“Do ye think the major would allow her to interact with us if he believes me a traitor?”
She blew out an annoyed breath.
“You’d lose everything, and you’d regret it eventually,” he said.
“How dare you presume to be able to predict my feelings?”
“I’m sorry.” He moved to a sitting position on the edge of the bed, his back to her. “I canna destroy your life, and I canna betray my brother Knights. I’ll be leaving for Manchester soon. We wilna be able to see each other for a time. Then when we return…” He paused, and his shoulders shuddered as he drew in a deep gulp of air. “When we return, we’ll be busy with a new assignment. I think…you and I shouldna seek each other out anymore.”
Grace’s throat closed so tight she couldn’t breathe. Staring at his back, she swallowed hard. “Turn around,” she said in a shredded voice. “Turn around and say that again. Look into my eyes while you say it.”
He turned slowly, as if fighting against a raging current. When his eyes met hers, they were flat. Almost dead. If he was feeling any emotion whatsoever, he masked it.
“We canna do this anymore, Grace. We wilna be able to share a bed again.”
“Duncan…” She couldn’t decide whether she wanted to slap some sense into him or to grab on to him and not allow him to leave.
She did neither of those things. Instead, she built a wall of ice around her heart.
“We kent it would come to this.”
“I suppose you should go, then,” she said coolly.
“I should.”
She looked toward the window. It wasn’t dawn yet, but the sky had lightened to a coal gray that reflected against the ivory curtains.
“Goodbye, Grace,” Duncan said. She didn’t move, didn’t respond, didn’t look at him. She heard his footsteps as he walked away from her bed and across the room, then a small snick as he closed the door behind him.
—
Duncan paused at a street corner in Piccadilly, watching the beginnings of London morning traffic. Dawn was breaking in earnest now, bathing the street in the palest of blue light. He leaned his shoulder on a streetlamp and stood, watching the people, the carts, carriages, and horses, the sky as it continued to lighten.
He hadn’t made a mistake. He’d done the right thing. The proper thing. He’d made the choice that was best for Grace. She was just being stubborn now. She wasn’t facing the reality of the difficulties that marrying him would cause her.
But a niggling feeling was annoying him, like a gnat he wanted to slap away. What if she was right? Could they somehow make it work?
If only he could gain the approval of the earl and the major. But how? He had nothing to recommend himself to them besides his physical strength and his love for Grace. He couldn’t change their minds with brawn any more than he could with assurances of his love.
He could defy the earl and the major, send her to his family while he continued to work with the Knights—
Thinking of her in the farmhouse made him shake his head resolutely, remembering her wide-eyed shock when he’d told her the house had only four rooms. He hadn’t even begun to describe the packed-dirt floors and the thatched roof.
She didn’t belong in that life. Ultimately, she didn’t belong with him.
He was right. Why wasn’t she seeing that?
He rubbed his knuckles over his brows. Pain throbbed behind them. Every instinct he possessed told him to go to her. To hold her in his arms and tell her he was hers; that he’d always be hers.
That was the truth. He would always be hers.
He stood there for a long time. Finally, when he knew the Knights would be congregating for breakfast, he straightened and headed for the house.
—
A week later, the Knights were firmly ensconced in the major’s country house just north of the city of Manchester. The major had been awarded this estate concurrent to receiving his baronetcy, but he’d never resided here, just managed the property from wherever the army had taken him at the time.
The house was about half the size of Norsey House but still huge by Duncan’s standards. It was older than Norsey House, too—built in Tudor times and tucked into the forest, surrounded by trees. It reminded Duncan of a place one might find in the Bavarian forest rather than in the middle of England.
Lady Campbell had joined them two days ago, but the major was already talking about sending her home, because they were gathering information quickly and could, potentially, have acquired enough evidence to begin the process of making arrests within a few weeks.
The men had spent their days in homes, in coffeehouses, at sporting events, and on the streets themselves. Asking questions…listening. Manchester was abuzz with talk of the insurgents, who called themselves the Newsmiths—some reference to them forging a new government with iron and steel.
The group appeared to be led by an influential viscount—though he refused to acknowledge his title—supported by a large group of wealthy merchants and vocal political dissidents. The Newsmiths were adding supporters daily. They met in individual homes, though their numbers had increased so much that they were beginning to require larger meeting venues.
Their philosophy was complicated, and found its roots in the Jacobin Club of the French Revolution and the revolutionaries of America. They were egalitarian and antimonarchy. They spoke out against the gluttony and greed of the royal family and the aristocracy. They believed that the only way to stop this unfair treatment of the common man was through full-scale, violent rebellion.
The Knights, along with Lady Campbell, were seated in the salon of the major’s house. It had rained all day, the cloud cover breaking at dusk, and the evening was cool. A fire crackled in the hearth, and they all reclined on furniture that was older and not as elegant as that in the London house, but far more comfortable, at least in Duncan’s opinion.
Dinner had been over for an hour, and at this time of day, with whiskey in hand—although Lady Campbell preferred her claret—they’d taken to sharing details of the progress each of them had made in gathering evidence relating to the insurgents.
“What about you, Mackenzie?” Stirling asked him. “What did you do today?”
Duncan gave a self-deprecating shake of his head. He’d been damned useless since they’d arrived, only working well with Fraser when they infiltrated as a team. Which was wrong in so many ways, not the least of which was everyone’s agreement that he and Fraser, given their lower social statuses, would more easily gain the Newsmiths’ trust. The group was inherently suspicious of anyone with a title—or with links to one.
But Duncan couldn’t focus. He missed Grace, damn it. He’d hurt her and then he’d left her, and a dark sense of wrongness festered in his chest.
“I went to one of the coffeehouses in Market Street.”
“And?”
Duncan shrugged. “I didna hear a thing. It wasna a productive day for information gathering.”
Stirling gave him an assessing look. He felt Lady Campbell’s gaze on him, too, as well as the major’s, but he didn’t focus on anything but the amber liquid in his glass. He took a healthy swallow.
Conversation moved on, ebbing and flowing around him, but he couldn’t focus on it.
God, he missed her. He missed touching her. He missed her smile and her intelligence. He missed talking to her. He missed touching her perfect, flawless body.
The line he’d drawn was going to be extremely difficult not to cross when he saw her next. If things went well here, the Knights might be back in London in a month.
Maybe that would give him enough time to prepare. To steel his body and mind against her allure. Probably not, though. There would never be enough time. Grace had burrowed herself deep inside him—into his soul—and there was no exorcising her from it. She’d always be with him, always a part of him, no matter how close or far apart they were.
“I’ll take Mackenzie,” he heard someone say. He looked up to find it was Frase
r, and he nodded as if he knew exactly what Fraser was saying, though he had no idea. That was all right—Fraser would tell him later.
“Good,” the major said. “Let’s to bed, then. We’ve a long day tomorrow.”
Duncan rose to file out with the other men, but the major took hold of his arm. “Stay. I wish to speak with you.”
Oh, hell. Had the major caught on to his inability to focus these past few days?
Probably.
With a sigh, Duncan sank back onto the sofa.
When everyone had gone out, the major and Lady Campbell took a seat side by side on the sofa opposite his.
Lady Campbell leaned forward, placed her hand on her husband’s thigh, and squeezed.
“There’s a matter of great importance we wish to discuss with you, Duncan.”
Chapter 20
Grace had written to Duncan every single day. Long letters detailing not only the events of her days but how much she missed him. Every detail about what, exactly, she missed. She left nothing out, even the most intimate of touches that she daydreamed endlessly about.
She’d sent none of the letters.
He didn’t want her letters. He’d made that abundantly clear by the way he’d turned his back on her. More clear by the fact that he hadn’t written her, either.
She had received a letter from Claire, but her sister had spoken mainly of mundane things, like her journey north and the state of the major’s house and how she’d begun the project of modernizing it. She’d closed the letter with, “I know this letter hasn’t given you all the information you crave, but some of it is sensitive information that should not be shared in writing. As for the other…Well, there is not much to say on that front except I believe he is suffering as much as you are. I doubt that brings you comfort, sister, but I thought you should know it.”
Did that knowledge bring her comfort? Grace didn’t think it did. Instead, it increased her anger. She had been desperately unhappy since Duncan had left. He was unhappy too. But it was his decision that made them so. If he hadn’t been so stubborn—so Scottish—they might be married by now. They’d be sharing their time, sharing a bed, sharing their lives.
Grace set her embroidery aside and lay her head on the chair back, staring up at the frescoed ceiling. There was Cupid, shooting an arrow at someone hidden behind a cloud; only parts of her visible—a snatch of a dress, a bit of pale leg, a feminine elbow.
Cupid had certainly shot his arrow straight into Grace. If only she could find a way to rip it out of her heart. She’d tried, but it had left her feeling only more brokenhearted.
The door opened and her father strode in. Grace snatched up her embroidery again, not wanting to get into a conversation about her lack of concentration.
“Good evening, Papa.”
He frowned at her. “You do know tomorrow’s the twentieth, don’t you?”
She hadn’t given a thought to the date, but she said, “Of course.”
“Well?”
She chewed her lip. Was there something special about the twentieth? Her mind was a complete blank.
“Grace, are you quite all right?” her father asked sharply.
“Yes, yes, of course. But it’s slipped my mind—is there something happening tomorrow?”
“Good God.” He shook his head in frustration. “The dinner party? I trust all is in place for tomorrow evening?”
Grace laid her embroidery back down, trying to stop her hands from shaking. Oh God. Oh God oh God oh God. She’d forgotten completely. No one had reminded her, not the housekeeper or the cook, and she wasn’t at all prepared. Her father had caught her—usually the night before a dinner party she was up late, busy with last-minute preparations.
Papa couldn’t know that she’d failed him. She hated disappointing him, and she’d never overlooked something of this importance before. “Of course all is in place,” she said warmly. “I’m sorry—I thought you must’ve been talking about something else.”
“And the ice I wanted? The pineapple ice? That’ll be served with the final course?”
Oh no. She was fairly certain that even if Cook had remembered that the party was tomorrow night, Grace had never told her about her father’s request for a pineapple ice. Acquiring pineapples might be nigh impossible at this short notice. But she’d find them. If she had to scour London for two or three pineapples and pay a fortune for them, she’d do it.
“Of course,” she told her father. “It’s going to be delicious.”
Her father didn’t smile, but he tilted his head, one of his few signs of approval. “Well, then. I will see you later. If you need anything, send for me at my club.”
“Yes, Papa.”
He turned on his heel and exited the room. Grace leapt to her feet, looking at the clock on the mantel. It was eleven o’clock.
She had twenty hours to prepare a dinner party her father could be proud of.
It looked like sleep would have to wait until after the party ended tomorrow night. She’d be dead on her feet, and it was her own fault.
This near disaster was proof that she needed to get on with her life. She needed to stop being distracted by thoughts of Duncan Mackenzie.
—
“I know what’s bothering you,” Lady Campbell said.
Duncan froze. How could she possibly know? Was he that transparent?
Lady Campbell glanced at the major, who sat still, looking very severe and serious. Duncan couldn’t tell if it was anger that narrowed his eyes and thinned his lips or something else.
Surely they didn’t know what had happened between him and Grace at Norsey House!
Duncan sat up straight. He didn’t want anyone to be a party to what he and his woman did behind closed doors. But if they did know, he’d face the consequences.
Lady Campbell took a deep breath, then asked, “Did you see Grace in London?”
Duncan considered lying, but only for a moment. “Aye. I did.”
“And…she asked you to marry her?”
“What?” the major roared, jumping to his feet.
“Oh, Rob,” Lady Campbell said, “do sit down.”
Duncan exhaled slowly. The only way Lady Campbell would know this is if her sister had taken her into her confidence.
The major crossed his arms over his chest. “Your sister proposed marriage to Duncan Mackenzie? And you didna feel the need to warn me of this?”
“It was really none of your business at the time, dear.”
The major paced to the far end of the room then back. “This is…” He threw out his hands in frustration, then turned his glare to Duncan. “Dinna tell me ye’ve been debauching my sister-in-law.”
Duncan stared at the major, holding his ground.
“No,” Lady Campbell said, her tone mildly chastising, “that’s not the question at all.” She turned to Duncan. “The question is, did she propose marriage to you, Duncan?”
“Aye,” he admitted.
“And did you say no?”
“Aye, I did.”
“Why?”
Duncan hesitated.
“Is it because you don’t love her?”
He closed his eyes. When he opened them, Lady Campbell was gazing steadily at him. “Nay. It isna because I don’t love her.”
The major made a gruff exclamation, but both Duncan and Lady Campbell ignored him.
Her expression softened. “You do love her, then?”
Duncan opened his mouth to answer, but the major interrupted with a growl. “I canna have this talk. In my house, about my unmarried sister…”
Lady Campbell stood and went to her husband. She took his hand in her own. “I fear you must have it, Rob. Grace is miserable. Duncan is distraught and unable to focus. We need to help them fix this.” She guided her husband back to the sofa, but he was still glaring as he retook his seat across from Duncan. “Now, then,” Lady Campbell addressed Duncan once more, “can you tell me why you refused her?”
“It was the right thing
to do.” Duncan’s heart was beating a mile a minute at the knowledge that they’d been discovered. But, of course, he’d known this would happen eventually. It was inevitable they’d be found out.
Lady Campbell frowned. “Why?”
Duncan’s gaze flicked to the major. “I wilna betray the major, his family, or the Highland Knights. And she’s the daughter of an earl—a lady.”
The major and Lady Campbell stared at him as if he’d sprouted a second nose. It was the major who spoke. “Your position with the Highland Knights is not in question. The only betrayal to me and my family would be if you dishonored Grace.”
Well, that depended on what the major considered dishonorable. “Marrying your sister-in-law against her father’s wishes would dishonor her.”
The major let out a ragged sigh. “I didna wish for you to debauch her, Mackenzie. Marrying her…” He shook his head. “I ken you’d protect her and be good to her. I…just…would need time.” He gazed at Duncan, his blue eyes serious. “When you and Grace first met, you were an enlisted man, and a connection between a lady and an enlisted man wouldn’t be right. Your lives would be too different. Opposite. It could never work, and she’d be shunned by everyone in her social circle. That’s why I wasna keen on the looks you exchanged with her on the ship to Dover. But you’re a Highland Knight now, not a sergeant in Wellington’s army. Your circumstances have changed.”
“But I’m still just a commoner.” It felt so odd that he was arguing against his own happiness. Against him and Grace. Yet he kept going. “And a Scot. My life is still very different from that of an English lady. And she’ll still be shunned by society.”
“Not as severely as she’d be if she married a mere sergeant.”
“The Scot part is hardly a barrier.” Lady Campbell’s smile dimmed a bit as she added, “However, you are a commoner. And because of that, I fear you shall be shunned, although my husband is correct—not so much now that you run in, shall we say, a more ‘elite’ crowd. In any case, my sister and I have never been overly concerned about the ton’s approval.”
“Is that because they have always inherently approved of you?” Duncan asked.
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