“No, Kerry, Phillip Rothembow and your late husband did that. I might have directed the final outcome, but it was done well before I arrived in Scotland.”
She stared at him with such disbelief and hurt in her eyes that Arthur could feel it slice into his skin. “Why didnayou tell me this, Arthur?” she asked hoarsely. “Why didna you tell me you would evict me? How could you eat from my table, drink our whiskey … sleep in my bed?”
“Kerry,” he moaned, reaching for her, but she backed away. His hands fell to his side. “I didn’t know it was you when I gave the orders, you must believe me.”
She blinked back tears, looked down at the gloves she gripped so tightly.
“When I came to Scotland and met with Mr. Regis, not only did he not know that your husband was dead, but he made me believe that the man with whom Phillip had partnered had a surname of Fraser. It wasn’t until my arrival in Glenbaden that I realized it was you I had ordered evicted.”
She recoiled from the word, bumping into the map table. Arthur made another move toward her, but she quickly shook her head and held up her hand. “No,” she muttered.
Panic. Sheer panic invaded him and suddenly frantic, Arthur quickly continued. “Look here, once I realized it was you, I did not say anything because I thought I could repair the thing. I had instructed Mr. Regis to pay a personal call, so I reasoned he had not yet come. When I left Glenbaden, I went directly to Dundee to stop the eviction and see what might be done about the debt.”
That earned him a skeptical look.
“Kerry, listen!” he said, hearing the desperation in his voice. “When I met with Regis in Dundee I realized I was too late. That is why I came back, do you see? I came back to tell you what had happened and to help you somehow.”
Her eyes rounded and filled with tears. “That is why you came back?”
“I came back because I loved you, Kerry. I love you now, only more, and so much that I was going to tell you today that we will marry—”
Her shout of hysterical laughter cut him like a knife, flaying open an old, ancient wound. A cold rush swept down his skin, and he unconsciously dropped the papers he held.
“You were going to tell me we would marry, is that it, then? Was I to have a say in it at all?”
“I thought you would want the same,” he heard himself say, and the words burned him—he sounded just like he had all those years ago when Portia had so sweetly denied him. I thought you would want the same.
“Just like you thought I would want all these clothes, and these slippers, and these bloody gloves?” she asked, throwing the kid leather pair onto the map table. “I think you’ve not any idea who I truly am, Arthur! I am not these things! I canna live this life of leisure and unimaginable wealth! I doona know which spoon is appropriate, I feel myself rot with disuse, and I canna seem to shake the guilt or the fear of being discovered! I belonged in Glenbaden! It was my life, my very soul, and you took it away from me!”
His hands fisted tightly at his side in an effort to maintain his control. “I did not take it from you! Your husband robbed you of Glenbaden long before I came along! I merely tried to dispose of a bad investment, and in the course of it, I made the unforgivable error of falling in love with you!”
Kerry made a pitiful sound; a tear raced down her face. “Oh aye, I know, for I made the very same unforgivable error, I did. I love you like I have never loved another in my life, Arthur Christian, but I canna be what you want me to be and I willna stay here and pretend that I can! And dear God in heaven, I will not let Thomas hang for what I have done!”
“Thomas will not hang!” Arthur shouted at the ceiling. “For God’s sake, I will send my man to Perth at once with a very generous offer to allow Thomas to come to London!”
“You canna simply buy his freedom!” Kerry exclaimed angrily. “You canna buy his freedom any more than you can buy my love!”
That stung him badly. “Damn you,” he said low. “I gave you those things because I love you and I wanted you to have the finest the world has to offer.”
“No. No, Arthur, you wanted me to be like Lady Albright and Lady Kettering. You wanted me to learn to live like them, behave like them. You wanted me to live in a world where it is acceptable to evict people from their homes without even so much as seeing their faces. You should never have to worry where you might live, or how you might put food on your table! You have no idea what you did to us!”
The truth in that made him furious, and he stalked away from the desk, glared out the window as he fought for control. After all he had done for her, she would throw it back in his face? “Is it so awful, Kerry? Is what I offer you so detestable?”
“No,” she said, her voice softer. “It is highly desirable. But I find it not as desirable as Glenbaden … or my peace of mind.”
Somehow he found a glimmer of hope in that statement and pivoted around. Guilt was keeping her from him; guilt was giving all that she had seen in London a bitter taste. “Then I will find a way to free Thomas and bring him here, and you may rest easy, Kerry. And when you do, you will surely agree to marry me.” God, how desperate he sounded. How desperate he felt. The chaos of it all was slowly churning, slowly spinning them out of control. Arthur held his breath, waited for her response, waited for her to throw herself in his arms and beg his forgiveness for having been so cruel.
But Kerry slowly shook her head. “You truly doona understand how different we are, do you?”
Her simple rejection stunned him. He had to tell himself to breathe, to move. He never would have believed it, not in a thousand years would he have believed Kerry could hurt him so. “Then what do you want?” he asked coolly, finding that small part of himself that had not been cut dead by her rejection.
Tears welled in her pale blue eyes. “I want to go home.”
He closed his eyes, willed the pain from his chest.
“Please doona make me stay here, Arthur,” she softly pleaded.
The final blow, the one that effectively slew him. He could scarcely believe what he was hearing. He had saved this woman from hanging, had brought her to his home, clothed her in the finest gowns, draped her in jewels, imposed on his friends for her welfare … and she wanted to go home? God in heaven, what sort of woman rejected the highest circle of British aristocracy out of hand? What sort of woman would take the love he had offered her under moonlit skies and silk tapestries and dismiss it so completely? What sort of woman was she? Perhaps Kerry was right. Perhaps they were very different indeed.
The old defenses came up after so many years, defenses he had erected and fortified in two dealings with Portia. Defenses he was certain he would never know again, because Kerry had seemed so different. So real. Everything he had thought she was seemed false to him now.
“I will think on it,” he said simply, and turned his back to her, unwilling to let her see how she had wounded him so deeply. “I rather imagine if you found your way in you might find your way out again?”
Silence. And then, a very soft “Aye.”
He listened to the rustle of her new petticoats as she moved across the room and passed through the door. He stood there, staring down at the desk for what seemed an eternity before finally turning to face the room again.
She had left her gloves behind.
Silently, woodenly, Arthur moved to the map table and picked up one of the small kid leather gloves. He turned it over in his palm, unable to stop the memory of the feel of her hand in his from instantly flooding his heart. He abruptly dropped the glove on the table and walked out of the study.
It was over. His extraordinary little journey was over, and the quality of his life had, once again, been altered permanently by a woman’s perfidy.
Julian expressed some surprise before supper that Arthur had not been to call. Kerry shrugged it off as she pretended to closely examine a painting, and mumbled something about another engagement. But she was aware of the look Claudia and Julian exchanged, and felt the heat crawl up the ba
ck of her neck.
After supper, she complained of a headache and retired early. When she was certain the Danes were ensconced in the small sitting room, she stole from her room and down to the kitchens through the servant’s stairway.
She startled Cook badly. “Miss? Is there something I can do for you?”
Kerry flushed furiously, fingered a curl touching her shoulder. “I would speak to Brian, the footman, if you please. Would you be so kind then to tell me where he might be?”
Cook’s mouth gaped open. “Oh no. No indeed, miss, I won’t be party to any such—
“He is from Scotland,” Kerry quickly interrupted. “Like me. I … I’ve a message for him, that’s all.”
Cook stopped shaking her head. “From his brother?”
Kerry nodded.
Cook smiled. “Ah, he’s been waiting to hear from him, the poor lad.”
“Where might he be, then?”
“I will take it for you, mu’um—”
“Ah, no—” Dear God, she had to think fast. “It’s … it’s written in Gaelic, you see, and ah, the lad, he canna read it. I shall have to read it to him.”
Cook frowned, obviously thinking. After a moment, she shrugged. “He’s done for the day. I reckon you can find him in his room on the top floor. Third door on the left.”
Kerry thanked her and left quickly before Cook could say anything else. She used the servant’s stairwell again, silently rejoicing each time a floor was gained and she had not met anyone who would question her. When she reached the fourth floor, she hurried to the third door on the left and rapped. She waited, her pulse quickening.
She was about to rap again when she heard the sound of shuffling feet. The door cracked open a hair.
“Brian!”
The door shut. She heard the sound of feet again—more than a pair, she was certain—and then muffled voices. A minute passed, maybe two, before the door opened again. “Aye?”
“Brian?”
The door opened wider, and Brian appeared before her, wearing nothing but a pair of trousers. His red hair was mussed, his lips swollen. A long, very thin and red line ran from his shoulder to his breast, the mark of a fingernail. A furious blush raced to her face as the footman peered down at her. “Aye, lass, what would ye be needing, then?”
She reached in the pocket of her skirt and fished out the blue diamond and held it up. Brian’s green eyes rounded; he flicked her an inquisitive look, then shifted his gaze to the diamond dangling before him. “I need to reach Scotland as quickly as possible.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
IF THERE WAS one thing Julian Dane abhorred, it was meddling in another man’s affairs. He usually left that sort of thing up to Arthur—he was so damn good at it. But when it was time for someone to meddle in Arthur’s affairs, he supposed it would have to be him, and he cursed Albright for staying at Longbridge through the autumn!
Julian handed the reins of his horse to a freckle-faced lad at Arthur’s Mount Street house and jogged up the steps to the entry, wondering how exactly he would inquire as to the delicate relationship between Arthur and Mrs. McKinnon. What words did he use to ask if the houseguest delivered to him was ever leaving? Not that he minded having Kerry about—she was actually very pleasant and Claudia seemed to adore her. And naturally, he couldn’t be happier that it had been his idea for Christian to trot off to Scotland in the first place. But the woman hadn’t come out of her room since yesterday afternoon, and Arthur hadn’t been to call in three full days now. When Claudia began to fret, Julian had finally reached the inevitable conclusion that he would, unfortunately, have to inquire as to exactly what had transpired between the two lovers to cause this sudden rift.
Barnaby showed him to the study where Arthur was hard at work poring over a stack of papers.
“Kettering,” he said, barely glancing up. “I expected you well before now.”
Julian smiled and strolled deeper into the room. “I am unaccustomed to meddling, as you know. You must instruct me as to the proper procedure for it.”
“It’s rather simple, really.” Arthur shoved the stack of papers away and leaned back. “First, you ascertain that there is some sort of trouble,” he said blandly, “then you pay a call and inquire as to exactly the root of the trouble. If you are fortunate, the object of your meddling will tell all without much prompting from you. If you aren’t so very fortunate, you may be forced to ask uncomfortable questions. Nevertheless, once you are satisfied that you understand the facts, you offer a truthful perspective and your very profound advice on the matter at hand. Quite simple, really.”
“Aha. Then in this instance, I might ask if there has been a row between you and the woman you dragged here all the way from Scotland?”
“I see no reason to cover old ground. I would suggest you go straight to the heart of the matter and ask why someone like Kerry McKinnon would refuse an offer of marriage from someone like me.”
The announcement shocked Julian—he hoped he managed to hide his great surprise from Arthur, but it was inconceivable that he would seriously entertain marriage with someone of Kerry’s background. “Oh, is that all there is?” he drawled. “Then my work here should be concluded quickly. Well then, why would Kerry McKinnon refuse you?”
Arthur shrugged. “She says we are quite different.”
“You are.”
Arthur frowned. “I know her like I know myself, Julian. We are not so very different.”
“All right,” Julian conceded. “You share thoughts in common, perhaps even some profound experiences in common. You enjoy the same pastimes and pursuits. But you are the son of a duke, Arthur. She is a widow of a Scottish farmer. In that regard, you are very different.”
“Are you saying such differences cannot be overcome?” Arthur snapped.
“You heard no such claim from me,” Julian quickly responded, raising his hand in supplication. “But you cannot deny that the differences in your background and pedigree are substantial.”
Arthur looked down at his hands with a frown. “I … I love her, Julian. I don’t care about such superficial differences. They can be overcome.”
Julian sighed, reached in his breast pocket for his spectacles, and put them on. He peered at Arthur for a long moment, wondering if he should tell his friend how long it would be before such differences were overcome, if ever. Perhaps not even in their lifetime. Even if Kerry learned the proper table manners and how to speak and move like a woman of Quality the ton would never accept her. They were merciless in that way, repudiating anyone without the proper credentials to have gained entry into their circles. They would sooner forgive indiscretion or infidelity than they would the lack of connections. God help his dear old friend Arthur. It was just like the sentimental fool to believe he could change centuries of thinking among the whole bloody ton for the sake of love.
“Differences can be overcome, but only to a certain extent.”
Arthur raked a look of disappointment over Julian.
“You said I should speak the truth. I am giving you the truth. Kerry is … lovely. Charming. Refreshingly original. Certainly she can be taught the proper etiquette for any occasion. But the odds are against her of ever being completely accepted here. There will be those who accept her for who she is and because you love her. But there will be more who shun her because of her background. Do you think your love alone can sustain her?”
Arthur suddenly shoved to his feet and stalked to the drink cart. He poured two whiskeys, handed one to Julian. “Don’t think I haven’t thought of it. Don’t think I haven’t lain awake every night wondering how we might overcome such bloody obstacles. Even Paddy treated her with not a little disdain. But I keep coming round to the same conclusion—I love her. I am quite certain I will never love another woman as I love her. And you would have me deny that because some goddamn blue blood would cut her?”
Julian looked at the amber liquid in the glass Arthur had handed him and asked quietly, “Have you conside
red setting her up in a house nearby?”
Arthur downed the whiskey and fairly tossed the glass aside. “Oh, I’ve thought of it. Believe me, I have thought of it. But I cannot—I care for her far too much forthat.”
That prompted Julian to down his whiskey, too. There was obviously nothing he could say that would convince the old boy to forget the ludicrous idea of marriage; oh no, Julian knew the set of that jaw—Arthur Christian would defy every known social custom in this country, offend his family honor in the process, all for the sake of his heart.
One had to love a man like that.
“Well then, if you are to be so very pigheaded about the whole thing, you may as well go and speak with her. Having endured the raising of four girls, all of whom moped over a lost love at one time or another, I would thank you not to force me to do it again.”
“Will she see me?”
Julian’s heart wrenched at the sound of hopeful uncertainty in Arthur’s voice. It reminded him of his own troubles with Claudia when they were first married and he knew very well how much it hurt, knew very well indeed the pain of loving so deeply and believing that love unrequited. And how it was to wish hopelessly for it every waking hour.
He stood, walked to Arthur and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t rightly know, old chap. She hasn’t come out of her rooms since yesterday afternoon.”
Arthur hesitated for a moment before he muttered, “Then we had best be about it.” And he was already striding to the door.
They walked into the gold salon at Kettering House after Julian sent a maid to rap on Mrs. McKinnon’s door and tell her that Arthur had come. Arthur was too restless to sit; he stood at the bow windows overlooking St. James Square and stared blindly into the street.
The sting of her rejection had lessened somewhat in the last few days. He could count himself among all unfeeling cads if he didn’t realize what a great shock the discovery of the letter from Regis must have been for her. He should have told her his role in it, and truthfully, he had fully intended to do so—but the shock of finding her over Moncrieffe’s body, the flight from Glenbaden, all of it … the more days that passed, the less important it seemed.
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