“Begging yer pardon, Yer Grace, but—”
Devlin’s abrupt throat clearing cut the woman off and she blushed. Megan giggled, knowing exactly what her husband had just attempted, but failed dismally without the woman’s cooperation. He seemed to think that if he could make Megan feel contrite about something, that she wouldn’t fuss at him about anything for the rest of the day. It rarely worked, yet he kept trying.
“Actually, we did have a devil of a time finding you this morning,” he insisted. “Why do you persist in bringing Justin to these unused rooms?”
“For the different views, of course,” she replied as she kissed Justin’s cheek before handing him over to his nurse. “It’s too cold to take him outside this early in the morning, yet I don’t want him to miss how pretty the grounds are in the early light—sooooo, I find him different views from different rooms. I hadn’t even realized you could see the stables from this one, did you?”
“Certainly,” he lied with aplomb.
Devlin might have been in every room in the mansion at one time or other during his life, but it hadn’t been to look out the windows. He did so now, however, and ended up frowning at the view below him.
“Quite a few early risers about,” he remarked, his tone gone stiff.
Megan, aware of whom he’d seen down by the stable, said, “Now, now, when are you going to stop getting annoyed every time you see that Highlander?”
“When I stop seeing him.”
She grinned. “Stubborn.”
He shrugged, then put his arm around her shoulder and squeezed it. “By the by, since nothing came of your matchmaking scheme, d’you think you might put some effort into finding a lady who’ll suit him, so the bloody chap doesn’t end up darkening our door all winter long?”
“I already have. I’ve asked Margaret to double her invitations, but—”
He sighed loud and long. “When is our home going to return to normal?”
She grinned, since “normal” meant only three or four guests at any given time. “Soon, Dev, but as I was about to say, I haven’t given up completely on our original plan.”
He shook his head. “You mean your original plan. And you call me stubborn.”
“But I’ve noticed him watching her recently.”
“And I’ve noticed how completely she ignores him,” he countered.
“I think she only pretends to ignore him.”
“Well, a damn fine job of pretending she does, if I do say so. Face it, Megan, the lady isn’t interested in that Scot one little bit. And besides, she’s all but wed and our obligations at an end.”
“What?!”
“Well,” he quickly amended, “James has mentioned to me that he is seriously considering matrimony again.”
“Oh, I do hope not.”
“Megan—”
“Oh, don’t misunderstand. I think James Travers is a fine man, and he’d make anyone a fine husband.”
“I wish I didn’t hear a ‘but’ in there,” Devlin mumbled only just loud enough for his wife to hear.
She narrowed her eyes on him before continuing, “But I’ve gotten to know Kimberly during her stay with us and, well, I think she would be happier with someone else.”
“Why, might I ask, when she and James are perfectly compatible?”
“Yes, too compatible, actually, and you know what that can lead to, don’t you?” She answered before he had a chance to, and as if he were in agreement. “Exactly, boredom.”
He rolled his eyes. “Dare I suggest it might also lead to perfect accord and hence—happiness?”
“No, you may not.”
“You are the only stubborn one in this family, brat. You know perfectly well…that…”
What began in exasperation trailed off as Devlin stared out the window. Megan followed his gaze to see that Kimberly had returned from an early morning ride with several matrons. Her youth and vitality radiated in the company of the older ladies, yet she was also looking quite splendid this morning in a new riding habit of ruby red velvet, cinched in nicely to display her fine figure.
Megan smiled to herself. She’d warned Mrs. Canterby before she got started on the lady’s new wardrobe that she wanted all of Kimberly’s clothes just a tad on the tight side, to show off her curves to advantage. And Kimberly hadn’t suspected a thing except, perhaps, that she might be putting on a little weight.
What had caught Devlin’s eye was that Howard Canston was suddenly there, waving away the groom heading for Kimberly so that he could assist the lady in dismounting. It was an old ploy in Megan’s opinion. It allowed a gentleman who was interested in a particular lady to put his hands on her, and quite firmly at that. And although most gentlemen would release said lady the very instant her feet touched the ground, some men weren’t so meticulously proper.
Howard apparently fell into that latter group, because his hands remained on Kimberly’s waist all the while she made some remark to him, and all the time it took him to answer, which was much too long to be considered proper. And that was too bad of him, as Kimberly’s riding companions, Abagail and Hilary, were known to be notorious gossips. Then again, perhaps that was his intention, to have his interest in Kimberly become common knowledge.
But that still probably wasn’t what had gained Devlin’s undivided attention. It was the Scot, who had abruptly ended his own conversation when Kimberly showed up, and had been staring at her intently ever since. He’d gone all stiff when Howard appeared at her side, and his stance had turned to outright aggressiveness when the viscount reached up to assist Kimberly to the ground. But when Howard didn’t release her immediately, Lachlan actually started toward them, and there was simply no mistaking his fury.
Devlin must have guessed the same thing Megan did, because he said, “Oh, good Lord, he’s not going to…he really wouldn’t…”
There was no point in continuing, because Lachlan did. He no sooner reached the unsuspecting couple than his fist landed in the vicinity of Howard Canston’s right eye. The blow also knocked the man off his feet. He lay flat on the ground now, apparently dazed, possibly even knocked out, because he was making no effort to get up.
Beside her, Devlin growled. Megan quickly grabbed the lapel of his morning coat to keep him from running down there in high dudgeon. The coat was pulled halfway down his arm when he pivoted toward the door.
But he did turn back to her. He even lifted a black brow, his subtle way of saying, “Let go or you’ll be dragged along with me.”
She straightened out his coat and said practically, “Now, Devlin, there’s no reason a’tall for you to get involved in that.”
“Isn’t there?” he gritted out. “Howard Canston is a guest in my home.”
“Oh, give over. You’ve been itching for a reason to give the Highlander the boot, and you think you’ve found it. But you haven’t. That disagreement involves two of your guests, three actually, and is quite personal. Not one of them would appreciate you becoming involved. Besides, that black eye isn’t going to hurt the viscount a’tall. The ladies will all ohhhh and ahhhh over him and he’ll love it.”
“That is hardly the point—”
“Perhaps, but what is exactly the point is you have one man behaving improperly and another overcome with jealousy because of it, hardly the stuff to trouble one’s host over.”
“Ah-ha! Now comes the real reason you want me to stay out of it. You’re just delighted because you think MacGregor is jealous.”
She grinned up at him. “There’s no ‘think’ about it. That was a glorious display of jealousy and you know it. So why don’t we just continue to watch from the sidelines, and if they attempt to kill each other, then it would be appropriate for you to become involved.”
“And what if the lady attempts to kill one of them?” Devlin asked dryly.
“What?!”
Megan swung back toward the window to see that the parasol that Kimberly had had attached to her wrist instead of a riding crop was now quite be
nt over Lachlan’s head. Completely ruined, of course—the parasol, that is. Lachlan’s head would likely survive.
“Oh, now that was really too bad of her,” Megan said in disappointment.
“I’m sure he feels the same,” Devlin replied smugly, but ended with a chuckle.
“This isn’t funny. She should have been impressed and flattered.”
“Why, if she doesn’t like the chap?”
“Ohhhh! You’re just never going to see this my way, are you?”
“Hardly, when it’s my fist that aches to be planted in his face.”
“Do continue to restrain that urge, will you?”
After several heated words passed between the couple that was still standing, Lachlan marched off, and Kimberly bent to do some ohhhing and ahhhing over Howard, or so Megan assumed. It was too bad she and Devlin were so far away and behind a closed window. She was dying to know what had just been said down there, but she supposed she’d have to wait until Abagail and Hilary got around to repeating the entire story. Actually, knowing them, that shouldn’t take any longer than the first person they ran into.
22
“I think it’s sooooo romantic.”
“But I thought Lady Kimberly and the marquis were all but engaged.”
“Apparently not, or—”
“Well, I heard—”
“Barbaric, if you ask me—”
“Scotsmen usually are—”
“Now I take exception to that, indeed I do. M’father’s cousin hails from the Highlands. They play golf, don’t you know. Highly civilized, that.”
“I meant breaking her parasol over his head. Waste of a good parasol.”
“Well, I heard that—”
“Thought that was rather funny, m’self.”
“You would, Abagail. You’ve broken four or five over your Elbert’s head, haven’t you?”
“Only two, m’dear.”
“Well, I heard that he—!”
“Good God, Mabel, you don’t have to shout. What did you hear?”
A low voice mumbled, “Well, now I forget.”
A chuckle. “Actually, I have it on good authority that she’s already turned him down three times.”
“Who? The marquis?”
“No, you ninny, the Scot.”
“But what about the viscount? A prime catch there, and obviously he’s interested.”
“Canston? He’s always interested, though not in matrimony, if you catch my drift.”
“Now, now, Hilary, don’t be catty. Just because nothing came of it when the viscount was courting your niece a few months ago—”
“Courted m’daughter last season, but never got around to proposing to her either.”
“Taking after his father, if you ask me. Old Canston was a rake in his day—”
“Nonsense, they’re just laggards at making up their minds. Runs in the family, don’t you know.”
That was pretty typical of the conversations Kimberly had been overhearing all day long: at the late breakfast, at the recital she attended afterward, at teatime in the late afternoon, and then again at dinner, she either heard the whispers, or the complete silence when she was noticed, or the unrestrained talk when she wasn’t. Tight-lipped, she slipped out of the card room before she was noticed and ended up embarrassing that particular group, even if they deserved embarrassment.
She really deplored being gossiped about. It was so unsavory. But it had been too much to hope that that little drama Lachlan had instigated this morning wouldn’t make the rounds at Sherring Cross.
It was too much to hope that it wouldn’t travel far afield by tomorrow. In fact, she would be surprised if it didn’t reach her father by the end of the week, and even more surprised if he didn’t show up soon thereafter in a fine rage. A Scotsman was being linked to her name, after all. He would want to know why.
What wasn’t surprising was that each accounting of the incident was wrong in some respect. But then that was quite typical of gossip. After it had made a few rounds, it was barely recognizable.
One retelling had poor Howard thoroughly thrashed by the Highlander. Another had Kimberly breaking off an engagement with Lachlan, which was supposedly what caused him to go berserk when he saw her with Howard. Still another account had it that James Travers was the one who had delivered that punch to the viscount. The marquis hadn’t even been present, yet he was being dragged into the tale because of his recent association with her. And then she’d heard that she’d turned down Lachlan’s marriage proposal twice, thrice, and one gentleman claimed it was six times—just to give an excuse for his jealous behavior, she supposed.
Jealous behavior? Now nothing could get more absurd than that. Perhaps if Megan had been involved, but her? Her only involvement with him, aside from several arguments, had been that one night they’d shared together when they had both imbibed too much champagne. Ever since, they’d been somewhat on the close side of enemies. His one proposal of marriage, which hadn’t even been a true proposal, had come belatedly, and that, undoubtedly, merely to clear his conscience.
Is it marriage you’re wanting from me then? Hardly a heartfelt declaration by any interpretation.
So what did cause him to attack Howard Canston?
Now that Kimberly had had time to think about it—she’d thought about nothing else all day—she suspected there must be a disagreement of some sort between the two men, something recent, or even something long-standing, but just unresolved. Something that had been building toward an explosion since they’d been under the same roof—something that had absolutely nothing to do with her. And she, unfortunately, just happened to be present when they caught up with each other and tempers finally snapped—in this case, Lachlan’s.
But at the time, it had happened too quickly. She’d been utterly shocked. She hadn’t even seen Lachlan approaching, which might have at least given her warning of what was about to happen. But there’d been no warning, and in her incredulous state, she’d reacted impulsively. And two wrongs certainly didn’t add up to a right.
She shouldn’t have hit him. She had regretted it instantly. An act of violence like that was as bad as the one that prompted it, even if breaking her flimsy parasol over his head hadn’t hurt him one little bit.
And Lachlan certainly hadn’t expected an attack. He’d been surprised enough to demand, shout in fact, “What the devil did you hit me for?”
Perhaps if he hadn’t yelled at her, she might have apologized—might have. But she was appalled by her own action by then as much as with his, and instead countered in nearly as loud a voice, “What the devil did you hit him for? This is England, not your savage Highlands. People actually discuss things here without resorting to violence.”
To that little gem of idiotic enlightenment, he’d taken a very long look at the broken parasol she was still gripping, even raised a sardonic brow at her, and her face had exploded with brilliant color. And just in case she hadn’t understood his pointed look, he said derisively, “You’ve a fine way of discussing things, darlin’, that you do.”
He’d marched off then without another word, and every line of his tall body proclaimed loudly the high state of fury he was still in. And Kimberly hadn’t seen him again all day, nor Howard either, for that matter. The viscount had been so dazed from that single punch that it had taken him a good ten minutes to stand. And by then it was obvious that he was now angry too, and who could blame him? Though he tried admirably not to show it, the glint in his deep blue eyes, at least in the one that wasn’t starting to swell closed, was quite chilling.
But when asked why Lachlan had attacked him, this from nosy little Abagail, he’d merely said, “Deuced if I know.”
That hadn’t satisfied anyone’s curiosity, certainly not the two gossips. The general assumption was that jealousy had been Lachlan’s motive. Well, Kimberly knew better, and if she ever spoke to that infuriating man again, she just might ask him the real reason. However, it was seriously doubtful that sh
e would ever speak to him again.
Once again he’d caused her to behave in a manner she found utterly unacceptable, and she was infuriated. She wished she knew what it was about him that could make her so forget herself, that she could repeatedly throw etiquette and good breeding to the wayside when she knew what was proper and acceptable.
Actually, she had experienced more exasperation and real anger in the short time she’d known Lachlan MacGregor than she had in the last several years at home with her tyrant father—although, she had to admit, she’d developed a long-standing habit of ignoring her father. She couldn’t quite manage that with the handsome Highlander. No, not at all.
23
“Goodness, you gave me a start,” Megan said as she entered the conservatory and noticed the sudden movement to her left. “What in the world are you doing in here in the dark?”
Kimberly shrugged, trailing a finger along a prickly leaf on the table of plants next to her. “It’s not all that dark in here, I can see the mansion all lit up through the windows.”
“Hmmm, you’re quite right,” Megan allowed, after a quick glance toward the solid bank of glass facing the house. “Haven’t been in here before at night myself, which is why I brought this lamp along—that I won’t need now.”
Kimberly smiled halfheartedly as Megan extinguished the light. She had wanted to be alone. She was in no mood for conversation, but wasn’t going to be rude to the duchess, who had been nothing but kind to her.
So even though she’d avoided answering the question herself, she asked the duchess, “What brings you here this time of night?”
Megan’s chuckle was somewhat wicked. “I’ve come for a rose. My Devlin’s been gloating about something all day that has annoyed me no end. He needs a reminder of what to expect if he doesn’t stop. I thought a nice long-stemmed rose might get the message to him rather quickly, placed on his pillow tonight—without the rose petals, of course.”
Kimberly’s laugh was spontaneous; she couldn’t help herself, and it felt really good to release it, after the horrid day. Trust the duchess to think of something so cleverly subtle. A stem of thorns on her husband’s pillow. Yes, he was bound to figure out exactly what that implied—and have a good laugh over it himself.
Love Me Forever Page 12