His Convenient Highland Wedding

by Janice Preston

  ‘That—’ He stopped, his thoughts racing with confusion. ‘What is wrong?’ He had seen she was troubled in the moment before he kissed her, but he was sure—from her response—that she had enjoyed their kiss. ‘Do you not enjoy kissing?’

  Flora’s huge green eyes were shining, but not with pleasure. Her face was ashen and tears sparkled on her lashes. But she laid her palm against his cheek.

  ‘Yes, I did enjoy it.’

  ‘Then why...?’ He passed his thumb very gently beneath her eye, catching a teardrop.

  ‘I am sorry. I do not know...there is no reason... I felt emotional.’ She held his gaze as she stroked his jaw. ‘Shall we go downstairs? We must not be late for dinner—I am so looking forward to hearing Monsieur Chopin play.’

  * * *

  The music was sublime. The audience in raptures. But poor Chopin looked frail and Lachlan could only admire the strength of his determination to keep on performing when he was so clearly ill. The recital finished, Chopin took his bow to wild applause and was then helped from the room by his pupil, Miss Stirling.

  Flora had appeared captivated by the music, but Lachlan was aware of times her hands clenched in her lap and how rapidly her chest rose and fell. And he could not convince himself it was the passion of the music that stirred her emotions—not after her reaction to their kiss and her restraint during dinner. Something was troubling her. Was she ashamed of him? Of the mismatch she had made? Was she anxious about the coming night, when they would share a bed? Whatever it was, she was unlikely to confide in him—they were still strangers after over two weeks of marriage and it was entirely his fault. He had thought he was acting for the best but, given the time again, he would make sure she quickly grew accustomed to their married status.

  After the recital, he kept Flora by his side, introducing her to his industrialist acquaintances and their wives and, gradually, he was relieved to see her cheeks regain their colour and her green eyes their sparkle. The men and the women drifted into two sets and Flora, welcomed into the businessmen’s wives’ circle, sat with them as the men remained standing, discussing business and politics. A few of the lords present also joined in those discussions, but there was still an undeniable divide between the business and the landed classes and Lachlan again had to curb his frustration that he was no closer than a mere nodding acquaintance with any of these nobly born gentlemen.

  In the middle of a discussion about shipbuilding on the Clyde, Lachlan noticed Flora stand up, smiling as she appeared to take her leave of the industrialists’ spouses. Pride that she was his wife surged through him.

  ‘What do you say, McNeill?’

  The question dragged his attention back to the discussion, which had moved on to the merits of various whiskies. But he was distracted, his attention straying to Flora—not only to make sure she was all right, but also because he could not help wondering how soon he could whisk her up to bed without appearing ill-mannered.

  Except...he frowned. Flora was like a butterfly that flitted from flower to flower as she moved from one group of guests to the next. He could not, without appearing rude, watch her constantly, but from what he could see none of the groups appeared to welcome her and he could not mistake the slow leach of colour from her cheeks or the white knuckles of her tightly clenched fist. He was on the brink of going to her, to remove her from these people who were clearly upsetting her, when she set her jaw, tipped up her chin and crossed the room with determination in every line of her body.

  The woman she approached had arrived late, on her own—the Countess of Ardhban, Lachlan recalled. He paused, waiting to see what her reception of Flora would be. He didn’t have to wait long—the Countess saw Flora walking in her direction, haughtily eyed her from head to toe and then, quite deliberately, she turned her back. On his wife! Fury raged through Lachlan but, before he could even move, Flora rushed from the salon, her head down. A few guests smiled—and one or two even laughed—as they saw her depart.

  Lachlan stalked from the room and took the stairs two at a time. Their bedchamber was empty, as was the dressing room. Anxiety wound in his gut. Where did she go? Surely she would not go outside into the dark and cold? He ran down to the entrance hall where a footman, looking anxious, hovered by the front door.

  ‘Have you seen a lady in a blue gown?’

  ‘I have, sir.’ The servant’s relief was clear. ‘I couldna stop her, sir.’ He gestured at the door.

  ‘Do not worry.’ Lachlan pressed a shilling into the man’s hand. ‘I rely upon your discretion.’

  ‘Of course, sir.’ The footman opened the door for Lachlan, and handed him a lantern, already lit. ‘She headed that way, sir.’ He pointed in the direction of the stableyard.

  The wind was bitingly fierce and rain—never far away in Scotland—lashed down. Lachlan pulled up his collar, bent his head against the onslaught and ran. She would head for cover. She was not stupid.

  Unless...

  An insidious voice crept into his head, whispering that her distress might drive her into a reckless act. He pushed himself, his legs pumping, breath growing short. A building loomed out of the darkness. The carriage house. If she sought solitude, here was a place she might find it. He pushed open the door and stepped inside, pulling the door shut behind him as he held the lantern aloft, revealing several carriages.

  He listened, alert for any sound. There. A small sniff. Relief wrapped around him, but his heart clenched, knowing that in her distress Flora had not fled to him, her husband. No. She had run from him, too.

  Chapter Ten

  Flora sat in a corner of the carriage, wrapped in a fur she had found in there. How she wished she could curl up into a tight ball, but her blasted corset made it impossible to do anything but sit straight. Misery squeezed her heart, filling her with despair.

  How can I face them again? How can I face Lachlan? I am a failure. Our marriage will be ruined as soon as he knows the truth.

  When they had kissed, before dinner, hope had blossomed within her. For a few fleeting, wonderful moments she had forgotten her husband’s expectations of her and she had gloried in the possibility of a happy future. A close marriage. Of love growing.

  Love!

  What did she know of love? If her family had truly loved her, why had they never seemed to value her and why had they sacrificed her future so ruthlessly? She missed them every day, even though the past year had been fraught with the weight of their disapproval. She swallowed past the painful lump that clogged her throat and felt self-pitying tears scald her eyes. Crying wouldn’t help. She knew that. But she was alone...there was no one...

  The carriage door opened and she clutched the fur rug closer around her, fear pumping her heart as a lantern held aloft illuminated the interior and shone into her eyes. She swiped at them, hoping her tears were invisible to the intruder.

  ‘Flora...?’

  A sob escaped her. It was Lachlan. Of all people to find her, he was the best.

  And the worst.

  The carriage dipped as he climbed inside. He placed the lantern on the floor and sat opposite her, leaning forward, his forearms resting on his thighs.

  ‘Why did you run away?’

  ‘I—’ Her emotions overtook her again, throttling her words.

  With a muttered exclamation, Lachlan moved to sit next to her and took her in his arms, tucking her head into his chest. His hand rested lightly on her hair and his heart beat reassuringly in her ear as his scent calmed her.

  ‘This is my fault. I’ve made you an outcast by wedding you. But, please, don’t take it to heart so. We will rise above their arrogance, I promise you.’

  And the perfect solution dropped into her lap—all she need do was allow Lachlan to believe her failure was his fault and she would never have to reveal her disgrace and that her father was totally aware of her sullied reputation when he struck his bargain with Lach
lan.

  ‘No. You do not know the truth.’ She hauled in a shaky breath, pulled free of his embrace and swivelled to face him, needing to see his reactions.

  ‘Our marriage is only a part of it. I was the object of gossip long before we wed.’ She hung her head. ‘Father knew of it—he made a false bargain with you.’ She lifted her eyes to his. ‘I cannot help you find the patrons you need. Even my own family cannot forgive me.’ His features blurred as her eyes filled with tears. ‘I am so ashamed. I am sorry, but I can’t fulfil your expectations of me.’

  ‘Is it because you refused that Duke?’ His brow furrowed. ‘How can that make you an object of gossip?’

  ‘He is a duke. I am only the daughter of an earl. It was a great honour to be singled out by him.’ That is what Father and Mother had told her. ‘I humiliated him.’

  ‘Humiliated? By refusing his proposal?’

  ‘I caused a scandal.’

  The backs of his fingers brushed her face from temple to jaw. ‘Tell me.’

  Not a demand. A request. But still she hesitated, embarrassed to talk of such things. Even though he was her husband they had only been intimate that one time and there was so much she still had to learn. If she took her courage and confided in him, might it bring them closer? Or would the truth drive a bigger wedge between them? She relived their kiss...the way she had felt—torn, wanting more, wanting him, her body softening and preparing for his, and yet full of guilt over her failure to warn him what to expect.

  She sensed his strength and his support. He did not seem disappointed or cross with her. Not yet, anyway. And, whatever the result of her confession, there would be relief that the truth was in the open.

  ‘The betrothal was to be announced at a ball held by the Duke’s sister during the Caledonian Rout last year. I heard a scream from the library as I passed. I went in. And—’ She gulped, the scene imprinted on her memory. ‘Galkirk was in there with a maid. He had bent her backwards over a desk, her skirts pushed up, and she was struggling and crying and he...he...’ She drew in a steadying breath. ‘He was forcing himself on her. I didn’t think... I ran to them and pulled him off her. He was f-f-furious.’

  Furious barely described his incandescent rage. Spittle had sprayed her face as he yelled at her and the stench of brandy on his breath as he forced a kiss on her had sickened her stomach. She still could not bear the smell of brandy.

  ‘H-he kissed me and tried to force me to touch him. He s-s-said that I had interfered in his fun and I must take the maid’s place and as we were to be married in any case there would be no harm done.’

  Lachlan’s arms were still around her and they tightened, drawing her close.

  ‘I struggled and I managed to scratch his face.’ She remembered the satisfaction as all four fingernails raked down his skin. ‘He loosened his grip and I shoved him away and ran from the room.’ She bit her lip. The next bit was where her view of her world had gone askew. ‘I ran into the ballroom and straight to my father. I was in tears.

  ‘And then the Duke walked in, four vivid scratches on his cheek. The room fell silent just as I blurted out that I would not marry Galkirk if he was the last man on earth.’ The faces that surrounded her father and their expressions of shock, disbelief and, finally, scorn were imprinted on her memory. ‘And Galkirk—he had no shame. He just sneered at Father and said, “You did not tell me you’d raised a hellcat, Aberwyld. The offer is rescinded.”’

  ‘You could not have wed such a man, Flora. You did the right thing.’

  ‘But that is not how society sees it. They see me as tainted. And I failed my family—I had no idea how important that match was to them. Nobody told me. They just told me Galkirk had offered for me and that I should be flattered. And then Galkirk refused to deny that he had not...did not...’ She hung her head again. ‘They all believed I was no longer innocent. That I was soiled.’

  Lachlan stroked her hair. ‘But I know you remained pure, Flora, and I am proud to have a wife with such strength and spirit.’

  She relaxed into him, her head on his shoulder.

  ‘I felt so guilty for letting my family down. They all blamed me.’

  ‘And so...when an upstart businessman offered for you, you did not have the strength to refuse? You could not bear to let them down again?’

  Flora leaned back against his arm and searched his face. ‘It is of no use to pretend that is untrue, but I do not regret our marriage. I... I can only hope you can forgive my father’s deceit and that you will not grow to regret our union. And I am ashamed I hadn’t the strength to tell you this before but, once we were wed and I realised exactly why you had married me, it was too late and I hoped and prayed that, somehow, everything would work out for the best.’

  He searched her eyes, then cupped her chin and lowered his mouth to hers. She melted into his kiss, savouring every slide of his tongue, each gentle caress of his lips.

  ‘I shall not regret it, Flora, and there is no need for you to feel ashamed. I will find another way to increase my whisky business. I have no desire to court narrow-minded bigots such as Lady Ardhban.’

  ‘You only say that now because you have heard my story. They had already proved their narrow-mindedness by refusing to accept you and yet still you court their favour.’

  She felt him shrug.

  ‘Oh, I always recognised their bigotry. Your story has simply strengthened the case against them. I will find another way.’

  ‘I will help you.’ Somehow, she would find a way to prove her worth.

  He hugged her to him and dropped a kiss to her forehead. ‘There is no need for you to trouble yourself. I have always found a way in the past. I shall do so again.’

  She wanted to argue. She longed to help him. For so long her head had brimmed with ideas to help her family and her clan, but no one had paid her any heed and, eventually, she had given up even offering her opinion. That habit, of keeping her ideas and feelings locked inside, was still entrenched so she would not argue with words, but she vowed to show Lachlan through her deeds that her ideas had merit and that she could be of help.

  Besides—she snuggled a little closer to him—she did not want words to come between them now, for tonight they would share a bed again. His breathing had quickened and his heart beat erratically in her ear. Her own heart leapt at the thought that, tonight, they would again lie as man and wife. Those few glimpses of pleasure she had felt on their wedding night...she longed to experience them again, to see where they might lead.

  Tonight her nightmare had become reality, but Lachlan had not been disappointed with her—he had been supportive. And protective. And kind. She dared to hope that he returned her growing feelings for him.

  ‘Come. Let us return to the house.’

  Lachlan’s voice sounded a touch gruff, but Flora did not believe he was angry. Maybe, just maybe, he, too, was imagining the night to come and even looking forward to it. He kept his arm around her as they left the carriage house and they hurried back to the house.

  ‘I suggest you go straight on up to bed, Flora. I had better show my face again. I shall say you have retired with a headache.’ He tilted her face up, smiled and dropped a kiss on her forehead. ‘You are upset. Get some sleep—I shall sleep in the dressing room tonight.’

  She had no time to react before Sir Keith and two other gentlemen emerged from the salon.

  ‘McNeill! Just the fellow. Shall you object if I steal him away for a game of whist, Lady Flora? I am persuaded you can spare him for a short time.’

  Flora dared not look at Lachlan as she strove to mask her dismay.

  ‘Of course I do not object, Sir Keith. I am sorry for leaving the gathering so early—I have a headache and am about to retire for the night.’

  ‘I shall see you to our room.’

  Her chin lifted. ‘There is no need, I know the way. I shall bid you all goodni
ght, gentlemen. Enjoy your game.’

  * * *

  It was not until Muriel had helped Flora disrobe and she was alone with her thoughts that she allowed herself to dwell on all that had happened and her disappointment that Lachlan had chosen to stay away again. So much for her hope that he was beginning to care for her—or was his excuse genuine? Did he believe her so spineless that she needed everything to be perfect before they could be intimate? She didn’t understand him. She thumped her pillow in frustration—he now knew the worst of her, but what did she know about his past or his family, other than spiteful gossip and innuendo?

  She tossed around in the bed, unable to get comfortable as her thoughts raced, Cousin Sarah’s jibes about Lachlan circling endlessly. She lay awake for what seemed like hours, but eventually she must have slept because it seemed, all at once, to be light outside.

  * * *

  Lachlan awoke early the next morning, stretching out his stiff limbs to work out the kinks after sleeping in the chair in the dressing room. He’d had a monumental battle to stop himself from joining Flora in the bedchamber next door. But he’d given her his reassurance and had stayed downstairs playing cards until the small hours before—when he could no longer keep his eyes open—retiring quietly to the dressing room.

  The desire that had flared within him as he’d comforted Flora in the carriage had shocked him. She had been generous in taking all the blame for being ostracised on to her own shoulders, but he knew much of the fault was his. They were excluded for who he was. Or, more to the point, for who he wasn’t. The nobility saw an uncouth businessman lacking the manners and graces of a gentleman and Flora was now tainted by association.

  And none of them knows the full truth of my past.

  Poor Flora had been so distressed he hadn’t wanted to take advantage of her vulnerability. Not here, in a strange place, surrounded by cruel and censorious fools. He would wait until they were home, in familiar surroundings, when Flora wouldn’t feel obliged to cling to him as her only safe haven.