Eleanor's smugness disappeared. "At least you have bagged yourself a man who is proficient in the bedchamber. My late husband was not."

"A pity."

"You may not care now, but you shall one day."

Angelique ignored that. 'Twas true, she didn't care now. She had experienced naught in the coupling she was fond of. It was a painful and loathsome activity.

"Was your lover in France very gifted?" Eleanor asked.

"I had no lover. Merely a faithless fiancé." Few people knew of her compromised virtue. Some believed it only a rumor and she didn't wish King James to know the truth of it. Though Girard had asked for her hand in marriage, and she had thought to marry him before his fit of violence, they were not formally betrothed because her father would not permit it. She and her mother had written to him in Scotland to ask. His answer was a resounding nay and a demand that she return to Scotland. She, of course, had not gone. Besides, Girard had turned out to be a bumbling, cruel oaf who'd forced himself on her in the end, and she was relieved she hadn't married him. But now she must marry the Highlander.

Eleanor chuckled. "And soon you shall have a faithless husband."

Indeed. Nausea took Angelique's appetite and she put down her puff pastry.

"Lachlan told me two nights ago in his bedchamber he knew his faithfulness was not required. You may have to share him, but believe me, he's worth it." Eleanor sighed.

The ruttish varlet. "I am fortunate, no?" Angelique wanted to toss her wine onto Eleanor's head and watch it ruin her perfect dark curls.

"Indeed, you are most fortunate. His broadsword is long and stiff and—"

"Enough." Angelique knew exactly what the other woman spoke of.

Eleanor giggled.

"We all know you have sampled most every male member at court," Angelique said.

Eleanor smirked, dropping her gaze to Angelique's chest. "Well, Sir Lachlan is rather fond of large breasts, so I don't imagine he will be overjoyed with you."

Angelique stiffened and forced herself not to draw her wrap closer about her body and hide. "I do not care what sort of breasts he fancies." He will not be touching mine. She wondered if she could lure the bitch into an alcove and squash her nose like a Scottish bannock. Instead, she sipped her wine in a very collected manner.

"Perhaps I shall pay him a visit one day to alleviate his frustrations," Eleanor said.

"You will stay away from my home," Angelique said with smooth calmness. "If you do not, you shall regret it."

"Is that a threat?" Eleanor glanced toward the doorway. "Speak of the virile and handsome devil."

Angelique almost dropped her Venetian glass before she turned to face Lachlan, striding across the Turkish carpets, three large, fearsome men trailing behind him.

Eleanor rose and gave a deep curtsey. "Sir Lachlan," she purred.

Angelique wished to send her sprawling across the floor.

"Lady Eleanor." He bowed, proceeded to Angelique's side and lifted her hand to kiss the back. "M'lady," he murmured in an intimate tone. She avoided his gaze for she was suddenly most irritated at him and Eleanor. Lachlan turned to his friends. "This is my lovely future bride, Lady Angelique Drummagan, the countess of Draughon. M'lady, I would like you to meet my friends. Robert MacInnis, earl of Rebbinglen."

The attractive dark-haired man stepped forward, took her hand and kissed it. "A pleasure most sweet, countess."

"Dirk MacLerie," Lachlan said.

"M'lady." The auburn-haired man, tall as Lachlan, bowed briefly but remained in place, his steady blue eyes assessing her.

"Miles Seabourne, the only Sassenach unconventional enough for me to trust."

The man laughed and bowed. "My lady, 'tis an honor."

Angelique rose and curtsied. "Enchantée, messieurs."

"Did I not tell you she is beautiful?" Lachlan asked. His smile and the pride in his eyes made her heart flutter. She could almost believe he liked her. How she wished…

"Aye, lovely." The men bowed and expressed further delight upon meeting her.

"Merci." Angelique's face flushed hotter than it had in a long while. She was unaccustomed to having so many handsome men's regard at one time. The bit of happiness welling within her chased away her doldrums.

To the side, Eleanor cleared her throat, drawing everyone's attention.

"And this is Lady Eleanor." Lachlan was not often embarrassed by his past trysts, but in this case, Eleanor made him highly uncomfortable. He wished she would leave off her blatant pursuit of him.

While the other men greeted her, Lachlan turned to Angelique. "Could we step into the gardens again?"

"Oui."

He escorted her out, trying to decipher the expression in her eyes. Damnable Frenchie. If she'd been an untutored Highland lass he could've read her easily, but Angelique was a mystery he yearned to uncover. With her first glance at him when he'd stepped into the room, her expression had been pleased and surprised, then she'd schooled her brows into that disdainful arch that told him he was lower than a worm. At least she didn't mean it. She was still jealous of Eleanor—that had to be the problem.

Dirk followed at a distance, hanging back and surveying the surroundings. He was the best guard in the kingdom, and Lachlan was fortunate to call him a friend.

"How pleasant you have brought your Highland friends with you today." A bit of her sarcasm bled through but he chose to ignore it.

"Aye. Friends are important."

"I would not know," she said in a bitter tone, then pressed her lips together and turned away.

"You have no friends?"

She shrugged.

"None?"

"My companion, Camille. Philippe. I had several friends in France, but not so many here."

She had to bring up the French lad again, didn't she? He would ignore that as well. "'Tis a shame. I wager you will find many friends in Scotland."

"It matters not."

He took in her sour expression and what lay beneath it. "You're not a happy woman, Angelique."

She directed a cutting glare at him.

"Why not?" he asked.

"I do not wish to discuss it."

"I ken marrying me is a chore, but surely you prefer me to Chatsworth or Kormad. If you didn't, why did you choose me?"

"The lesser of three evils."

"Ah. You think me evil, then?"

"Non, merely wicked."

Lachlan grinned, imagining all the wicked things he'd love to do to her, starting with slow exploring kisses. He'd then unlace her and strip every piece of clothing from her sweet little body. He'd make her ache and moan and whisper his name. Finally, he would give her what she sought, sliding into her wet, hot passage over and over until they both found paradise. His wickedness was to her benefit; he had only to make her see that.

"And are you without fault, then?" he asked.

"Naturellement, I have faults but none so noticeable as yours."

"Of course not." Her main fault may not have been obvious to her but it was clear to him—something had made her bitter. How in the devil was he going to sweeten her up?

"This will be a marriage in name only," she said.

"Is that so?"

"Oui."

Like hell. When she allowed him to seduce her, he would make sure she enjoyed the bedding more than anything she had thus far experienced.