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scrawny. We threw him back.”
    A laugh passed her lips before she could stop it. “I’ll grant you that the tale was perhaps a bit absurd,” she conceded, still grinning, “but surely you have similar tales about the Campbells.”
    â€œOh, aye.” He pulled out his pocket watch, clicked it open, and frowned down at it. “I’ll tell ye some of them when we meet fer luncheon tomorrow at … Where do ye like to eat luncheon?”
    Her favorite eatery in London was a small bakery just east of Bond Street, but it was likely to be stuffed with her friends and acquaintances. And perhaps Lord Delaveer, as well. “The Blue Lamb Inn on Ellis Street,” she said instead. No one she knew would be there, since it was owned by a distant relation of the MacDonalds. The Campbells hated them nearly as much as they did the MacLawrys. Aside from that, it was south of Mayfair, directly on the north bank of the Thames.
    He nodded. “Then I’ll see ye there at one o’clock tomorrow, Mary Campbell.”
    Before she could either affirm that or come to her senses and claim she had a previous engagement, he left the milliner’s and vanished back into the streets of Mayfair.
    For the first time Mary realized that there were three other ladies in the shop, and that all of them had to have seen her with Arran MacLawry. He wasn’t a man someone could set eyes on and not remember. How had these ladies escaped her notice? Yes, Arran was rather … compelling, but for goodness’ sake. If any of her friends or family discovered with whom she’d been conversing, especially after last night, she wouldn’t be able to go anywhere without an armed escort.
    She’d seen Arran’s sister on a handful of previous occasions, always from a distance, but that was how Rowena went about London—either with one of her brothers or an armed groom or footman or someone from their clan.
    Since her entire childhood had been arranged so she could avoid needing that sort of protection, to call it down on herself now would be worse than ending locked in a cell somewhere. The care her parents and grandfather had used in keeping her well away from Highland politics and Highland rivalries had always seemed ironic, because even back then she’d known that whoever married her would be doing so in order to raise and solidify their standing in clan Campbell, or to ally themselves with the clan. This was the first time she actually felt like she was in the middle of something. It was exciting, really—or it would have been, if she hadn’t known about Roderick MacAllister and that her future had already been decided.
    But at this moment it was more important that she figure out in how much trouble she could be from the other shoppers. The first woman, three or four years older than herself, she didn’t recognize at all. From her simple gown and very practical shoes she might well have been a lady’s maid, come to pick up a purchase made by her mistress.
    The second two were a mother and daughter, Mrs. John Evans and … oh, what was it? Flora? They attended some of the same parties, but she didn’t think they knew anything about her family’s politics. Thank goodness for that.
    Before any of them could notice her staring, she returned to her perusal of baubles, selecting two more hair ribbons she didn’t particularly need. There. Everything was as it should be, with no flirtatious encounters between rival clan members or any other such nonsense.
    â€œMy lady, do you truly wish to purchase the hat that … man favored?” Crawford asked, interrupting her thoughts.
    â€œI’m purchasing the hat I favored,” she countered, trying to gather her scattered thoughts. “It’s merely a happy coincidence for him that he liked it, as well.”
    â€œBut you’re meeting him for luncheon tomorrow. I mean to say…” The maid