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learning of his dire straits. What rotten luck, that the bonny Megan had married his aunt’s relative. Then again, if she hadn’t, he likely would never have found her again.
    That he had found her changed his plans somewhat, well, completely, actually. He wasn’t going to be looking for a wife now, at least, not until he’d given it his best effort to win Megan away from her duke. If he could accomplish that, then he’d just have to find some other way to rectify the family fortune, though faith, he still couldn’t think of another way to do that just yet.
    Megan—he’d actually found her and she was as beautiful as he remembered, more so, if that was possible. And just as feisty, he thought fondly. The irony was uncanny, though, that his quest for a wife should lead him to her. Aye, she was meant for him, not for the Englishman. Hejust had to convince her of that, and he meant to do that very thing.
    “My sister and I have come up with quite a few possible heiresses for you to consider, m’boy,” Margaret was continuing, unaware of his decision. “In fact, we’re lucky enough to have one of them arriving here anytime now for a protracted stay. In search of a husband herself, don’t you know. A rich earl’s daughter, she is. You can’t do much better there. Her dowry’s rumored to be immense, and includes several prime properties.”
    Lachlan nodded, because he couldn’t very well tell her that his plans had changed, that he was no longer interested in any heiresses. He’d be banished from Sherring Cross if he did. Also, he still needed her help so that he could stay here, because he certainly couldn’t see himself appealing to Megan’s husband to let him stay so he could seduce his wife. That really wouldn’t go over well at all.
    So he said, “She sounds ideal, Aunt Margaret. You’ll have tae be introducing me tae her when she does arrive—that is, if I’m no’ on my way back tae the Highlands afore then, which seems more likely the case now,” he ended with a sigh.
    She leaned over to pat his hand. “Don’t you worry about that now. Our Dev would never be so churlish as to give you the boot just for some little misunderstanding that occurred ages ago. In fact, I will go and speak with him now, just to put your mind at ease. So do make yourself at home, Lachlan, m’boy, you’ll be staying.”

6
    “H e’s not staying, and that’s final!”
    It wasn’t the first time Devlin had said that in the last few hours, but no one seemed to be paying any attention to him—at least on that subject.
    Megan had been the first to find him and inform him who his aunt’s Scottish relative was, and she had left him to mull over what rotten luck that turned out to be. Then Margaret had shown up in his study to drop some ridiculous tale of woe in his lap, explaining that the Highlander had actually been robbed of his inheritance, and so had turned to reaving merely as a means to keep kith and kin together.
    A stepmother absconding with the family jewels, as it were, and completely disappearing? Not bloody likely. More likely it was a tale the Scot had come up with because he knew it would stir the sympathies of their mutual aunt, and other such gullible ladies. But now even Megan was changing her tune, when she had at first seemedhighly indignant that Lachlan MacGregor was under her roof.
    They were in the parlor where the household usually gathered before dinner. His grandmother and her sister, Margaret, had their heads together on the sofa, speaking so softly their voices wouldn’t carry to Devlin and Megan, who stood by the fireplace. Lord Wright, who had come up from London to purchase one of Sherring Cross’s prize thoroughbreds and so was staying the night, was speaking with Lady Kimberly about the weather, of all mundane topics. Too bad he was in his fifties and already married, because he showed a marked interest in the lady.
    At least the subject under discussion had the decency to not make an