by Tarah Scott
Eve slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. “I would be delighted.” She looked up at him. “We have had no time together and…” A lump formed in her throat.
He patted her hand as he started forward. “You were always a good girl, Eve.”
“Even when I ran off with Lord Blane?”
“Even when you ran off with Lord Blane.”
“And now?”
He gave her a soft smile. “You put me out, I admit.” He returned his gaze to the path and Eve’s heart tugged at the tired look in his eyes.
“Oh, papa, I am sorry.” She stopped and nearly fell into his arms.
He stroked her hair and let her cry softly. “Come now,” he finally said. “I doubt this is about an apology to me. What is amiss? I don’t believe for an instant Rushton has mistreated you.”
She drew back. “You think he is a paragon of husbandly duty?”
“Hardly. He is a man—a newly married man—and those chaps make many mistakes. You must see it for whatever it truly is, whatever the case may be. Do you want to tell me?”
“It is nothing in particular,” she lied. Certainly nothing she hadn’t expected and feared.
He nodded and they began walking again.
They were silent for a long moment and Eve knew he was thinking of his other daughter who, despite being a good girl too, was spoilt to the bone. “Grace will come around,” she said. Though during tea, Grace sat like a stone, barely acknowledging his or Lord Somerset’s existence.
“She has no choice,” he replied. “I regret that she isn’t more sensible, like you.”
Eve snorted. “I have not been very sensible lately.”
“True, but is in your nature to be reasonable, and you did accept the inevitable.”
Yes, she did. “Grace will, too. Just give her time.”
“I fear time will not change her,” he said. “She’s willful, even more so than your mother.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Eve said. “She is simply young.”
He looked at her. “You were not like that at her age.”
“No,” Eve agreed, “but I recall my grandfather saying you had your wild moments when you were young.”
“All young men have wild moments. But you and I, even your mother, we’re of a tamer breed than Grace.”
Eve laughed. “She had to have gotten it from somewhere.”
“From somewhere,” he repeated in a cold voice that caused her to look sharply at him, but he seemed not to notice and stared straight ahead.
*****
Eve stopped short in the doorway of Lord Rushton’s bedchamber. The letter from his attorney lay open on the desk where he sat absorbed in work—the note from his mistress on top. Her heart pounded.
“Hello, Eve,” he said without turning from his writing.
“We missed you at tea,” she said stupidly.
“Forgive me, my dear. I had some business to attend.” He continued writing.
Did the business he referred to include a reply to his mistress to tell her he couldn’t wait to see her? Eve felt her nerve slip. “I am interrupting,” she said. “I will return later.”
“No need. What did you want to see me about?” He returned the pen to the blotter, then blew on the paper for an instant and folded it, before picking up another document and scanning its contents.
“Your mother is planning a trip to Tobermory tomorrow after lunch. She suggested a bit of shopping. I…” She’d started the lie and had to finish it. “I wanted to be certain you did not mind.”
“Of course not.” He flashed a heart-stopping smile. “The shopkeepers know me. They will extend credit for anything you like.”
“I don’t plan to make many purchases,” she said. “I am going more for the pleasure of the trip.”
“Do not hesitate to purchase anything you like.”
“Thank you. I might make a few purchases for the trip to the mainland your mother is planning next week. Oh, my lord, I didn’t tell you, Lord Somerset offered for her hand.”
He paused in reading and lifted his gaze to meet hers. “I thought he might.”
“You knew?”
“I noticed in Belfast that he seemed to care for her,” the earl said. “I believe she cares for him as well.”
“You think she cares for him?” Eve hadn’t considered that possibility.
“I have some experience in dealing with women who are interested in a man.”
Did that mean he had realized her interest in him, perhaps even before she had? But she suddenly knew the answer. “You knew I wouldn’t marry him,” she murmured.
“Lord Somerset?” He shrugged. “You refused his offer of marriage long before I came along. You made no secret that you didn’t want to marry him.”
“So when you told me that you would step aside if I preferred him you knew I wouldn’t do it.”
“You did give me scare when you told me you would rather marry him.”
“A scare?” she repeated, then said, “Ahh, you feared you would be stuck with Grace.”
“That was a concern.”
And there it was. His fervor to secure her hand was what it had been all along: a way to avoid the worse of the evils.
“What’s this about a trip to the mainland?” he asked. “Next week, did you say?”
“Yes,” Eve said absently. “Your mother hopes it will give Grace time to reflect on Lord Somerset’s offer before they return to England.”
“Has her sights set on someone higher up the chain, does she?”
Eve nodded. “In truth, she will make him a terrible wife. He has no real love for Society. He wants a real wife.”
“A real wife?” He repeated the words slowly. “Unlike what your husband wants, you mean?”
“I am not Grace, as you know,” she said.
“Thank God for small mercies.”
“You may have erred, my lord.”
He turned in his swivel chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “Indeed, how?”
“You would have done better with Grace.”
His gaze remained steady on her face for a long moment. “She would gladly return to England with me, whereas you are making plans that will keep you here through next week. Have you plans beyond that, next month perhaps, or maybe even next year?”
“You are making plans to resume your business in England.” She nodded toward the lawyer’s letter—and the note from his mistress. “You are returning to life as usual.”
He didn’t bother to glance at the papers, but said, “I never lied to you, Eve. You knew my life was in England.”
Eve nodded, but feared if she uttered even a whimper she would burst into tears.
They stared at one another in silence for a long moment before he turned his chair back to the desk and picked up the document he’d been reading. “When you go shopping tomorrow, buy what you need to furnish the suite here to your taste.”
Her heart began to pound. “I see.”
“I have been away too long and you made it clear that London was not to your liking. You have the trip to Scotland with my mother and you said you wanted to meet Jean’s daughter—and lest we forget, all the other MacLean relatives who have yet to welcome you into the fold.” He looked up and added, “It seems you’ve found your home, Eve,” then returned his attention to his work.
*****
Erroll tightened the cinch on his horse’s saddle, then pulled the stirrup from the saddle and lowered it to the beast’s side. He grasped the reins and led the horse toward the stable door. His father appeared in the doorway. So his mother had informed the marquess Erroll was leaving. He should have simply left her a note. But he knew he was lying to himself. He wouldn’t have been able to bring himself to so cold a parting.
“You are determined to leave?” his father said when Erroll reached him.
“You knew I would return to England.” Erroll continued out the door and the marquess fell in step on the moonlit path. Though, if he were hones
t, he hadn’t planned on leaving tonight—or tomorrow, for that matter.
“I assumed you would take your wife with you.”
“She prefers to stay here.” Without me.
“The harvest isn’t for some time yet. Why go so soon—or so suddenly?”
So soon? After his conversation with Eve an hour ago, he had wanted to jump into the saddle and ride until he couldn’t think. He should have done just that.
“Riding at night is not wise,” the marquess said.
“I know every rock on the road to Tobermory,” Erroll answered. “What is there to keep me here?”
“Your wife.”
“I believe a wife is obligated to follow her husband.”
“Can I expect a grandchild next January?” his father demanded.
Erroll gave a mirthless laugh. “You have a great deal of faith in my abilities, sir.”
“I have faith in your inability to stay out of your wife’s bed.”
His father had a point, and it was going to be hell not having her in his bed. “I consummated the marriage.” Several times over. “As to a grandchild, that is in Fate’s hands.”
“Fate is for fools.”
Erroll released a sigh. “I understand duty. You taught me well.”
“Do you plan to live the rest of your life for duty alone?”
“What else is there?” A wife, love…children?
“Children,” his father said, as if reading his mind.
“You certainly had your share.” Four children with Erroll’s mother alone. “Lust is a powerful motivation.” Little had he realized just how powerful a motivation.
“Lust?” His father grunted in disgust. “A fleeting passion.”
Erroll raised his brows. “You seem to have maintained that passion with my mother.”
His father scowled. “I am not so old. Why should you be surprised?”
Why was he surprised? “Most husbands grow tired of their wives after so many years of marriage.”
“Most men have good reason.”
Erroll looked sharply at his father. “But you do not?”
“Did you think I don’t know your mother is a remarkable woman?”
Something niggled in the back of Erroll’s brain. “But that doesn’t change the fact that she is not Moira MacLean.”
His father halted and for the first time in his life Erroll saw him nonplussed. “By God, no, she is not, and why should she be?”
“Perhaps it is merely the fact she is English, then?” Erroll asked.
“English?” his father repeated in a cold voice. “I did my best to see to it you understood things from both sides of the border. God knows, after The Forty-Five Rebellion, Scotland and England were as far apart as Cain and Abel. I had hoped your generation would be the one to bridge the chasm. Where did I go wrong? When did you decide the English way was better than Scottish life?”
Erroll stared. “You misunderstand me, sir. I do not think England any better than Scotland. In fact—” he broke off.
His father’s gaze turned shrewd. “In fact what?”
An epiphany hit Erroll and he felt like Saul on the road to Damascus. “You wish to bridge the chasm between the Scots and English?”
“The Scots, yes, but even more so, the Highlanders.”
“In Manchester you chastised me for not marrying a Scottish woman. You said I cinched the English noose more tightly around our necks.”
“Yes,” his father replied. “I might want to bridge the gap, but that doesn’t mean we deny who we are.”
“You never told me any of this,” Erroll said.
“What is there to tell? You had to see the world yourself, decide for yourself. Surely, it was obvious.”
“Was your marriage to my mother your way of trying to bridge that gap?”
“King George commanded the marriage. You know that.”
“And you know your duty,” Erroll murmured. He thought of the way Eve made him feel, the way he wanted her so badly it hurt, and recalled the look in his father’s eyes three nights ago at the party. Erroll imagined that same look in his eyes when he looked at Eve. He loved her.
Erroll felt as if a fist had been driven into his gut. He loved her—but believed she didn’t love him, just like—Erroll stared at his father. “It isn’t the fact your wife is English that separates you, but that you do not believe she loves you.”
To Erroll’s shock, pain registered on his father’s face. “She knew her duty and married me.”
“All these years, and you never told her you love her.”
“A man doesn’t burden his wife.”
“Just as a wife doesn’t burden her husband.” Erroll recalled Eve telling him that she wanted to like her husband and suddenly realized what a fool he’d been. “Sir, if I am any judge of women—and I cannot guarantee I am—I suspect you are as big a fool as I.”
“What the devil are you talking about?”
“I’ve seen the way my mother looks at you. If ever a woman loved, it is she.”
His father’s brows snapped down. “Erroll--”
Erroll shook his head. “My God, all these years. Did she never—” He caught sight of a carriage sitting in the front circle of the house and strained to discern the crest in the torchlight. “Is that—yes it is, Lydia and Connor’s coach.” He looked at his father. “Did my mother invite them?”
“I imagine so, but Lydia would never deign to wish you well.”
“No, but Connor would. I think we had better go inside.”
“I thought you were leaving.”
“I believe it is better that I do not make the same mistake you did.”
“You care for her?” his father asked.
“I do.”
“Then tell her.”
Erroll laid a hand on his father’s shoulder. “I suggest you do the same.”
*****
Eve couldn’t refuse the marchioness’ request that she come immediately to the pink parlor. The castle was filled with guests, and Eve had hoped no one would miss her for the duration of the evening. But that was not to be. A maid showed her the way and Eve forced a smile as she entered the room, where a dozen guests milled about or sat chatting and playing cards. She caught sight of Ash, standing just inside an alcove in the left hand corner of the room. He frowned when their gazes met and she read in his eyes the question of her husband’s absence. He left the alcove and approached.
Eve met him halfway across the massive room, and he whispered, “I don’t suppose his absence is because the two of you were carrying on together and he had to dress before coming?”
Eve was startled by the forthright question, but could only reply “No.” He—everyone—would soon know that her husband had done exactly what he promised he wouldn’t: abandoned her in Scotland.
Ash grasped her elbow and led her toward the alcove. “Wherever he is, he won’t be happy he missed this meeting.”
Eve started to ask what meeting when the interior of the alcove came into view. A man stood alongside a couch, where the marchioness sat with a woman Eve hadn’t yet met. The newcomer, who sat rigid on the cushion, shared the dark hair and eyes of Lord Rushton and his father.
Eve and Ash entered the alcove and the marchioness rose. “Eve, I am so glad you came. Please meet Rush’s sister and her husband.” She faced the man. “Eve, may I present Connor Douglas, the Earl of Kingsley?”
The earl took her hand in his and gave it a warm squeeze. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Eve.” The warmth in his voice bellied the palatable anger that radiated from the woman.
“And this is Lady Kingsley, Rush’s elder sister,” the marchioness said.
The woman gave a curt nod. Eve caught the marchioness’ disapproval in the thinning of her lips, and it seemed she was about to say something, but a maid appeared.
“Pardon me, my lady,” the maid said, “but more guests have arrived.”
Lady Rushton hesitated, and Connor said, “Go on, Angela. We are fine.�
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“I’m sure the marquess will be along soon,” she said.
Lydia visibly stiffened, and Eve realized that the marchioness’ words had been a warning.
“I won’t be long,” Lady Rushton said, and left with the maid.
“I did not come to see him,” Lydia hissed, once the marchioness was out of earshot.
“By ‘him’, you mean my father?” Ash said.
She jerked.
“Lydia,” her husband said in a warning voice.
“I came as you commanded, Connor. I will do no more.” Her gaze shifted onto Eve. “I pity you.”
Ire shot through Eve. “Good Lord, what lady conducts herself with so little decorum?” Shame immediately assailed her and Eve looked at Connor. “Forgive me, sir. You have been gracious, and I am not.”
“I would call you honest,” Ash said.
Connor cut his stormy gaze onto Ash.
Eve shook her head. “No. I am no lady to act so ungraciously.”
“No lady would marry Erroll,” Lydia said.
“For God’s sake, Lydia,” Connor hissed.
“Do not reprimand me,” she snapped. “You knew what you were about when you forced me to come.”
“But did he know what he was getting himself into when he married you?” Ash said.
“Why are you still here?” Lydia demanded.
“The hounds of Hell couldn’t drag me away, Sister.”
Her eyes narrowed, then her gaze jerked past him.
Eve turned in unison with Ash to see Lord Rushton and his father approach. Eve’s insides trembled. What was the earl doing here? He’d told her over an hour ago he was departing. She thought by now he would be in Tobermory, perhaps even settled on a ship bound for England. His gaze met hers and Eve experienced the same sensation she did when he made love to her, as if she were the only woman in the room…in the world.
Father and son entered the alcove.
“What are you doing here?” Eve demanded of the earl when he stopped so close she could feel the heat of his body.
“Where else would I be, my dear?” he asked.
“Trouble in paradise so soon, Erroll?” Lydia said.
He lifted a brow. “I do not see any blood. Have the games not yet begun?”
Eve blinked. What was he saying?
“It is always good to see you, Connor,” the marquess said. “But I admit I am surprised.”