Hugh shot a look at Grace and his sister. “Bear with it until tomorrow,” he whispered. “And we’ll see how you’re feeling then. And I’ll talk to my sister about it. Lady Jo is quite experienced when it comes to looking after the sick and injured. She’ll know when it’s time for you to be up and about.”
“Aye, m’lord,” Darby grudgingly agreed. “But would you at least have a talk with Mistress Grace? I feel a fool at how little I did and how many times she’s thanked me. If you only saw her, how brave she was facing those blackguards. She needed no rescue. Here I tell her to hide behind me, and instead she stands forward and takes the fight right to them. She’s got pluck, let me tell you. She was something to behold.”
Brave Mistress Grace. Beautiful Mistress Grace. Brilliant Mistress Grace. From Darby to Jo to his blasted law clerks, they were all singing her praises. Hugh’s gaze moved to the object of their conversation as she reached up to put a stack of folded cloths on a shelf. If they only knew how far short of the truth their admiring words fell.
In his thirty-six years, he’d never met any woman who consumed him—mind and body and heart—the way she did. Thoughts of last night pushed into his mind. In those hours after the Truscotts left, he’d tried to talk himself out of going to her room, but it was impossible. Whatever other people saw of Grace’s virtues, Hugh knew more. Her fiery passion, her flawless and responsive body. He had to escape her room or he would have made love to her.
Darby continued to talk, but Hugh’s attention was mainly on Grace. She couldn’t reach high enough to fetch a jar off a shelf. Excusing himself, he went to her. Her dress brushed against his coat. They were so close that he could almost hear the pulse beating wildly on her throat, feel the flush of heat rising into her face. He wanted to whisper in her ear. Tell her the secrets of his heart, how last night the truth had come to him.
He was in love with her.
Hugh fetched the jar and handed it to her. Her gaze lifted, and he was lost, sinking into the blue depths of her eyes until the urge to kiss her lips was overwhelming.
A knock on the cottage door saved him. Anna entered with another basket, and Hugh moved back to the injured man.
Behind her, one of the grooms who’d gone off with Truscott this morning stopped in the doorway. Hugh stepped outside to talk to him.
“We brought back three of them, m’lord. Mr. Truscott says he’s certain we got them that did it. He asks if you’d be kind enough to go into the village. The bailiff is waiting there with him and the rest.”
“I’d like to accompany you, m’lord.” Grace stood in the open door. She’d heard everything that was said.
Hugh turned to his man. “We’ll be taking the curricle. Have it brought around to the front. And have my valet bring out my pistols.”
The groom ran off to do as he was told. Jo came to the door too, and Grace told her what they were doing. “I hate to leave you alone, but I should go to the village.”
“I’m not alone. Anna is here, and if I’m not mistaken, Darby may be happy to be rid of us for the afternoon.”
“He probably could use some time alone,” Hugh agreed. “To rest.”
She gave Grace a hug. “I understand that it’s important for you to know that the right people have been caught.” She turned to Hugh. “And you will take good care of her.”
Jo was warning him about his intentions regarding Grace.
They were less than a year apart. Of all their siblings, she was closest to him and understood his moods best. But she was already a friend to Grace. Hugh wished he could tell his sister that there was no need to worry, that he would do everything in his power to make her a part of his life, part of everyone’s life at Baronsford. And whatever business needed to be concluded in Brussels with regard to the diamond and the Bonapartes, he’d see to that too.
Grace went inside to fetch her bonnet and he followed her in. After telling Darby what had transpired, Hugh ushered her out of the cottage.
The two walked in silence to the carriage. His valet was waiting for him with his hat and gloves. His pistols had been stored beneath the seat, and he helped her up before climbing in and taking the reins.
Their shoulders bumped as the horses turned out onto the lane, and she discreetly adjusted her seat, trying to keep a proper distance between them. Hugh looked at the blush in her cheeks, at the way her hands gripped the edge of the seat to keep herself securely positioned. He gazed at her beautiful profile, and she turned her face away toward the flowering meadow.
“Say what’s on your mind, Grace.”
“Last night . . .”
“Last night was inevitable. It’s been coming since the first time we kissed each other.” As Hugh hurried to talk, his words tumbled out on top of each other. He had so much that he wanted to tell her. “Everything about you thrills me. When I’m with you, all my honorable intentions just fly out beyond my reach.”
“Please stop.” Her hands pressed against her cheeks. “I’m so embarrassed by what happened. I don’t know what came over me. I was sleeping. And then you were outside of my door, and it all seemed like . . . like . . .”
“Like what?” he asked, resting his hand on her knee.
“Don’t torment me. Don’t encourage me to remember. I’ve forgotten none of it,” she said softly, pushing his hand away. “But you must understand that such wantonness is not part of who I am. It’s not the way I was brought up. It’s not the way I behave. But last night . . . the way I acted. The things I said. That was not stealing a kiss. I brazenly encouraged you to do more. Much, much more.”
And he intended to do much, much more. For a long time to come. But her innocence still astounded him. “You’re a grown woman, Grace.”
Her gaze flew to his face. Tears shone in her beautiful eyes. She was genuinely upset.
“I am a grown woman. A spinster of eight and twenty years who’s never allowed herself to be caught up in any romantic trysts. I’ve never given my heart or my body to a man. I’ve avoided the temptation of liaisons everywhere I’ve lived.” She stabbed at a tear that slid down her cheek. “I don’t know why I allowed myself to start now. It’s inexcusable that I have led you on when . . . when in two days, I am going to ask you to keep your promise.”
Her words stabbed at him. She couldn’t be talking about leaving, he told himself. Not now. Sometime amid the happenings of this past week, he’d cast off that conversation. Everything was different between them now.
“What promise?”
“Of sending me to Antwerp.”
Hugh’s temper flared, and he had a difficult time holding it in check. “No. That will not be happening. That promise was made before I knew who you were. Everything has changed. I have feelings for you, and I know you have feelings for me. You can’t deny it.”
“But you gave me your word.”
“I insisted that you wait a fortnight before we discussed it again. You decided you’d be well enough to leave in a week. I don’t care what was said, but I will willingly, merrily renege on any promise that allows you to go to Antwerp.”
Hugh sounded petulant even to himself, but he didn’t care. He wanted her to stay.
“You’re not being reasonable.” She matched his sharp tone. “You know who I am, as does Jo. But so do others, now that Mrs. Douglas knows. Can’t you see this is even more reason for me to go? My family are still considered traitors to the crown. I am not only the daughter of Daniel Ware; I’m also a Macpherson, a Jacobite on my mother’s side. Enemies to the English government everywhere you turn. I cannot stay here and simply wish those things away. I’ll not do that to you, to Jo, or to your family.”
None of this mattered. He didn’t care who her family was, or where she’d come from. All of this was irrelevant to Hugh. He’d fallen in love with Grace. She was the only thing that mattered.
He repeated the words in his mind. He was in love with her. But she was too upset. She wasn’t hearing him. She was too caught up in the drama of her situatio
n to listen to him declare his affection. Or admit what he knew was in her heart.
“I need to tell you something I did this morning,” Hugh said, forcing a note of calm into his voice.
“There is nothing that you’ve done or will do that can change my mind.”
He hoped she was wrong. “Hear me out.”
“Please . . . don’t do this. Don’t you see it’s best if you just let me go?”
He wouldn’t do that. He couldn’t let Grace walk out of his life. And arguing about it wasn’t about to accomplish anything. He reined the horses to a stop. Baronsford sat majestically on the rise behind them. The forest and the road to Melrose lay straight ahead.
“After leaving your bedroom last night, I wrote a letter to the Prince Regent. I asked him to grant you a pardon.”
This morning, after sending the letter off by express, he’d thought that he would hold back telling her about it until he had an answer. But now he realized she had a right to know.
Glistening tears ran freely down her face as she stared at him.
“I put the full force of the Pennington name behind the appeal. My name, my father’s. All the service and influence we represent. I explained your past circumstance, your present situation . . . and my intentions,” Hugh told her, taking her hand. Her fingers were ice cold as he brought them to his lips. “I love you, Grace. And in that letter I made it known that I’m planning to marry you, if you’ll have me. If you find me . . .”
She didn’t wait for him to say anything more. Her arms were around his neck. She wept softly as her lips pressed against his.
Hugh lifted her onto his lap as he kissed her cheeks and her lips, tasting the saltiness of her tears. He held her against him, knowing that he would never let her go, regardless of what the Prince Regent decided. Hugh had influence at court. He would fight for her and for their happiness. He was even prepared to move, to go to the colonies or America as his uncle Pierce and his wife had done. He would do whatever was needed for them to be together.
“I love you,” she whispered against his lips. “I thought I’d die in the darkness of that crate, and yet now I know the wind and the ocean currents were carrying me to you. When that ship was tossed about in the sea, I didn’t know I was about to be caught up in an even more powerful storm . . . of affection, passion, and unmatched honor. You are that storm, and you’ve swept me away. You’ve made me dare to dream, but—”
“There is no ‘but,’ my love.”
She placed her fingers against his lips. Her face was so close that he could see his own reflection in the shining pools of tears in her eyes.
“But I want you to take back your offer of marriage.”
He took her hand away from his lips. “I’ll do no such thing. I intend to spend the rest of my life with you.”
She caressed his face, placed a tender kiss on his lips. “Then you need to hold that offer in your heart, as I shall keep it in mine, for now.”
“What do you mean? Do you think I’ll stay silent when you torment me with threats of going back to Antwerp? When I know you love me?”
“You can ask me again, if you still want to, but only if your Prince Regent grants this pardon.”
“Blast the Prince Regent,” Hugh exploded. “Grace, I don’t give a—”
“No ultimatums. No threats. I won’t have you throwing away your achievements or your career. I won’t alienate you from your family,” she told him. The feathery touch of her fingers traced the hard lines on his face. Tears slid down her flawless cheeks. “Don’t make me suffer with the fear that I could ruin you in the same way that my own family was ruined. With my father dead, I have no one. No brothers or sisters, no cousins, no aunts or uncles. I have no home, no roots to cling to and use as my strength. Do you think I would allow that to happen to the man I love? I can’t . . . I won’t do that to you. I won’t pass such a legacy on to our children.”
She closed her eyes as another sob forced her to take a breath.
He wanted to assure her their life would be different. He wanted to tell her that she had grown up in a time of war. The world was changed now.
He wanted to tell her that, but he knew it would be a lie.
What was true was that he would sacrifice it all for her. He would give up everything he had.
She leaned her forehead against his. Their lips were a breath apart.
“I love you,” she whispered. “But for now, you must keep your offer safely locked away.”
Chapter 24
Walking up from Darby’s cottage, Jo stopped and stared across the fields at the horses being whipped to a breakneck pace along the lane toward Baronsford’s front door. Only an emergency would necessitate such reckless speed. Then she recognized the carriage and tension immediately pooled between her shoulder blades.
Lord or Lady Nithsdale.
Whatever the reason for this visit, the first thought to run through her mind was disappointment that Hugh wasn’t here to put these people in their place. After all, it was their guest, Mrs. Douglas, who’d endangered Grace with her careless hints and invitations. If Jo were only strong enough, brave enough, she’d call to task the annoying earl and countess herself.
As she hurried along the path, however, Jo knew she wouldn’t. Propriety always silenced her. That and the gnawing shame that the Nithsdales knew all about her past—about her murky origins and the public scandal that would dog her forever, regardless of the protection of the Pennington name and wealth.
Just as Jo reached the graveled courtyard, the carriage careened through the gates and the frenzied horses were reined in.
“M’lord,” she called out as the portly earl leaped to the ground. “Has something happened?”
“Where is Greysteil?” Nithsdale demanded, moving past her toward the door without so much as a bow.
More proof of how insignificant she was in these people’s opinion, she thought bitterly. Without her family nearby, the man omitted even the most rudimentary courtesies.
“He’s not at home,” she said.
Nithsdale spun around. “But I must speak to him at once.”
How she desperately wanted to tell him how little she cared about his wishes! Sharp words struggled to break free to the surface. Jo searched her inner resources for even an ounce of Hugh’s strength to remonstrate the earl for his ungentlemanly manner of greeting her. But nothing left her lips and she stood silent, frustrated and constrained.
“Speak,” he ordered. “Where can I find his lordship?”
“Melrose Village,” she answered finally, unable to say more.
Without another word to her, Nithsdale shouted to his driver and scrambled into the carriage. As Jo watched the vehicle race down the lane, she tried to convince herself that her bone of contention lay with Lady Nithsdale and not her husband.
That was a lie, Jo admitted silently a moment later. The truth was that she was a coward.
She’d been only a girl at the time, but after news of Wynne Melfort’s proposal circulated, she’d allowed the gossip and the petty arrogance and the envy of people like the Nithsdales to destroy her happiness. Wallowing in the shameful uncertainties of her birth, she hadn’t had the courage to fight the accusations and the innuendo. She had retreated into a cowardly silence.
Fifteen years later, she was still hiding.
* * *
Grace looked through the small, barred window in the door of the cell.
They were definitely the three men who attacked her and Darby on the lane. The leader, with the distinctive M tattooed on his hand, was standing beneath the high window, scowling at the others. The one who’d come at her sat on a cot. The man who kicked Darby crouched in a corner, staring at nothing.
She didn’t want to stay here one moment longer than she had to. She was satisfied that they’d caught the right ones.
After their ride into the village and all that was said by the man standing beside her, Grace wanted this business finished, but there was no chance of
that until they knew for certain the motive behind the attack. Hugh touched her elbow and she nodded. He had the look of a leashed hound. He wanted answers.
He led her outside the jail, where Truscott waited. The other Baronsford men were milling about near the market cross and lounging at the corner by the George Inn.
“How did you find them?” Hugh asked.
Truscott sent Grace a look. “We went to the limestone mine and talked to the operator. As bad luck would have it, the mine was shut down for the past week. A partial cave-in of one of the tunnels. We couldn’t narrow it down at all because no one was working but a wee crew shoring up the works. They started operations again just this morning.”
“And no one knew anything?” Hugh pressed.
“While we were talking to the operator, one of the foremen came in. He said that there was a brawl between two fellows last night.” Truscott looked at Hugh. “And not one of your bare-knuckle bouts. The lads had been gambling at cards fairly heavily earlier in the week, as they tend to do when the mine is shut down. One of them lost a tidy sum to another, and when the winner wanted to collect, the other fellow said he’d pay him when he got back from doing a ‘big job’ up by Melrose. Turns out the job didn’t work out the way he’d hoped, and when he came back last night, he didn’t have the money to pay his debt.”
“We know what the ‘big job’ was,” Hugh put in.
“They called the man out of the mine,” Truscott continued. “As soon as he saw us, he ran for it and then fought like the devil when we caught him. He gave us an earful about laying hands on an innocent working man, but soon enough he was singing like a magpie.”
“Did he give up the other two?” Hugh asked.
“He did. His confederates were still in the mine, and the operator brought them out, as well. Once we had all three, two of them pointed their fingers at the one with the M brand—who goes by the name Quint—as the ringleader.”
Romancing the Scot (The Pennington Family) Page 20