Wicked Highland Heroes

by Tarah Scott

  “No,” he stated flatly. “I am as surprised as you.”

  “You expect me to believe that you sat here and didn’t ask who the gentleman was?” she demanded.

  “You did the same. My father ordered me to sit and be quiet.” Erroll saw the hurt in her eyes, and his mind snapped from limbo. He quickly added, “I understood that we were to attend church tomorrow to hear the reading of the first of the banns.”

  Her brow furrowed and he could see that she, too, knew they were to attend church tomorrow. Eve still stared, but her expression had gone blank. Was she deciding whether or not he had manipulated her? He had, but not as badly as she might think. He’d seen the way Somerset looked at her sister—not to mention Grace Crenshaw’s reaction to him—and realized the viscount had fallen in love with her. Erroll suspected Eve had observed the same and wouldn’t marry a man who preferred her sister, which meant Eve had no choice but to marry him.

  “You have both missed the mark,” the marquess said.

  Apprehension coiled in Erroll’s gut. “Would you mind explaining, sir?”

  “Technically, you are already married,” Tolland answered. “The promise of marriage along with an intimate relationship constitutes a legal marriage.”

  Good God. So his lie that he had taken Eve’s virginity is what had done him in?

  “Already married?” Eve echoed.

  “There was even a notice in the paper,” Tolland said.

  “I never agreed to any of this,” she said in a whisper.

  “Are you telling me Rushton forced himself on you?” Tolland demanded. “If you tell me that, Eve, I will shoot him here and now.”

  Her cheeks reddened. “No, no, of course not. It is just…”

  She looked at Erroll and he knew she was thinking of the pleasure he’d given her moments ago. By God, he’d made a mess of that, hadn’t he? He thought he had three weeks to allow her to come to terms with marrying him so he had…had what? Bloody hell, he had no idea anymore.

  “Apparently, all of Gretna Green knows you dueled Halifax because he kidnapped your betrothed,” the marquess said. “That public announcement was simply the confirmation of marriage.”

  It was so ridiculous Erroll wanted to laugh. “You do remember the duel, my dear?”

  “It is burned into my brain.”

  His as well.

  “I told you that duel was a bad idea.” She dropped down on the seat beside his mother. “Just as I told you that coming uninvited into my room was a bad idea.”

  “Indeed, you did.”

  She addressed her father. “If Lord Rushton and I are married, why are we here?”

  “It is best you sign the marriage contract and that the Registrar witness and record the marriage,” he replied.

  “As we are already man and wife, this could have waited until a more reasonable hour,” she said with asperity. Erroll barked a laugh and she shot him a recriminating look, then demanded, “Where are the papers?”

  Erroll’s father rose and retrieved the documents from the desk in the corner. He brought them, along with a pen and book.

  “Please sit down,” he told her.

  She sat on the couch and signed each document as instructed. “I assume you saw to everything in the contract, Papa?”

  “I did.”

  “Then I need not worry for an instant.” She signed the contract with a flourish that told Erroll the wedding night might not be all that smooth, then laid the pen on top of the document, and the marquess took everything to Erroll, who did the same.

  “Is it official?” Erroll’s mother asked the Registrar, once Erroll had signed the last paper and the marquess had handed him the documents.

  The Registrar flipped through the papers, signed one sheet, then looked at her. “It is, my lady. You have Lord and Lady Rushton.”

  Erroll glimpsed the flicker of panic in his new wife’s eyes. He didn’t blame her. Any woman of character would react with shock at hearing herself called by his name—one very good reason he had so determinedly avoided the ladies who had decided they wanted the title: lack of character.

  His mother took Eve’s hand in hers. “We welcome you to the family. We will plan a party for the day after tomorrow.”

  “Do not put yourself to any bother,” Eve said.

  “A party is never trouble for Mother,” Erroll said.

  “Indeed not,” she said. “I adore parties. However, that is for us to worry about tomorrow. It is still the wee hours of the morning, and I think everyone would do well to retire.”

  “Thank you,” Eve said. “It has been a trying day.” She rose and everyone followed suit.

  Her father came to her and grasped her shoulders. “I know this is not what either of us planned, but you could have done far worse.”

  Erroll wondered if Tolland was thinking that Eve could have ended up married to Lord Blane, who Erroll had heard was so deep in gambling debts that it was expected he would turn up dead or disappear on a ship bound for Australia.

  Tolland hugged his daughter and stepped back as Grace Crenshaw offered what appeared to be sincere congratulations. Eve accepted all this with polite acquiescence, then allowed Somerset to bow over her hand as he congratulated her.

  “I will show you to your room,” his mother said at last.

  “Thank you, but I can find my way,” Eve said.

  “No, my dear. We have one of the private suites ready for you and Erroll.”

  Eve’s mouth parted in surprise and for an instant Erroll feared she would cry. He started toward her, but his mother pulled her into a hug and Erroll halted as he glimpsed the shock on Eve’s face. To his surprise, she hugged his mother fiercely, then seemed to recall herself and stepped back.

  “I am ready.”

  Erroll was caught between wanting to laugh and the dawning comprehension that he was married without so much as a kiss or a drink to herald the event. He was also struck with the realization that the next woman he made love to would be his wife. By God, was he ready?

  Chapter Eighteen

  Eve walked beside Lady Rushton as if in a dream. No, not a dream, a nightmare. How bad was the situation? She was married to a man she barely knew, but, heaven help her, she had fallen in love with. His long list of paramours indicated that many women were affected in the same manner—and no doubt many more would be added to his conquests. And that, she realized with painful intensity, was the problem. Well, one of the problems. She wanted him, and he’d made it clear he wanted her. But that was where it always ended for him.

  She and the marchioness climbed the stairs to another story and through a labyrinth of hallways that left Eve dizzy. At last Lady Rushton stopped in front of a room and opened the door. She entered first and Eve followed.

  “This is the parlor,” the marchioness said. A fire burned in the hearth, and the room was furnished with two couches, two chairs, a small desk and sideboard stocked with liquor. She crossed to a door on the left and entered the room. “This is the master bedroom, with the lady’s room here.” She walked past a massive four-poster bed to another door and Eve followed into a smaller, but just as lavishly furnished, room. The burgundy quilt had been turned back on the bed and a settee was located in front of the crackling hearth fire. “There is a tub behind the screen there.” The marchioness pointed to the left corner near the hearth, where stood a magnificent painted Chinese screen with gilded leather. An ornate pedestal work table with a silk workbag sat against the wall to the left of the bed.

  “This is too much, ma’am,” Eve said.

  She laughed. “Not at all. The suite is perfect for you and Erroll. You are welcome to stay as long as you like.”

  How long would that be? Would Lord Rushton keep his promise and not abandon her in Scotland, or would they rush back to Town with all its traps and distractions? Which would be worse, staying here alone, or being with him where she was bound to encounter the women he kept?

  Eve caught sight of a nightdress draped across the ch
air nearest the bed and realized the garment had been laid out for her. Her stomach somersaulted. How was she going to get through the night? Her mind flashed back to her encounter with Lord Rushton in the alcove half an hour ago and knew very well how she was going to get through the night.

  At the sound of a knock on her bedchamber door, Eve looked up from the floor and shifted on the edge of the mattress where she sat. “Come in.”

  The door opened and Lord Rushton entered. To her surprise, he hadn’t changed into a robe—under which she had expected him to be naked—but wore the breeches and white shirt he’d worn in the library. Eve recalled the marchioness telling her that the marquess had been sensitive to her fears during their wedding night—though Eve suddenly wished she had asked exactly what that meant—and said, “Did your mother have a talk with you?”

  A smile twitched the corner of his mouth. “Was she supposed to have a talk with me?”

  Eve shook her head. “No. But your attire makes me wonder.”

  He closed the door and crossed to the bed. “I am not certain what that means.”

  “It means, my lord, that I am wondering why you are dressed. Do grooms not generally greet their new brides naked?”

  Surprise—and was that delight?—flickered in his eyes. “If you are that anxious, I can oblige.” He tugged his shirttails from the waistband of his britches.

  “Do men use any excuse to get their clothes off while in the presence of a woman?” Eve asked.

  “We need little encouragement.” He dropped the shirttail, but didn’t unbutton the shirt. “A wedding night needs no excuses. You gave me the impression you were receptive.”

  “I asked a simple question,” she replied.

  “Would you rather I spent the night in my room?”

  Why not, she wondered? He would doubtless spend most of his nights in his own room—after returning home from his mistress’ bed. But she said, “You implied that your husbandly duties would make marriage to you worthwhile.”

  For the first time in their acquaintance, he looked nonplussed, and Eve couldn’t help laughing.

  He frowned. “I didn’t quite put it that way.”

  “My lord,” she said through a hiccup of nervous laughter, “have I trod upon your masculine sensibilities?”

  “I do not have masculine sensibilities.”

  He actually sounded offended. Eve recalled Grace saying that she had wounded his pride. “But you do, and I have trampled upon them.”

  His eyes narrowed. “If it is masculine sensibilities you want, then it is masculine sensibilities you shall have.” He reached for her, but she scooted back on the bed before he could grab her. Lord Rushton straightened, a gleam in his eye. “Would you like a game of chase in the bargain?”

  He began a slow walk around the foot of the bed, then abruptly dove for her. Eve squealed and leapt from the bed. He landed, face down on the mattress where she’d been, then rolled from the bed onto his feet and advanced on her. Eve retreated until her calves bumped into something. She jumped aside and the worktable she’d bumped into fell onto its side. The top fell off, and a chessboard inside struck the carpet.

  “Oh dear,” Eve cried.

  She dropped to her knees and picked up the chessboard. An instant later, Lord Rushton knelt beside her and grasped her arms.

  Eve twisted in an effort to break free. “Let me go.”

  “No.”

  She snapped her head up and looked into his eyes. She suddenly felt weak as a kitten. This feeling, she decided, was going to be her undoing—and Lord Rushton knew it, and would relish her downfall.

  She gave him a critical look. “If you think I’ll melt every time you look at me like that, you have quite another thing coming, my lord.”

  “Do I, indeed?” he said. “I am a groom who has yet to be kissed by his wife.”

  “You have kissed me on several occasions.” The memory of those most recent kisses in the hallway alcove sent butterflies skimming across the insides of her stomach.

  “But you were not my wife and, in fact, madam, you have never kissed me.”

  “If our families had given us a proper wedding, you would not have this complaint,” she said.

  “I know how to solve the problem,” he drawled.

  Eve knew exactly what he meant. She dropped the chessboard, seized his shoulders, and kissed him—hard. When she pulled back, there was an audible smacking sound.

  Lord Rushton stared and Eve started to fear she’d displeased him. Then he said, “That was very nice.”

  “Thank you.”

  He blinked in obvious surprise. “Thank you?”

  “Thank you, my lord?” she tried.

  His mouth twisted into a wry grin. “Apparently, I am losing my touch.”

  Eve snorted. “Hardly.” She pulled free of his hold and righted the table, then picked up the chessboard. She caught sight of the backgammon board on its side inside the table. “Do you play backgammon, sir?”

  “I played when I was young.”

  Eve heard the bemused note in his voice. Discussing backgammon was probably the last thing a rakehell like Lord Rushton thought he would be doing on his wedding night. The truth was, she was torn between kissing him again and wanting to run as far from him as she could.

  “I loved to play when I was young,” she said.

  “If I had courted you properly, would we have played backgammon?”

  Eve looked at him and frowned. “That is an odd question.”

  “This is an odd situation,” he replied.

  “Many people marry as strangers.”

  “True. But those are usually arranged marriages. The average couple generally has some mutual knowledge of one another beforehand. No one I know marries as a result of mistaken identity and a kidnapping to Gretna.” He rose and extended a hand to her. “Shall we begin?”

  “Begin?”

  “A courtship.”

  She shook her head. “One game of backgammon does not constitute a courtship.”

  “No, but it is a start. Come along.”

  He smiled gently, his hand still extended, and Eve found herself placing her hand in his. Moments later, they sat on the floor in front of the hearth with the backgammon board and pieces in their starting positions between them. A decanter of brandy and two glasses were arranged beside the board.

  He filled both glasses, then gave her one and took a healthy swig from his. “Drink a bit. It will warm you.”

  Eve recalled Grace saying that one of his faults was that he drank a lot. “You say that often,” she said.

  He laughed. “Because it is true. Have a sip, then you roll first.”

  She took a small sip, then tucked her knees to her side and braced the palm of her free hand on the carpet as she rolled. Eve moved her pieces, then he rolled and moved as she sipped her brandy. Of course, he was right, the liquid warmed her throat and belly, and she began to relax. She rolled again, and moved her pieces.

  “You are in luck,” he said. “So far you’re able to protect your pieces.”

  Eve wasn’t sure how lucky he was, especially when he unbuttoned the cuff of his shirtsleeves and rolled them up to reveal lean, tanned forearms. She wanted to look away, but was afraid he would notice her discomfiture.

  She took a gulp of the brandy. “You grew up here in Ravenhall?”

  “I did.” He rolled the dice.

  “It must have been wonderful.”

  “I have many fond memories,” he replied. “Tomorrow, if you like, I’ll show you some of the grounds.”

  “I would like that very much.”

  Her heart sped up a notch. So he wasn’t forcing her to return to England right away. She longed to ask how long they would stay in Scotland, but the truth was, it mattered little whether it was tomorrow or next week. When they returned, the result would be the same.

  They rolled two more times and Eve sent one of his pieces to the middle of the board to start over. She narrowed her eyes. “I think you are l
etting me win.”

  ”You saw the roll of die. I have played good moves. I told you luck was with you.”

  “I am not so lucky,” she said. “Neither are you, for that matter.”

  “On the contrary, I am very lucky.”

  “Rubbish. You have been forced to marry when you did not want to, and to a woman you barely know.”

  “I know you well enough to know I like you.”

  Eve stilled, the dice in hand. “You like me?”

  “Had I not liked you, I wouldn’t have stayed in Manchester.”

  “Why?” She rolled. “Why do you like me, I mean?”

  “Because you are honest and forthright.”

  “Forthright?” She scrunched her nose in distaste. “That is a way of saying pushy.”

  “No. It is not.”

  Eve recalled Lady Gallagher waylaying them in the gardens. “Honest… unlike Lady Gallagher?”

  “So you remember her,” he said.

  “I am not likely to forget anything about that night.” Eve counted off her moves and was forced to leave one of her pieces exposed. “Lord, that’s justice, is it not? I planned to kidnap you, so fate had me kidnapped, too.”

  Eve glimpsed the upturn of his generous mouth as he reached for the decanter. “Fate has a way of intervening at the most importune moments.” He refilled their glasses.

  “I couldn’t agree more,” she said. “If you had ended up in Gretna without me, you would have married Grace.”

  “You do not know me at all if you still think that, madam.”

  “You would have allowed her reputation to be ruined?”

  “Eve, it was a hair-brained scheme from the start. There was no chance of success.”

  She wanted to argue, but her mouth had gone dry at hearing her name on his lips. He rolled and was able to position his pieces to capture her exposed game piece.

  Eve took the dice and rolled. “I don’t think our fathers would have let you off.”

  “No matter. I would have returned her to Manchester, then taken you to Gretna and married you.”