“So if ye’d agreed to marry Coll, ye wouldnae have objected to being left here?” His voice sounded a little flat, but that might also have been her imagination.
“That’s the problem. I don’t want to leave, and I don’t want to be left behind.”
“And ye detest the Highlands.”
“They aren’t London.”
Silence. Tears rose in her eyes again, but she blinked them away. He and she would never have made a match anyway. It was only that she’d hoped to … enjoy him for a bit longer than one morning.
“Well, that’s it, then.”
She felt him stand, and looked over quickly as he moved to the barouche’s low door and swung it open. “Niall! What are you doing?”
“I’m leaving. Ye’ve set an impossible tangle, and I cannae see a way through it.” With one foot out the door, he paused. “Unless…”
“Unless what? Blast it all, you’re making a scene. At least drive me home first.”
“Unless,” he repeated, still hanging halfway out of the barouche with a ridiculous gracefulness, “ye’re willing to make a bargain. Say, for example, we spend the Season in London, and the rest of the year in the Highlands?”
Amelia-Rose stared at him for at least a dozen hard beats of her heart. She hadn’t just heard what she’d heard. It was far too simple. “P … Please sit down,” she repeated.
Niall swung the door shut and latched it, then dropped down beside her again. “My point is, adae, that I grew up with one parent who’d nae leave the Highlands, and without one who’d nae stay there. I reckon there must be some space in the middle.”
She wanted to hug him. She wanted to kiss him. Just the idea that he would take her reservations into consideration without her first having to plead her side, or that he wouldn’t have conjured something he wanted that she could withhold so they could bargain for it, stumped her for a moment. Amelia-Rose cleared her throat. “Where might we stay in London?”
He smiled. “I’ve nae thought much about it, but Oswell House is grand. Or I reckon my ma would be happy enough to have us about that she’d find us a bonny house somewhere close by.” Beneath the level of the sides of the carriage, and more important, beneath the pile of her discarded shawl, he took her hand in his. “I’ve nae desire to stay at Baxter House, but that’s because I’ve a fair idea yer ma would like to kill me.”
“Niall, if I discover that you’re bamming me, I will punch you in the head,” she stated.
“I’m nae teasing, Amelia-Rose. I am accustomed to making peace in the family, but this is much easier than that. I’m nae about to let a stretch of countryside come between me and a lass with sunshine in her hair and the noonday sky in her eyes.”
This couldn’t all be true. It couldn’t be so … ridiculously straightforward. As a child she’d imagined falling in love with and marrying a handsome prince and living in his castle, but well before her debut she’d come to understand that while she might wed a prince, or a duke, or some other title, the rest of it didn’t matter to anyone but her. She continued to demand a partnership, affection, but she knew no one was listening to her. She might as well have been howling at the moon.
“Dunnae tell me ye’ve forgotten how to speak, lass,” Niall teased. “I am manly and rather splendid, but ye—”
“I am available tomorrow afternoon after half two,” she interrupted. “I will be attending a dinner party with family friends at eight, so I must be home by six.”
“Half two till six o’clock tomorrow. Aye.” His fingers twined with hers beneath the shawl, out of Jane’s sight. “I’ve an idea for an outing. Wear walking shoes, and I’ll fetch ye then.”
“I’ll meet you around the corner from the house,” she decided. “On Wigmore Street.” Her mother might accept that she’d taken today to let Niall down politely, but another rendezvous tomorrow would put the lie to whatever excuse she tried to make. Doom still loomed over her shoulder, but blast it all, today she felt like her feet weren’t even touching the ground. And that was a very difficult thing to walk away from. He was going to be very difficult to walk away from. So much so that she didn’t want to think about it.
“Your mother will not approve,” Jane pointed out.
“Just for once I would like you to be on my side, cousin,” Amelia-Rose returned. “Do you truly wish to be the villain of this piece?”
Her companion frowned. “And what happens if I say nothing, your mother discovers that you’ve been seeing this man against her wishes, and she sends me away?”
“If ye stand up for Amelia-Rose and get sent away because of it, ye call on Lady Aldriss at Oswell House,” Niall said. “She’ll find ye someaught. I swear it.”
“It must be very nice,” Jane countered, “to be so secure in yourselves that you can encourage others to ignore the tenets of their employment, to ignore what you know to be the wishes of your employer, on a whim. Mrs. Baxter is my aunt. She has fed and clothed me for six years, and paid me for the past two. It is not villainy to do the job one has been employed to do.”
Niall looked like he wanted to argue that, but Amelia-Rose squeezed his hand, and with a glance at her, he subsided. “I do understand, Jane,” she said. “My mother expects to be obeyed. I can only ask for your cooperation in this. The decision is yours.”
“Yes, it is. And I think we’ve given you enough time to gracefully end whatever may exist between you and the Honorable Mr. Niall MacTaggert.”
She’d given Niall’s precise title, the one by which he would be formally addressed. And she’d done it on purpose. Amelia-Rose wanted to clench her fists and scream. If not for that lack of peerage, Niall would be perfect. He was perfect, as far as she was concerned.
Could it be enough? She could speak to her father first; Charles did have a firmer grasp on practicality than did his wife. Perhaps she could convince him. She’d been on display for two years now, after all, and though Niall very little resembled Mr. and Mrs. Baxter’s ideal, he was technically a gentleman. His brother was a viscount, he was an aristocrat, and he very much seemed to like her. Perhaps more, though she refused to use the word. Not yet. Not when so many things could go wrong.
“Shall I return ye to Baxter House?” Niall asked.
No. “Yes, I suppose we should go.” And to think, a fortnight ago she’d claimed to detest Highlanders. But back then, she’d never actually conversed with one.
As they arrived in front of Baxter House, Niall put his arm over the back of the seat behind her. When he half turned to face her, the warmth of him seemed to surround her. It was heady. He made her nearly giddy, and she was not a giddy person.
“Which window is yers, then?” he murmured, looking up at the house. “I’ll nae be kept from ye if yer parents decide we’re nae a match.”
“I think you mean when they decide,” she returned, wondering if a woman could combust just from wicked thoughts.
He glanced about, then briefly leaned his temple against hers. “I did promise to ravage ye, lass,” he murmured. “Dunnae make me into a liar.”
Goodness. That began an entirely different kind of heat running through her. With his easy grace and athletic build, she’d been imagining for days what it would be like to be in his arms. To have him inside her. This tall, rugged, independent man who didn’t care what anyone thought, wanted her. No doubt he could have half the women of Mayfair if he chose. But for some reason, he continued to look at her. Only at her.
No one thanked him for it. Even she scoffed at him. And yet there he sat, his thigh touching hers, his light-green eyes no doubt trying to decipher what in the world she must be thinking. But today, she was tired of thinking. She wanted to feel, and she wished it could be that simple. “Niall, you know my mother will never agree to a match between us. Ever.”
Niall lifted her hand in his to brush his lips against her knuckles. “I will charm her, adae. Or at the least, wear her down to my way of thinking. I didnae come down all the way from the Highlands to meet ye and t
hen bid ye goodbye.”
“That sounds very romantic.”
“It’s supposed to.” He released her hand. “Point me to yer window.”
Jane sat bolt-upright. “She will do no such thing!”
He lifted both eyebrows. “What’s this, now?”
“You heard me.”
“Well, I reckon the lass can decide for herself what she will or willnae do.”
Oh, she shouldn’t. But doing what she should hadn’t proved very satisfying. “The second one from the left,” she said, pointing at the upper floor.
“The yellow curtains?”
“Yes.”
“Well, now I’ll have to sit up in your bedchamber all night tonight,” Jane complained.
“He was only curious, Jane.” She looked over her shoulder at him, to see him wiping away a grin. “Isn’t that correct, Niall?”
“Aye. Curious.”
* * *
“Well, dunnae ye look grand.”
Starting, Niall looked up as the barouche neared Oswell House. Aden, mounted on Loki, came even with the carriage, gave a half salute, and continued on in the opposite direction. “Where are ye headed?” Niall asked, turning in the soft seat to keep his brother in sight.
“Just out. It’s too civilized in the house. And I keep seeing Francesca lurking behind me.”
That could be handy. “Wait for me; I’ll join ye.”
The vehicle turned up the short drive, and Aden circled around to trail them. Generally the MacTaggerts worked alone when pursuing a lass, but this was no ordinary lass, and no ordinary pursuit. Niall could use someone with whom to speak—someone who wasn’t Coll. Aden’s observations could be useful, if taken with a bit of skepticism.
Clearly he did need some assistance; he’d been distracted enough that he’d ridden back to Oswell House with his backside gloriously cushioned by the overstuffed seat of the barouche, for Saint Andrew’s sake. Half of Mayfair likely thought him a softheaded dandy, now.
Once Gavin had saddled Kelpie for him, he and Aden trotted off heading southeasterly. “Did you find a lass while ye were out with Eloise?” Niall asked.
“Nae. A cartload of ’em came at us to say hello to our piuthar while we were eating, like a bunch of blushing roses. Nearly had to resort to swatting ’em away like flies. Some pretty ones, but by tomorrow I’ll nae recall most of their names.” Aden turned Loki directly south along a narrow, crowded street.
Niall caught up with him again. “That’s what ye want, isnae? A forgettable lass? That was our grand plan.”
“I recall.” Aden glanced at him sideways. “I may have decided to look about for someone a bit more … interesting. Seeing how well ye’ve done for yerself, that is.”
“Dunnae start that with me, bràthair.” Niall faced forward again. “It seems like ye do have a particular destination in mind.”
“I want to see the grand Thames all the poets write about.”
“We’re getting close; I can smell it.”
“Aye,” Aden agreed. “Must be low tide. Either that or a whale’s washed ashore.” He sent another glance that Niall pretended not to notice. “Isnae Amelia-Rose Baxter the first Sassenach lass ye set eyes on?”
“What of it? I’m nae some moonstruck bairn. She’s nae the first lass I’ve ever met.”
“But she is the first one ye’ve run across who needed this much of a rescue.”
The muscles across Niall’s shoulders tightened. This was not the advice and assistance he’d come seeking. “What does that have to do with the price of wool?”
“I know ye, Niall. Ye look after the ones who need help. Nae just the lasses; anyone who stands alone.”
“I—”
“It’s nae a bad thing; Saint Michael knows there’s got to be one of us whose first thought isnae battle. My…” He trailed off as the docks opened before them, the river just beyond. “That is one grand fucking stink,” he stated.
It was that. Crates and nets, sailors and dockworkers and soldiers crowded into every open space. Beyond them wide strips of mud marked the low-tide shore of the Thames, while water continued to flow down the middle of the riverbed. Down in the mud people scampered, baskets and buckets in their hands or on their backs as they dug through the muck. Scavengers, looking for whatever the river might vomit up that they could sell for a penny or a shilling or two.
“Dunnae change the subject,” he said belatedly. “I’m nae trying to rescue Amelia-Rose. It’s nae pity I’m feeling.”
“I didnae say ye were rescuing her. Ye said it, just now.”
“Because that’s what ye were implying. I watched her trying to be polite, and I watched Coll keep pushing at her, and then she handed him the tongue-lashing he deserved. That prim, proper lass, in her pretty, expensive gown, shut his gobber and sent him running with his tail between his legs.”
“Ye realize he left because she wasnae a lass he could bend to his way of doing things.”
“That was what I thought, until yesterday when he said he didnae care who she was and he’d nae have her as long as our mother chose her for him. But instead of trying to tell me we’ll nae suit, why dunnae ye tell me what I can do to convince her damned parents that she belongs with me even if I’m nae a bloody laird?”
Aden dismounted, so Niall followed suit. If they were going mudlarking he wasn’t going to be happy about it, but at least he’d dressed more appropriately for it than Aden in his buckskin trousers and very shiny boots.
Instead his brother dug a handful of hazelnuts from his pocket and offered half of them to Niall. Cracking one of them against his palm, Aden popped the plump seed into his mouth. “That’s nae an easy question, Niall,” he said, after he’d chewed and swallowed.
“Hence me asking for some help. Ma said she tried offering the Baxters a share of her shipping company, but they werenae impressed. They have blunt. They want a title.”
“Short of ye murdering Coll and me, that’s nae a thing you’ll ever have. If there’s naught else they want in the wide world, I reckon it’s a lost cause.” He ate another nut. “Especially when what ye want is for them to like ye.”
“I dunnae give a damn if they like me. They just have to accept me.”
Aden narrowed his eyes. “That’s it, though. They dunnae have to do anything. So I reckon ye can either convince them to want to accept ye, or decide a way around them entirely. And I dunnae know yer lass well, but she seems to listen fairly close to what her mama tells her.”
That, she did—to a point. And every time she did try for some independence, she paid for it. Those had been tears he’d seen in her eyes yesterday. They did make him angry, and aye, he did want to rescue her. More than that, he didn’t want to see her troubled. Since he was a large part of the reason for that particular malady, his options seemed severely limited.
“I wasnae helpful at all, was I?” Aden asked.
“Nae. Ye werenae,” Niall returned, blowing out his breath. “Ye did make my head ache, if that appeases ye.”
“Give me back my nuts if ye’re nae going to eat ’em.”
Niall handed them over. “Be about Oswell House tomorrow, will ye? Between two o’clock and six. I’m bringing her over for a visit.”
“I can do that. What about Coll?”
“He’s to be there, as well. He owes a kind word or two to Amelia-Rose.”
Aden nodded, pocketing the nuts and swinging back up on Loki. “Dunnae lose yer heart, Niall. I ken what ye want, but I dunnae see a way for ye to get it without someone getting bloody. And ye’re likely to be that someone. That’s the best advice I can give ye.”
Niall watched his brother trot off into the dockside crowd. His odds were slim. But he did have charm. And a determination to win the lass. Even a MacTaggert, he supposed, could swallow his pride for the right cause. And Amelia-Rose was all that, and more.
Chapter Twelve
“Jane, please just go to bed,” Amelia-Rose said, pulling her blankets up over her head.
“No, I’m solely responsible for my virtue,” Amelia-Rose countered, sitting up again. “And the stupid window is locked, anyway, so even if he did decide to climb up the outside of the house, managing to not be seen by any passersby in the process, he wouldn’t be able to get in.”
“You might unlatch the window.”
“If you hadn’t been in here snoring, I would be asleep already.”
That was a lie, but it made her sound less like some wanton minx than she was presently feeling. Her greatest concern at the moment wasn’t Jane, but that Niall had indeed been jesting and meant to respect propriety. She didn’t want propriety. Not tonight. She wanted to know if he would be able to convince her mind as thoroughly as her body already seemed to be that he was the one for her.
With a sniff Jane stood, picked up her book and her embroidery, and made for the door. “This is madness, Amelia-Rose. And if your mother ever finds out about any of it, you will tell her that I was not involved.”
“Good night, Jane.”
As soon as the door shut, Amelia-Rose slipped out of bed and tiptoed to the entrance. She listened to Jane’s fading footfalls for a moment, then turned the key in the latch. Just in case.
Then she padded to the window, pushed aside the curtains—and yelped when a face looked directly back at her. “For heaven’s sake,” she gasped, taking a step backward and nearly tripping over her night rail.
A half grin on his face, Niall pointed through the window at the latch. One hand over her heart, she reached up and unlocked it. Accompanied by a breath of chill air the window lifted, and with a swift duck he stepped into the room. “Thank ye, lass,” he whispered, turning to close the window and the curtains again. “That was a wee ledge.”
“How long have you been crouched out there?” she asked, noting that he’d managed to climb the house in a kilt and boots. She almost wished she’d been outside to see that.
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