Gretna Greene

– Sniff--'I'm not going to cry.'

He opened his eyes. 'Jesus, whiskey, and Robert the Bruce,' he muttered. She certainly looked as if she were going to cry. He cleared his throat. 'Are you certain?'

She nodded, once, but firmly. 'I never cry.'

He breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief. 'Good, because I never know what to do when-oh, blast, you're crying.'

'No. I'm. Not.' Each word came out like its own little sentence, punctuated by loud gasps for air.

'Stop,' he begged, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. Nothing made him feel more like an incompetent, awkward clod than a woman's tears. Worse, he was fairly certain this woman hadn't cried in over a decade. And even worse, he was the cause.

'All I wanted to do-' she gasped. 'All I wanted to do-'

'Was…?' he prompted, desperate to keep her talking- anything to keep her from crying.

'Stop my brother.' She took a deep, shuddering sigh and flopped onto the bed. 'I know what's best for him. I know that sounds condescending, but I really do. I've been caring for him since I was seventeen.'

Angus crossed the room and sat down next to her, but not so close as to make her nervous. 'Have you?' he asked softly. He'd known from the moment she'd kneed that man in the groin that she was no ordinary woman, but he was coming to realize that she was more than a stubborn temper and a quick wit. Margaret Pennypacker cared deeply, was loyal to a fault, and would lay down her own life for those she loved without even a second's hesitation.

The realization made him smile wryly-and at the same time terrified him to the core. Because in terms of loyalty, caring, and devotion to family, Margaret Pennypacker might have been a female version of himself. And Angus had never before met a woman who matched those standards he held for himself.

And now that he had-well, what was he to do with her?

She interrupted his thoughts with a very loud sniffle. 'Are you listening to me?'

'Your brother,' he prompted.

She nodded and took a deep breath. Then she suddenly looked up from her lap and turned her gaze on him. 'I'm not going to cry.'

He patted her shoulder. 'Of course not.'

'If he marries one of those awful girls, his life will be ruined forever.'

'Are you certain?' Angus asked gently. Sisters had a way of thinking they knew best.

'One of them doesn't even know the entire alphabet!'

He made a sound that came out rather like 'Eeee,' and his head recoiled slightly in commiseration. 'That is bad.'

She nodded again, this time with more vigor. 'Do you see? Do you see what I mean?'

'How old is your brother?'

'He's only eighteen.'

Angus let out a whoosh of air. 'You're right, then. He has no idea what he's doing. No boy of eighteen does. Come to think of it, no girl of eighteen does, either.'

Margaret nodded her agreement. 'Is that how old your sister is? What's her name? Anne?'

'Yes, on both counts.'

'Why are you chasing after her? What did she do?'

'Ran off to London.'

'By herself?' Margaret asked, clearly aghast with horror.

Angus looked over at her with a bemused expression. 'Might I remind you that you ran off to Scotland by yourself?'

'Well, yes,' she sputtered, 'but it's entirely different. London is… London.'

'As it happens, she's not entirely by herself. She stole my carriage and three of my best servants, one of whom is a former pugilist, which is the only reason I'm not terrified out of my skull right now.'

'But what does she plan to do?'

'Throw herself upon the mercy of my great-aunt.' He shrugged. 'Anne wants a Season.'

'And is there a reason she cannot have one?'

Angus's expression grew stern. 'I told her she could have one next year. We have been renovating our home, and I'm far too busy to drop everything and head to London.'

'Ah.'

His hands went to his hips. 'What do you mean, ah?'

She moved her hands in a gesture that was somehow self-deprecating and all-knowing, all at once. 'Just that it seems to me that you are putting your needs before hers.'

'I am doing no such thing! There is no reason she cannot wait a year. You, yourself, agreed that eighteen- year-olds know nothing.'

'You're probably right,' she concurred, 'but it's different for men and for women.'

His face moved a fraction of an inch closer to hers. 'Would you care to explain how?'

'I suppose it's true that eighteen-year-old girls know nothing. But eighteen-year-old boys know less than nothing.'

To her great surprise, Angus started to laugh, falling back upon the bed and shaking the mattress with his chuckles. 'Oh, I should be insulted,' he gasped, 'but I fear you're right.'

'I know I'm right!' she retorted, a smile sneaking across her face.

'Oh, dear Lord,' he sighed. 'What a night. What a sorry, miserable, wonderful night.'

Margaret's head snapped up at his words. What did he mean by that? 'Yes, I know,' she said-just a touch hesitantly, since she wasn't quite sure what she was agreeing with. 'It's a muck. What are we to do?'

'Join forces, I suppose, and look for both of our errant siblings at once. And as for tonight, I can sleep on the floor.'

A tension that Margaret hadn't even realized she was carrying slid right out of her. 'Thank you,' she said with great feeling. 'I appreciate your generosity.'

He sat up. 'And you, my dear Margaret, are going to have to enjoy the life of an actress. At least for a day.'

An actress? Didn't they run about half-dressed and take lovers? Margaret caught her breath, feeling her cheeks-and a rather lot of other bits-grow warm. 'What do you mean?' she asked, horrified by how breathy she sounded.

'Merely that if you want to eat tonight-and I'm fairly certain there will be more than haggis on the menu, so you may breathe easier in that respect-then you will have to pretend to be Lady Angus Greene.'

She frowned.

'And,' he added with a roll of his eyes, 'you're going to have to pretend that the position is not quite so disagreeable. After all, we did manage to get you with child. We can't dislike each other so very much.'

Margaret blushed. 'If you don't stop talking about that infernal nonexistent baby, I swear I shall close the drawer on your fingers.'

He clasped his hands behind his back and grinned. 'I am quaking with terror.'

She shot him an irritated look, then blinked. 'Did you say Lady Greene?'

'Does it matter?' Angus quipped.

'Well, yes!'

For a moment Angus just stared at her, disappointment spreading in his chest. His was a minor title- just a baronetcy with a small but lovely piece of land-but still women viewed him as a prize to be won. Marriage seemed to be some sort of contest to the ladies he knew. She who catches the title and money, wins.

Margaret placed her hand over her heart. 'I place great stock in good manners.'

Angus found his interest renewed. 'Yes?'

'I shouldn't have called you Mr. Greene if you're truly Lord Greene.'

'It's actually Sir Greene,' he said, his lips twitching back into a smile, 'but I can assure you that I am not offended.'

'My mother must be turning over in her grave.' She shook her head and sighed. 'I've tried to teach Edward and