Katie MacAlister - Men in Kilts

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Table of Contents

Praise for the novels of Katie MacAlister

Improper English

Funny, quirky, and enjoyable. Dont miss this one!

USA Today bestselling author Millie Criswell

Charming and irresistible. A tale to make you smile and pursue your own dreams.

USA Today bestselling author Patricia Potter

Alix and Alex steam up the pages... funny... amusing.

Publishers Weekly

Katie MacAlister knows how to hook the reader from the very beginning and not let them go until theyve turned the last page.

The Best Reviews

Noble Intentions

Sexy, sassy fun!

Bestselling author Karen Hawkins

If there is such a thing as a Screwball Regency, Katie MacAlister has penned it in this tale of Noble, Gillian, and their oh-so-bumpy path to love. Readers are in for a wonderful ride!

The Romance Reader

This is without a doubt one of the funniest historicals Ive read... [an] outstanding book.

The Best Reviews

[MacAlister has a] captivating voice and charming story-telling skills [and] impeccable style.

Inscriptions Magazine

Delightful and charming! A wonderful romp through Regency England.

Lynsay Sands, bestselling author of The Reluctant Reformer

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Many people helped me in my quest to understand sheep farming in the Scottish Highlands, but no one helped me more than Iain MacNichol of Turnalt Farm; I greatly appreciate Iains patience in answering my hundred and one sheep questions. My appreciation and thanks also go to my agent Michelle Grajkowski (for always believing in me), to my editor, Audrey LaFehr (for making my dream come true), and to my critique partner, Vance Briceland (for laughing at all the funny parts).

Chapter One

The e-mail came while I was trying to figure out how to connect my hair-dryer adapter.

OK, so youve been in England for what... seven hours, now? my friend Cait wrote. Have you met any men yet? How come you havent written to me? Youre a writer, for Petes sake, so write! Tell me everything! Every single detail!

I just got here, I wrote back, giving up on the adapter. Im tired, the only man I met was a street person who hit me up for a pound by promising to write my name in urine on the sidewalk, and Ill tell you more when I have something to tell.

Two minutes later there was another e-mail waiting. Was the street guy cute? Did you watch him write your name? Did he spell it correctly?

Not cute, I replied. No, I didnt stay, and boy, will I be glad when you start dating again!

I turned off my laptop, changed into my party wear, looked longingly at the bed, and with a tired sigh, grabbed my purse and headed down to where the action was.

Kathie Williams? Heres your bag. Theres a cocktail party this evening, the Murder in Manchester registration woman told me as she shoved a book bag in my hands before tossing me a printed program. You have to buy your own drinks, but everyone will be there. Youre an author, correct?

Yes, I agreed, still stunned with jet lag. It was a ten-hour flight from Seattle to London, and I had to catch a train to Manchester from Heathrow, leaving me more than a bit comatose after... my mind balked at trying to figure out how long I was past due sleep. Yes. Author. Kathie. Drinks.

Then youll want to be at the party. Everyone will be there, she repeated, and leaned sideways to see the person behind me. Next!

I clutched my book bag full of books, promotional materials, and conference-related items and shuffled off to find a spot to sit and let the fact that I was in England soak in. I found a deep, comfy chair in a corner of the hotel lobby and parked myself there, intending on browsing through the mystery-conference material to familiarize myself with the events of the weekend. After struggling for half an hour to keep my eyelids propped open, I decided that a few minutes resting my eyes were in order before I had to go dazzle everyone at the cocktail party. Surely, I thought as I snuggled back into the chair, I wouldnt actually sleep. Not in a busy lobby. Not in a strange country. Id just rest and recharge my batteries for the party.

I woke up to the feeling of someone stuffing a tissue under my cheek.

Oh, youre awake. Im sorry if I woke you, but you were sleeping so soundly and that blouse looks as if its made of silk...

I blinked at the short, elegantly spoken white-haired lady who was bending over me.

Uh...

She fluttered the tissue at me and stared pointedly at my shoulder. I looked. There was a huge saucer-sized damp mark.

Oh, great, I drooled on myself!

Thats why I was trying to tuck this under your chin. I do hate to see such a lovely blouse ruined. The embroidery on it is quite exquisite. Youre American?

I took the proffered tissue and tried to mop up the big drool mark. How humiliating! I save up for years to come halfway around the world on a dream trip only to slobber on myself in public on my first day here. Yes, Im American. Thank you for the tissue, but I think its too late. I cant go to the cocktail party with a big old slobber mark on my shoulder!

No, indeed, the white-haired woman agreed. Such a shame, too. The detail on the embroidery is lovely. Beaded, as well.

It was made just for tonight, I mourned with her.

Youll probably want to hurry if you intend on having time to meet people at the party, she suggested as she started off toward the elevators. I just came from there and I dont believe it is scheduled to last much longer.

Hell! I swore as I glanced down at my watch. I had slept three hours! With my mouth open! Drooling! Where everyone could see me! I slunk out of the lobby and escaped to my room, did a quick change from my lovely beaded, hand-embroidered silk blouse into a plain black one, ignored the wrinkles in my pleated wool skirt, and dashed back downstairs to the party.

Deep breath, I told myself as I stood in the doorway and assessed the situation. Probably no one saw you sleeping. Probably no one will recognize you at all. Probably no one will talk to you and youll spend a long, lonely weekend by yourself, an outcast, a pariah, a public drooler.

I girded my mental loins and stepped into the room, dodging scattered tables and smiling hopefully at the groups of people clutching drinks as they laughed and chatted amiably, all the while searching desperately for other lost souls like myself who didnt know anyone there. I searched in vain, but my family code has always been that appearance is everything, so I slapped a confident Im not scared to death of being halfway around the world in a room full of people I dont know and can barely understand, oh, no, Im not smile on my face and marched over to the bar to ask for something without alcohol. Im not at my best when I drink. I flush and get silly and very, very sleepy, which is not at all the sort of impression one wishes to make at a gathering of ones peers.

As I turned away from the bar I noticed a man next to the door leaning up against the wall watching the crowd.

Aha, I muttered to my tonic and lime, someone else who doesnt know everyone here. A very large someone, too, with a marvelous white woolly sweater.

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