Isobel lose. It should be a spectacular display.”
    “I’ll say,” Yancy muttered beneath his breath. He swallowed an oath as sudden pain lanced the back of his hand resting on his thigh.
    His gaze leaped to Isobel.
    She blinked at him, an innocent smile framing her lush lips.
    By George, the vixen had pinched him. Hard. In an hour, he would have a bruise to prove it.
    Alasdair reached behind his mother sitting between her sons. He prodded Gregor’s shoulder. “Ye want to lay odds on who wins?”
    Nodding, Gregor stuffed half of a pickled egg into his mouth. Chomping happily, he wagged his eyebrows at Ross.
    Ross’s lips thinned further, and he sneaked a covert glance Isobel’s way.
    Yancy’s estimation of the dour Scot plunged farther south.
    “You’ll do no such thing.” Though she smiled, Lady Ferguson’s voice was firm.
    “Really, you two.” Kitta’s vexed gaze moved between her sons. “Must you compete over everything?”
    “ Aye , Mother.” Alasdair shook his shaggy head and grinned. “Since we shared your womb and the great lummox forced his way out first.”
    Yancy’s amusement faded.
    He’d bantered like that with Randolph, his older brother, before the Peninsular War had robbed Yancy of his best friend seven years ago. Now, he made do with Harcourt and the other rogues’ antics.