To her horror, warmth rippled through her. He stepped closer. So close, she caught a whiff of the sandlewood soap he’d used to bathe. But unlike Niall, he made no move to touch her, and her desire to step back wasn’t out of revulsion, but a desire to hide the blush that warmed her cheeks. Good Lord, the man was charming.
“I promise ye, my lady, that you will not consider a night with me ‘trouble.’”
The spell broke. Anne narrowed her eyes. “I see, I am to consider myself fortunate to have a night with you, and grateful for the bonus of a gold bracelet.”
“I don’t think that’s quite what I said.”
“It is exactly what you said,” she retorted. “It’s the height of arrogance for a man to think that a woman should thank him for bedding her.”
His expression cooled. “I believe it is you who asked me to thank you with a gold bracelet.”
She drew a sharp breath. He was right. Still… “Aye, but you act as if some of that payment should come in the form of gratitude for being fortunate enough to be chosen for your one night of-of…” she was at a loss for words.
“Affaire d’amour?” he drawled.
She snorted. “One night can hardly be called an affair and has nothing whatsoever to do with love.”
“Is that what you want, my lady, love?”
“A woman always wants love. Well, love doesn’t put food on the table.” She read the surprise in his eyes and realized she’d lost control of the situation. “Take yourself off to some other woman who is willing to sell herself for a gold bracelet,” she said. “I have business to attend to.”
* * *
Kennedy Douglas, Viscount Buchanan, entered his study and the erotic fantasy of the ravishing beauty at Lady Peddington’s ball lying on his sheets beneath him vanished at sight of his stepmother seated on the divan near the window. She sat straight—the proper wife—her honey-brown hair swept off her shoulders in a carefully coiffured mound atop her head. Her ivory evening dress, befitting a thirty-year-old woman, hugged her trim, perfect curves. Too bad her husband had one foot in the grave.
“What fresh hell has brought you here at this time of night, Jacqueline?”
“I realize it is after one in the morning,” she said, “but I have been waiting since nine.”
He had indulged a little too much in the free-flowing champagne at the ball, but the presence of his father’s wife in his study at one forty-five in the morning dictated that he have something stronger than champagne to drink. He crossed to the sideboard where sat half a dozen decanters filled with various liquors, and poured himself a liberal dose of scotch. He put the top back on the decanter, picked up the glass, and turned.
He leaned against the sideboard. “Short of forcibly throwing you out, I suppose I can’t stop you from telling me what the earl wants. Unless, that is, I simply retire to my bedchambers.” Kennedy sipped his scotch and watched her over the edge of the glass. “Would you be bold enough to follow me, if I did?”
“I am here on an errand for your father, nothing more,” she replied.
“Of course. You won’t risk him questioning your faithlessness with his death so close at hand.”
“Really, Kennedy. Must you always be so cruel?”
He gave her a cold smile. “With you, my sweet, I am afraid so. I know I’ll regret asking, but what is so important that you waited nearly five hours to tell me? I know it isn’t that my father is dead, for you would have hazarded the gates of hell to find me, if that were the case.” He took another drink of whisky. The pleasant burn comforted. “Not to mention, you’re not smiling.”
“It really is unkind of you to continue to imply that I will be happy when your father dies.”
“As I said, with you, there is no other way. What do you want?”
She reached into her reticule, withdrew a piece of paper, and looked up at him. “This is from your father.”
He gave a mirthless laugh. “You could’ve left that on my desk. Better yet, you could have sent it by messenger. Why are you here?”
“Since you refuse to see your father, he sent me with this message, and instructed me to wait for a reply.”
Kennedy finished the scotch and turned to refill the glass. “As I have no desire to see my father, what could induce me to read his letter?”
She sighed, then the rustling of a paper followed, and she said, “Kennedy, I imagine you will not deign to touch a paper that I have touched. No matter. If you force Jaqueline to read this, it will be all the worse for you. I am dying. But you know that.”
Kennedy poured a double dose of liquor.
“I have commanded you to marry,” Jacqueline went on, “but you go about your business as if you have no responsibility to me, the title, or our position in society. I believe that you have not married—will not marry—just to spite me. But I cannot allow your vendetta to bring an end to our line. I know threats of cutting you off from my money are meaningless. You would rather live in squalor than do a single thing I ask. Therefore, you leave me no choice.”
Kennedy slowed in sliding the decanter top back on the decanter.
“You will marry within the week” –Kennedy released the decanter top as she finished the sentence— “or I will marry your sister to Lord Granbury ten days from now on her sixteenth birthday.”
Kennedy whirled. “What the bloody hell?”
Jacqueline said, “There is more. ‘You might think to make off with your sister and hide her somewhere, which is why I have already sent her away. No one save myself knows where she is. If I die tomorrow, no one will know where to look for her.’”
Kennedy stared. “This is insanity.”
Jacqueline didn’t shift her eyes from the letter, but continued, “I will not settle for a betrothal. You must marry and produce an heir within a year. Do so, and I will allow you to choose your sister’s husband when the time comes. Defy me, and I will not only marry her and Granbury, but they shall not return home until she has produced an heir for him.”
Kennedy dashed his glass against the hearth and took two steps toward Jacqueline. “This reeks of your handiwork.”
She shook her head. “You underestimate your father, and overestimate my influence.”
“I know you both too well to mistake either of you,” he snarled.
“What possible reason could I have for wanting to see you married?” She dropped her gaze. “I had always hoped…” She raised her head, eyes shimmering with moisture.
“By God,” he exploded, “you missed your calling. You should have been an actress. Pray, do not pretend you have any tender feelings for me. Those illusions were shattered the day you rose from my bed and announced your engagement to my father.” He snorted in derision. “I suppose I should thank him for marrying you. Though had he any idea that he was saving me from making the greatest mistake of my life, I’m sure he wouldn’t have done it.”
A tear slipped down her cheek.
Rage rammed through him. He crossed the room, seized her wrist and yanked her to her feet. “Where is Rose?”
She shrank back and shook her head. “I don’t know. As the letter states, only he knows. He wouldn’t chance my telling you.” More tears slid down her cheeks. “He knows that you and I are close.”
Kennedy released her and staggered back two paces. “Of course, he knows. That’s why he married you.”
She shook her head. “Nae, he does not know that we were—” She broke off
“Lovers?” he sneered.
“We were much more than that.” She took a step toward him.
He turned away, his steps faltering, and reached his desk in time to brace himself, his back to her. “Leave, Jacqueline.”
“Please, Kennedy, we cannot leave things like this between us.”
“There is no us,” he said.
Her skirts rustled and he realized she was walking toward him. He whirled to find her three steps away. He had to get away from her. Kennedy strode to the door. Hand on the knob, he l
ooked back at her. “I suggest you not return home to your husband for at least an hour.”
Half an hour later, Kennedy banged on the door of his father’s mansion. The door opened in two seconds. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, he realized the footman had been waiting for him. He pushed past the man and raced up the stairs to his father’s bedchamber. The door stood open. Aye, his father expected him. He continued inside and found his father propped up in bed. A fission of alarm shot through him at sight of his father’s yellow pallor. He looked far worse than when Kennedy had last seen him a year ago. Cruel fate. Only an hour ago, he would have rejoiced in seeing his father’s decline. Now, until Rose was safely home, his father’s illness frightened him more than anything ever had in his life.
The earl laid aside the book he’d been reading and met Kennedy’s gaze.
“Where is she?” Kennedy demanded.
“Once you are married—to a proper lady, mind you, no peasant from the country—and once you produce an heir, I will bring her home,” he replied in a strong voice that belied his appearance.
Kennedy’s hands worked into fists at his sides. “I will kill you for this.”
“Then you will never find your sister.”
“She is not a child. She can find her way home.” But she was a child. Only fifteen.
His father’s gaze remained locked with his. “Do you really think I would make it that easy?”
Rage threatened to overwhelm him. His thoughts jumbled. His sister, only fifteen years old, being held prisoner somewhere. Would her jailers safeguard her?
Kennedy swayed. “How do I know she is safe?”
“She will always be safe under my care,” his father replied.
“Your threat to marry her to Granbury proves otherwise,” he snarled. “You know full well he beat his first wife to death.”
“You are intelligent enough to know that gossip rarely resembles true events,” the earl replied.
“I’m intelligent enough to know that most gossip has some grain of truth to it. If one hair on her head is harmed, I will kill you.”
“You’re threatening a dying man, Kennedy. I have made peace with my imminent death.”
“You could live another year, to three or four. I can end you before that. I can end you tonight.”
“Then you would never see your sister again.”
“What happens if you die before I can produce an heir?” His heart thundered.
“I suggest you pray that doesn’t happen.”
Kennedy stared. His father was a bastard, but this went beyond anything Kennedy could have imagined the old man capable of. “You cannot keep her prisoner forever. She will escape. She will return home. Your threat is unreasonable.” The last, he said more for himself than his father.
“Your sister isn’t in Scotland. Escape is nigh to impossible. Even if she did manage by some miracle to escape, she would have to journey home. She has no friends, no money, no escort.” The last words were said with an emphasis that told Kennedy his father knew the exact picture that had arisen in Kennedy’s mind at the thought of his young sister trying to return home on her own. And she would try just that.
“You would sacrifice your daughter?” he whispered. “Risk her losing everything, possibly even her life, just to force me to marry?”
“You see my actions as those of a man bent on hurting you. I see my actions as those of a desperate man trying to preserve his legacy.”
“Legacy?” Kennedy sneered. “I should have known. This has nothing to do with me. You don’t give a damn if I marry or even carry on the title. This is about you wanting to be remembered.” Kennedy released a harsh breath. “If you wanted to extract revenge because I had Jacqueline before you did, I would have more respect for you. But this—” He shook his head. “You are right. These are the actions of a desperate man. You’re a liar, Father. You do fear death.” His father’s eyes narrowed, but Kennedy gave him no chance to reply. “I will marry within a week. But on one condition.”
His father waited.
“Once you confirm my wife is with child, you will bring Rose home.”
His father shook his head. “Your wife could lose the child, and the child might not be a male. I know you well enough to know that you wouldn’t touch her again just to spite me.”
Kennedy stared. “I would agree to the terms, if I were you. Keep in mind, I have considerable resources at my disposal. You know, of course, the moment I leave this house, I will begin my own search for Rose. If fortune favors me—and she often does—and I find my sister before you die, I will divorce my wife and immediately set about siring a string of bastards, none of whom can claim your title.” Kennedy gave him a cold smile. “Then I will seduce your wife and sire a child on her that cannot possibly inherit your title.”
His father’s eyes widened. “You’re not capable of such dastardly actions.”
Kennedy gave him a cold smile. “I am capable of far worse. After all, I am your son.”
Chapter Two
The following morning, Kennedy had just called for his carriage when a footman announced the arrival of a guest, Sir Stirling James. Kennedy frowned. What was the marquess doing here so early, and without an appointment?
“Show him in,” he said.
Moments later, the footman reappeared and announced Sir Stirling James. Kennedy rose, circled his desk and extended a hand toward Sir Stirling. They clasped hands.
“Forgive the intrusion,” Sir Stirling said, and released him.
Kennedy indicated the chairs and divan hear the window. Stirling took the seat and Kennedy sat on the divan.
“It’s no intrusion,” Kennedy said. “What can I do for you this morning.”
“I believe it is what I can do for you,” Sir Stirling replied. “I understand you need a wife—immediately.”
Kennedy blinked. “How the devil do you know that?”
Stirling flashed white teeth. “The news appeared in this morning’s gossip sheets.”
“I wouldn’t take you for a man to read gossip sheets,” Kennedy said.
Stirling’s smile didn’t falter. “A man needn’t read the gossip sheets for news of this magnitude to reach him.”
“How the bloody hell did the news get out so quickly?” Kennedy muttered. Then instantly knew the answer. Not only had his father known that he would show up in his home last night, he had known Kennedy would capitulate.
That made no difference.
Kennedy refocused on Stirling. “Forgive me, but I have important business this morning. I was on my way out when you arrived.”
“No doubt on your way to propose to whichever lady it is you’ve chosen to marry.”
The man was uncannily perceptive. But, then, perhaps it wasn’t that hard to guess. Or was it? Kennedy regarded him. “The fact that I’m on the hunt for a wife in no way indicates that I’m racing to the altar. Yet, I get the impression that’s what you think.”
“You must marry within one week, if I understand correctly.”
Kennedy started. “Surely that wasn’t in the gossip sheets?” That would ruin him.
Sir Stirling shook his head. “Forgive me, nae. Society only believes that you have decided to marry. However, I understand that your father gave you a week to marry.”
Anger surged through him. “My lord, you and I are not well acquainted. Forgive me, but how the hell do you know that?”
“The best I can say, is that servants talk.”
Kennedy cursed. “What has any of this to do with you?” His mind raced. He knew Sir Stirling only casually. He wouldn’t have pegged the man for someone who engaged in idle gossip, or who took advantage of those in a vulnerable position. But he’d been wrong about men—and women—before.
“It is well known that you have no interest in marriage,” Sir Stirling said. “To my knowledge, there is no one particular lady that you favor.”
“What of it?” Kennedy demanded.
“I assume, that you would choose
a lady among your acquaintances to fulfill your father’s demands. However, I know a lady who I believe will suit your purposes quite well.”
Kennedy was at a loss as to how to reply. Of all the things this man might say, this had never entered his mind. He sat down. “How is it you know someone who will suit my needs?”
“Pure luck, I assure you. This is a lady who is in need of a husband with money.”
Kennedy barked a laugh. “That is a qualification that could include half the women in Edinburgh.”
Stirling nodded. “True. However, this is a lady who is sure to satisfy your father in a way most other ladies cannot. It’s an obvious conclusion to say that your father would like you to carry on the title. However, the earl strikes me as the sort of man who would like to leave behind, shall we say, a legacy.”
Kennedy gave a slow nod. “Your information is uncannily accurate.”
A smile tugged at Sir Stirling’s mouth. “This is more of an impression than information I have gleaned. I don’t know your father well. In fact, I’ve met him but twice, and the last time I saw him was five years ago at a soirée in London. He is a man who is certain of his place in the world, and the impression he will leave behind.”
“You almost make him sound noble.”
“He’s your father, and I would not speak ill of—”
“I have no illusions as to what sort of man my father is,” Kennedy cut in.
Stirling gave a slow nod. “He cares a great deal about how he is viewed by the world. By you and your son carrying on his title, he believes part of him will live on. That is not an unnatural feeling. However, he might consider your successes and even your son’s successes to be a result of his actions.”
“It’s more than that,” Kennedy said more to himself than Stirling. “Even now, with one foot in the grave, he can’t stand to have Society view him as weak. He must be the ever-constant force that keeps the world in motion.”
Stirling smiled, and Kennedy was surprised at the compassion he read in the man’s eyes. “What a shame that he’s wasted his life on meaningless pursuits, instead of caring for the one person whose world did revolve around him, if only for a little while.”
Scandalous Lords and Courtship Page 2