“We will ask her,” Francesca assured her. “And it may not be as bad as all that, if I have any say in matters. Which I believe I do. Or I will, anyway.”
“Well, now I want to see what he borrowed. I hope he didn’t take the yellow one. That would not be flattering with Amelia-Rose’s coloring.” Halfway up the stairs, Eloise turned around again, descended, and gave her mother a sound hug. “Please do have a say in matters. I don’t want to lose my brothers again. Not any of them.”
“Neither do I, my dear.”
Below, someone knocked at the front door. Smythe was in the pantry with half the kitchen staff trying to re-estimate yet again how much food the household needed to stock with eight additional people—very large men, rather—beneath the roof, so she returned to the foyer and pulled open the door herself.
A ramrod-straight young woman with black hair pulled into a painfully tight bun looked back at her and blinked. “My lady. I didn’t expect y—”
“You’re Amelia-Rose’s companion, aren’t you?” Francesca interrupted, alarm quaking through her bones. “Come in at once.” Half pulling the woman into the foyer, she glanced outside and then shut the door. “What’s happened? Has something gone wrong?”
“I’m Jane Bansil, my lady,” the companion said, dipping a curtsy. “And ‘gone wrong’ depends, I suppose, on your idea of what ‘wrong’ is.”
“Smythe!” Francesca called, guiding her visitor into the morning room. A footman appeared, and she requested tea, Eloise, and to be otherwise left alone.
“Thank you, my lady,” Jane said, taking a seat primly on the front edge of the couch. “I … Your son suggested that if I were to come here, you would aid me in perhaps finding another position. I do not think I’ll be welcomed back into my aunt’s household after today.”
“Of course I will. But you must tell me what happened.”
“Your son, Niall, asked me to do just that.” She folded her hands onto her lap. “Lord Hurst’s coach arrived this afternoon to take Amelia-Rose to luncheon, except it wasn’t Lord Hurst inside it. It was Niall.”
Niall had stolen Hurst’s coach? No one had mentioned that bit of skulduggery to her—and she could see why. Good heavens. “And then?” Francesca prompted.
“He asked Amelia-Rose if she would accompany him to Gretna Green, where they would marry. She agreed.” Jane sat back a little. “Your son was very concerned that my cousin have the option to change her mind if she thought the scandal would be too much to bear. I was therefore to accompany them to bring some propriety to the journey, to give her a way to back out if she changed her mind. In my opinion, however, Amelia-Rose needed to make the decision on its own merits. I therefore declined to flee with them.”
Eloise entered the room, the tea tray in her arms. “Jane?” she said, kicking the door closed and setting the tray on the table between them. “What in the world’s happened now?”
“An elopement to Gretna Green, as I suspected,” Francesca returned. “And a new houseguest. Jane will be staying with us for a time.”
“Oh, was it romantic? Did he propose? Did she cry?” Eloise asked, pouring tea despite a distinctive shake to her fingers. “I just want to jump up and down and cheer, and at the same time hit Niall for not telling me what he was up to.”
“He didn’t precisely propose, but it was definitely understood that a wedding waited at the end of the journey,” Jane answered, accepting the cup of tea with ridiculous care. “Thank you.”
The poor girl looked as if no one had bothered to offer to pour her tea in a very long time, if ever. Knowing Victoria Baxter as she’d come to, Francesca wasn’t surprised. The woman attempted to rule over anyone who as much as dared exist in her presence. She would have to be dealt with. If Amelia-Rose couldn’t return to London, than Niall wouldn’t do so. And that was unacceptable.
“My dear,” Francesca said aloud, “I would very much like if you would tell me everything you observed between my son and Miss Baxter, and between Miss Baxter and her parents. I would find it quite … helpful, I think.”
Jane looked into her teacup for a moment. “I could manage that, I think, my lady.”
Before they could begin, the front door thudded open, swiftly followed by a low-toned exchange, and then the morning room door opening. “There ye are,” Aden said, out of breath, disheveled, and grinning.
Francesca stood. “Are they on their way?”
Her middle son lifted an eyebrow. “Ye’re supposed to be up in arms, I reckon, lamenting yer youngest boy’s lack of good character.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. What did you come in here to tell me?”
He stepped farther into the room, shutting the door behind him. “Coll and I are going to be away for a few days.” Aden glanced at Jane, paused, then gave her a sharper look. “Werenae ye to be somewhere else?”
“She declined to join your brother and Miss Baxter. Which I believe to be a good thing.”
“As ye say. I’ll bring ye back a signed copy of the marriage certificate, so ye’ll have proof that one of us has done as ye commanded, my lady.” With a bow he put his hand on the door handle.
“Aden.”
“Aye?”
“What of Hurst?”
“We came back to deliver Kelpie and the other mount, màthair. Last I saw Hurst, he was hailing a hack and yelling at his mostly naked driver to make his own way home, the bastard. He wasnae happy, and I’ve nae idea what he means to do next. Another reason for Coll and me to be elsewhere, I reckon.”
For the moment putting aside the fact that her third son had just called her “mother,” Francesca turned to Jane. “Do you have any idea what Hurst might do?”
The companion pursed her lips. “My aunt offered him a generous dowry to wed Amelia-Rose. A very generous one. He may go after it—and her—or he may send the authorities after them. I doubt he will do nothing.”
“I had that feeling,” Aden commented. “Coll could make a lion piss itself, but that sack of oil had something keeping his spine straight.”
“How much of a head start does Niall have?” Eloise asked, her hands over her heart.
If nothing else, Francesca reflected, this should discourage her daughter from attempting an elopement, however little Eloise had liked the idea of a long engagement. That had been her brothers’ only chance, though, to make good on their father’s agreement.
“About two hours, I reckon,” Aden replied, “depending on how much it took to convince the lass.”
“It didn’t take much,” Jane said, between gulps of tea.
Francesca stood, joining Aden at the door. “Does Niall know you mean to join him?”
“Nae. He said we’re to be our usual ignorant selves and carry on here. Niall’s nae content unless he’s taken all the burden on himself. I dunnae necessarily agree with that. MacTaggerts stand together.”
She nodded. “Follow them, then,” she said, keeping her voice pitched low. “Make certain they’re able to marry. But then get them back here, as soon as possible. Everything rests on it.”
He tilted his head. “What everything? Niall knows she’s ruined, and she’ll know better than he does.”
“My darling, your mother is not entirely without resources. They cannot stay away, and they cannot appear to be anything but a young couple in love who couldn’t bear to wait for the reading of the banns. I’m sorry, but you must trust me on this.”
“This is London, my lady. I reckon ye ken this madhouse better than any of us ever will. I’ll see to it. Coll and I will.”
She put a hand on his shoulder, wishing she could be certain he wouldn’t pull away if she attempted a hug. “Then go.”
Niall being happy meant everything. But she wanted him—them—to be able to be happy here. And while hell might have no fury like a woman scorned, London was about to meet a mother protecting her children.
Chapter Seventeen
Niall opened his eyes to find Amelia-Rose on her side, one elbow beneath her head,
gazing at him. “Good morning, lass.”
“Good morning.”
“I reckon we’ll be in Scotland by midmorning, and we’ll be married by noon, over a blacksmith’s anvil. Nae what ye dreamed about, I imagine.”
She frowned. “Stop doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Talking like you think that I think you’re a second choice. That I’m disappointed. I’m not. I spent a very long time trying to deceive myself about what would make me happy, because I thought to be stuck into the sort of life where distraction was essential. And then I met you, and I realized the answer to my happiness was me being able to be myself. Not to have to pretend to be horribly proper, not to hold my tongue because the ridiculous person speaking happens to be a man. Because of you, I am me.”
That response called for more than a good morning, a getting dressed, and a running out to the coach. Niall glanced at his open pocket watch. It was barely past six o’clock. They had time. A wee bit of it, but enough to enable him to get to the blacksmith’s without showing just how much he wanted her even after three nights of deep, deliriously arousing sex.
Pulling on her bent elbow, he turned her flat on her back, kissing her openmouthed. “Ye say such sweet things, adae,” he murmured against her lips, shifting to splay both hands over her bare breasts. “And what a shame I forgot to pack ye any night clothes.”
As he flexed his fingers she moaned, shoving the covers away from herself, trying to pull him closer. “You remembered hair clips,” she reminded him huskily, reaching down to wrap her fingers around his cock and stroke him in a way that made his eyes roll back in his head. She was a quick learner, Amelia-Rose was. “I don’t think you forgot anything.”
“Sweet Saint Andrew, ye undo me, my lass.”
Moving over her, he lowered one hand to hook her knee and open her. Sliding his palms up the inside of her thighs, he dipped a finger inside her, her groan of pleasure mingling with his own. She was wet for him, ready. This lovely, perfect lass, who’d just last night taught him which fork to use for a roast rabbit, who delighted in soft sheets and Mozart, had chosen him. He had no other explanation for it but love.
Entering her, he thrust hard and fast, taking her over the edge as she gasped and clung to his shoulders. The sensation of her body pulsing around him pulled at him, tried to draw him with her, but he wasn’t ready yet. Instead he slowed his pace until she began to relax again, lifting her head to kiss him.
Then he withdrew, sitting up and folding his legs. “Come here, Amelia-Rose,” he beckoned, taking her hand and helping her upright. When she was seated, he took her ankles and pulled her forward, wrapping her legs around his hips and supporting her bottom with his legs.
“Good glory,” she whispered, looking down between them as his cock slid inside her again.
With his hands on her arse he pulled her forward in time with his thrusts, the bed beneath them squeaking rhythmically with their movements. Flinging her arms around his neck she came again, and this time he let himself follow, pushing in as deeply as he could and holding himself there as he spilled his seed inside her.
She kept her arms looped around him, her cheek resting against his shoulder. “I had no idea,” she panted, “that being ruined could be so invigorating.”
Niall laughed, holding her. “I’ll ruin ye like that anytime ye please.”
“I think I shall please a great deal, Niall.”
He kissed her hair. “I love ye, Amelia-Rose.”
Amelia-Rose lifted her head to look at him. “That name is a mouthful, isn’t it? I’ve always been fond of Amy. It’s more me, I think. Would you mind?”
“Mind nae twisting my tongue up every time I say yer name? Nae. Ye’re Amy now. It does fit ye, lass. Fresh and warm.”
A pebble struck the window of their second-floor room, and with a frown Niall slid out from under Amelia-Rose—Amy—and padded over to look outside. Gavin stood there, another rock in his hand.
Niall shoved open the window. “What is it?”
“I’ve been feeling a shiver creeping up my spine since dawn,” the groom said. “Let’s be off, Master Niall.”
He’d felt it, too, the sensation that everything had gone too smoothly. Not a sign of a suspicious redcoat, not a stranger coming up from the south by the same road and giving them odd looks, no hard-faced lads from Bow Street appearing to drag them back to London. “Aye,” he returned. “Give us thirty minutes to dress and eat.”
The groom nodded, trotting back toward the stable yard. When Niall turned around, Amy already had her shift on, and she was digging into the trunk they shared for Eloise’s teal-colored walking dress. He liked it on her; it gave her eyes a bit of green together with the deep blue, like a loch on a clear day.
“That’s the dress ye’ll be married in,” he stated, handing her the borrowed hairbrush as he slung the kilt around his hips and buckled it.
She held the gown up to look at it. “Well, Eloise isn’t getting it back, then.”
Niall sat on the bed to pull on his boots. “I’d like to take ye up to Aldriss Park after this—another two days of travel. Are ye ready for that?”
“Yes. I want to meet your father, and I’ll be happy to settle somewhere after a week in the coach.”
He still felt the need to apologize; this wasn’t the life she would have chosen for herself. Yes, she said she was happy, and yes, he believed her. But he loved her, and he wanted her to have … more. “Ye’ll be happy every day from now on, Amy. I swear to that. There’s a bonny spot overlooking Loch an Daimh that’ll give us a view of the valley and the mountains. I’ll show it to ye, and if ye’re agreeable, I think we should put a house there.”
“It’s not too close to old Sean and his cats, is it?”
He chuckled. “Nae. We’d be a good mile or more from old Sean.”
“Good. I like cats, but I keep imagining them all escaping from the tunnels and roving the Highlands with little cheeses strapped to their backs.”
He laughed. That set him more at ease; perhaps he was taking this change to her plans more seriously than she was. She kept insisting that was so, and it reminded him that she was nothing he’d planned for, either. Meeting her had upended everything, and he embraced all of it, the good and the bad, that had come with loving her.
“Now I’ll have nightmares,” he muttered with a grin, walking over to help button the gown up her back.
Once they’d dressed he finished repacking the trunk and hauled it downstairs himself. They had a simple breakfast of eggs and ham, and well within the half hour he’d requested they were back in the coach headed north.
“What do ye reckon yer parents are doing right now?” he asked as she leaned against his shoulder to look out the window.
“I imagine I’ve been disowned,” she said, her voice much less concerned than he would have expected from her a week or so ago. “No doubt I’m now a candidate for Bedlam, and my mother will have surrounded herself with her dearest friends, who will all spread the tale that I was always a wretched child and the Baxters are happy finally to be rid of me.”
“I cannae believe they wouldn’t have any ill words to say about me,” he protested. “I stole ye away, after all.”
“Yes, yes, I’m sure you’re being demonized, as well.”
“That’s more like it, then.”
Amelia-Rose smiled. She’d been smiling a great deal over the past few days, which she supposed under normal circumstances would indicate she’d gone mad. A dash to Gretna Green was the last thing she would ever have expected to find herself doing, but then since meeting Niall she’d done a great many things for the first time. It was an empowering feeling, really.
Through all of this, even when she’d been separated from him, Niall had been beside her. He believed in her. He loved her. His tall, lean form felt like a shield, a man who could protect her, keep her safe, and, most of all, set her free from her own damned, limiting fears.
She looked at his prof
ile as he checked his pocket watch, no doubt estimating just how much longer they had to go before they reached Scotland. The English laws of marriage didn’t apply there—at least not the Hardwicke Marriage Act, which said a lady under the age of twenty-one couldn’t marry without her parents’ consent. Not without the couple risking three weeks of having the banns read in church, anyway. In three weeks she would have been married to the Marquis of Hurst.
“Ye just shivered, leannan.”
Amelia-Rose tightened her grip on his hand. “I was just thinking about how my life might have gone if you hadn’t stolen Lionel’s coach.”
“Ye’d have bitten him and run for it, I’d wager.”
She snorted. “I hope so. I’d like to think I would have.”
By ten o’clock her bottom was tiring from another day of riding in the coach, and she was about to suggest that she and Niall switch places with Gavin again so the groom could nap while Niall drove the coach. Then Gavin thumped on the roof with his fist. “Gretna Green,” he announced.
Her heart jumped, not with nervousness, but rather excitement. In a few minutes she would be married. She would belong to Niall MacTaggert. He would belong to her. And she would be Amelia-Rose MacTaggert. Amy MacTaggert. That sounded like a fair Highlands name, if she said so herself.
They turned, and then the coach stopped. Niall faced her. “Are ye ready, Amy, my adae, my leannan?”
“Aye,” she said, putting a hand over his heart. She could feel its fast, hard beat beneath her fingers.
He kissed her, slowly, leisurely, in a way that warmed her to her toes. A possessive kiss, an intimate one, a moment she would always remember as the only proof she needed that she’d made the right decision.
“Let’s get married, then.”
Niall pushed open the coach door and kicked down the step, then descended to the ground and held out a hand to her. Belatedly she realized she hadn’t bothered to wear a bonnet, but she wasn’t certain whether one should remove a hat in a blacksmith’s or not, anyway.
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