Reckless Desire: Flowers of Scotland

by Tarah Scott

  “Then what happened?” she asked.

  “I preferred to stay…with my friends.”

  She regarded him. “You preferred to stay where there were fine ladies, you mean.”

  “There was that,” he agreed.

  They reached the alcove and he stood aside so she could enter first. She took two steps and halted. Neither Sir Stirling or Lady Chastity were in the alcove.

  “Is something amiss?” Lord Newhall asked.

  She turned.

  “You are fatigued.” He cupped her elbow and walked two paces, then eased her down onto the divan. He sat beside her.

  She shouldn’t be alone with him, but she had suggested coming here. Would it be rude to say she wanted to leave? She looked at the open door. With the curtain not pulled, that meant they weren’t really alone. Two ladies passed and glanced into the alcove.

  “Am I boring you, Miss Ramsay?” Lord Newhall asked.

  She looked at him. “Oh, no. I am sorry.” Kenna leaned against the divan back and tried to relax. “Did you like living on Skye?”

  “Indeed. There were a great many places for a lad to investigate. Many treasures to be found.”

  She thought of her cousin and smiled. “Aye. My cousin feels the same.”

  “Feels? How old is he?”

  “Ten.”

  Lord Newhall laughed. The smile reached his eyes and warmth rippled through her. “He is a lucky lad. Tell me, does he fish?”

  “Aye, he is a master fisherman. I taught him.”

  “You?” Curiosity shone in his eyes. “I am something of a fisherman, myself.” He grinned, and she imagined a dark-haired boy, knee deep in a shallow pool as he pulled in a pike.

  “It is a shame I did not know you then,” he said.

  Kenna frowned.

  “You could have taught me how to fish.” His gaze darkened. “Perhaps you could still teach me.”

  “I imagine you are a very skilled fisherman.” He was probably skilled at everything he put his mind to.

  “I know a beautiful pool.”

  “A faery pool?” she asked.

  He gave a slow nod. “The water is turquoise, much like your dress, and there is a waterfall.” His gaze darkened. “We could fish, then drink champagne.”

  Kenna couldn’t help a laugh. “I do no’ think most people drink champagne when they fish.”

  “There is a first time for everything,” he said. “Would you like me to take you to that pool?”

  Her heart lurched. See a faery pool on Skye? Aye, she would love nothing more. She would pull off her stockings and stick her feet in the cool water and turn her face up to the scant sun. Even on overcast days—which were most days—she drank in as much warmth as she could.

  “It is quite beautiful. Like you,” he murmured.

  The vision evaporated. Kenna narrowed her eyes. “You are wasting your time trying to woo me.”

  Amusement lit his eyes. “Indeed? Why is that?”

  “You might think we would have been friends on Skye, but you are wrong. You would have never known of my existence.”

  “I know of your existence now,” he replied.

  “Only because I am friends with Sir Stirling. Oh, why did he have to discover that I am a descendant of Robert the Bruce?”

  “It is an honor to be descendant of the Bruce.”

  She grunted. “A descendant born on the wrong side of the blanket.”

  He gave a slow nod. “That explains much.”

  Kenna stiffened. “Really? There is no need for you to waste any more time in my company, then.”

  He frowned. “Miss Ramsay—”

  She shot to her feet. “Leave.”

  He stood. “Miss Ramsay, you mis—”

  She spun and took a step toward the door. A hand closed around her arm and she whirled to face him, but mis-stepped and stumbled. He caught her. His arms tightened around her like iron bands. She found herself crushed against his chest and snapped her eyes up to meet his gaze. He stared down at her, brow furrowed, dark eyes filled with worry. His fingers flexed on her waist.

  His gaze dropped to her mouth.

  Her heart jumped. He is going to kiss me!

  His head lowered.

  Kenna froze, startled by the warmth of his chest against her breasts. Butterflies fluttered across the inside of her stomach.

  His mouth touched hers.

  “Lord Newhall.”

  Kenna jumped back at the reprimand in Lady Chastity’s voice. Lady Chastity and Sir Stirling stood just inside the doorway. Lady Chastity’s eyes were narrowed. Sir Stirling entertained that same, strange smile she’d noticed that morning in the park

  “Sir, I feel certain you are aware that to make advances to an unmarried woman can ruin her reputation,” Lady Chastity said.

  “That was not my intention, Lady Chastity,” he replied. “In fact—”

  His gaze jerked past Lady Chastity and Kenna started at sight of Lord Wilshire.

  Lady Chastity and Sir Stirling stepped away from the door.

  “Am I interrupting?” Lord Wilshire asked.

  Kenna’s cheeks warmed. He knew exactly what he had interrupted.

  “I believe this dance is mine,” he said. “Unless you prefer to stay here, Miss Ramsay.”

  “Nae,” she blurted.

  His eyes gleamed. He was enjoying himself.

  “We had better go.” Without looking back at Lord Newhall, Kenna left.

  Chapter Five

  Now Kenna understood why Lady Chastity had suggested she bring a fan. She regretted not heeding the advice. The ballroom’s stifling heat pressed in on her. She fanned her face with her hand.

  “Are you warm, Miss Ramsay?” Lord Wilshire asked.

  “Lady Chastity says a lady doesn’t let on that she is warm," Kenna said. “But I cannot lie, I am warm.”

  “Shall we step out onto the balcony?” he asked.

  Her heart skipped a beat. He hadn’t said a word about what had taken place in the alcove, but he knew, and now believed her to be fair game. “I may have been raised in the country, but I know that a lady does not go off alone with a man.” She knew that and had entered the alcove with Lord Newhall. What had she been thinking?

  Lord Wilshire laughed. “Where is the fun in that?” She narrowed her eyes and he added, “The balcony is a public place, Miss Ramsay.” He steered her around a group of men and eased them through the throng until the open balcony doors came into view. He slowed. “If you look, you will see that the doors are open and others occupy the balcony.”

  Half a dozen couples milled about the balcony. Even from twenty feet away, she felt a breeze. She looked up at him. “Just the balcony?”

  “I never force a lady to do anything she does not want to do.”

  Kenna snorted. “I imagine you are very good at making them want to do a lot of things.”

  He flashed white teeth. “You are a delight, Miss Ramsay.”

  She allowed him to lead her out onto the balcony. Blessed cool air washed over her. They continued to the left railing, where a stone bench sat vacant.

  “Wilshire,” a man called as they settled on the bench.

  Kenna looked up. Two men approached.

  “The evening is about to get very dull,” the marquess said in a dry tone.

  Kenna stifled a laugh. Lord Wilshire stood as the men reached them.

  The taller of the two said, “When did you reach town?”

  “Just today,” the marquess replied. “Graham, may I present Miss Ramsay. Miss Ramsay, my brother, Graham Masters, and his friend, Mister MacPherson.”

  “Miss Ramsay.” His brother bowed stiffly, but made no attempt to take her hand.

  Mister MacPherson also bowed.

  “Have you been to see our mother?” Graham demanded.

  “I only arrived today,” Lord Wilshire drawled.

  “Yet you have time for a party.”

  “Perhaps we should speak tomorrow,” the marquess said. “There is n
o need to involve Miss Ramsay in family squabbles.”

  Graham’s mouth thinned. “You are never home.”

  “That is not true,” he replied. “I simply have been busy when you called.”

  “Hence the reason we will speak now,” his brother snapped.

  “Really, Graham, look around. “We are not alone.”

  The younger man glanced behind him. The other guests remained absorbed in private conversations. He looked back at Lord Wilshire and said, “Mother is not well.”

  “What is it this time? Last I remember, she was dying of a brain tumor.”

  “She never claimed that, as you well know. If anything, she will die of a broken heart.”

  The marquess laughed just as he had when he’d said she was a delight. “If you mean to imply that our mother could possibly muster enough emotion to die of a broken heart over anything, much less me, then you are a bigger fool than I thought.”

  His brother stiffened. “You do not give her enough credit.”

  “On the contrary, I give her far more credit than do you.”

  A couple ascending the stairs from the garden looked their way. Graham glanced at the couple, then pinned his brother with a hard stare. “She asks so little.”

  “You are starting to bore me, Graham. Now, if you will excuse me.” He gave a slight bow, then faced Kenna. “Miss Ramsay, shall we return to the ballroom?”

  She glanced at Graham.

  “Never mind him, my dear.” Lord Wilshire winged an arm.

  She stood and grasped his forearm, then emitted a sigh of relief when they passed the two men. They reentered the ballroom. She squinted against the glaring lights. The orchestra played a minuet. He steered them around a group of women, who watched over their fans. Kenna sighed inwardly. She was well-accustomed to that look: jealousy.

  “Lord Wilshire,” an older woman called.

  “Mrs. Munro.” He angled his head, but continued past her.

  They reached the hallway and he turned down, headed toward the refreshments room. Who had she promised the next dance to? Whoever he was, he could wait. She was thirsty. They slowed as they neared the door. Kenna grimaced at sight of the overcrowded room.

  He stopped. “Shall I fetch the champagne while you wait?”

  Kenna smiled. “You are very kind.”

  He smiled down at her. “Hardly, my dear.” He looked past her, then said, “There is a parlor there.”

  She looked in the directly he nodded. He continued toward the parlor.

  Kenna frowned. “I did say I would not be alone with you.”

  “This is a public parlor,” he said.

  They reached the open door and she was relieved to see two women seated in chairs near the hearth before a low-burning fire.

  “Have a seat, Miss Ramsay. I will return once I have braved the refreshments room.”

  Kenna laughed. “If it is too much for you, you stay and I will go.”

  He chuckled. “I believe I can manage.” He bowed, then left.

  The two women didn’t greet her, but remained in private conversation. She’d never known such rude people until she’d come to Inverness. She caught sight of swords mounted on the wall to the left of open balcony doors. Kenna crossed to the wall and stopped before the swords. The hilts were different than the claymores and broadswords so prevalent back home. A thin curl of ornate metal protected the hand when it gripped the hilt. She traced a finger along the hand guard. The metalwork was quite beautiful.

  “Magnificent blades, do you not agree?” Lord Wilshire stepped up beside her.

  “They are. What kind of swords are they? I have never seen the like.”

  “Rapiers,” he replied. “They are a fine weapon. Light and quite lethal.”

  She faced him. “You have used them?”

  “I have.” He smiled and extended one of the glasses of champagne.

  She accepted the glass and took a sip. The bubbles tickled her nose, but the cool liquid slid down her throat, then reached her stomach. She released a sigh.

  “You like champagne, I take it?” he said.

  She nodded. “Tonight is the first time I have tasted it.”

  “Shall we sit?” He indicated the divan beneath the swords.

  Kenna took another sip, then sat on the right side of the divan so she could see out the open balcony doors. Pale moonlight silhouetted what she guessed was an ancient oak. Warmth rippled through her.

  “So, tell me, Miss Ramsay, where has Sir Stirling kept you hidden?” Lord Wilshire asked.

  She scrunched her nose in distaste. “He has not kept me hidden. My home is Skye. Have you been there?” Perhaps he’d grown up there like that cad Lord Newhall.

  “I have visited a time or two.” He sipped his champagne and smiled.

  The dimple in his chin appeared. The man was handsome and knew it. Just like Lord Newhall. Gentle society was supposed to be genteel at all times, but she’d never known anyone to be as rude as Lord Newhall. He didn’t have to like her, but he shouldn’t have pointed out that her ancestry explained her lack of breeding.

  “How do you know Stirling?” Lord Wilshire asked.

  “I assumed you knew.”

  The marquess sipped his champagne. “Everyone is agog as to the identity of the young lady Stirling has taken under his wing.”

  Taken under his wing. Sir Stirling’s interference was meant as a kindness, but the implication stung. She was a charity case, a poor relation. She and her aunt lived modestly, but on Skye, they stood on their own two feet. Would Lord Wilshire respond differently than Lord Newhall to the news that her ancestor was a bastard daughter of Robert the Bruce? How much less of her would he have thought if she’d admitted that she, too, was born out of wedlock?

  “I am no one.” She finished her champagne.

  “Would you like more?” he asked.

  She recalled Stirling’s earlier words, “We have all night to drink champagne. Ye might want to drink a little slower.” She didn’t understand his advice. Why worry when she felt all warm and mellow? Still, she shook her head in answer to the question.

  “How do you like the gentlemen here in Inverness?” he asked.

  She grimaced. “They are annoying.”

  “Annoying? How so?”

  “They want to dance and take walks in the park,” she said, but thought, They are perfect gentlemen one moment, then oafs the next.

  “You do not like dances and walks in the park?” He locked gazes with her. “You prefer more intimate moments like this?”

  Intimate moments? She glanced over her shoulder. The two women who had been sitting near the fire were gone. She looked at the door to find it closed.

  Kenna yanked her gaze back to him. “We are alone.”

  He laughed. “And I have not accosted you. Are you disappointed?”

  Her pulse quickened. She had partaken of a stolen kiss or two and walked on the path from the town to home alone with her friend John Cunningham, but he was like a brother. She’d never been alone with a man like Lord Wilshire. Except a little earlier, when she’d been alone with Lord Newhall. His lips had hardly brushed hers when Lady Chastity and Sir Stirling arrived. A shiver slid down her spine—then she remembered he’d insulted her before trying to kiss her. Why kiss her if he didn’t like her? Because he didn’t have to like her to want her.

  She’d lived in Isleornsay all her life, but even there, they had local nobility. Baron Arren, the Earl of Calway. They were proud, powerful men like Lord Newhall and Lord Wilshire—perhaps not as rich, but each powerful in his own right. They took what they wanted.

  “No need to worry, my dear,” Lord Wilshire murmured. He smiled that charming smile. “I will not eat you.”

  Kenna wasn’t certain she believed him.

  His eyes darkened. “Unless you want me to.”

  She flushed.

  He shifted a bit closer. “Would you object if I kissed you?”

  “I am not a loose woman.”

  He g
ave a slow nod. “You have standards. Smart girl. Do those standards include things like pretty dresses, jewelry…a nice home to call your own?”

  She frowned in confusion.

  He grasped the back of her neck. “I can be very generous,” he murmured.

  Kenna flattened her free hand on his chest and stopped his forward lean. “I think—”

  The door creaked. Lord Wilshire’s eyes shifted past her. Kenna twisted and looked over her shoulder. Lord Newhall stood in the doorway.

  “Get your bloody hands off her,” he ordered.

  “This is a private conversation, Newhall,” Lord Wilshire said.

  He strode toward them. Lord Wilshire removed his hand from her neck. Lord Newhall stopped before them. He seized her arm and pulled her to her feet.

  “I beg your pardon?” Kenna yanked free.

  Lord Wilshire stood. “I believe you did not hear me. Miss Ramsay and I are in the middle of a private conversation.” He reached for her.

  Lord Newhall shoved her behind him. “Touch her again and I will kill you.”

  Kenna stared. What had gotten into the man?

  Lord Wilshire regarded him, then understanding lit his eyes. “You have already made the lady an offer.”

  Lord Newhall lunged toward the marquess.

  Chapter Six

  Kenna backed up until the back of her legs struck the arm of the chair in front of the hearth. The two men hit the carpet in a tangle. They rolled. She stared in horror. She’d seen men fight, but hadn’t expected to see gentlemen at a grand ball scuffle like school boys. Lord Wilshire shoved Lord Newhall off him and they jumped to their feet. Lord Newhall rammed a fist into the marquess’s belly. That hadn’t been the punch of a school boy.

  Kenna’s stomach clenched when Lord Newhall rammed a shoulder into the marquess’s belly and drove him back into the divan. One of the divan’s legs broke and they fell against the divan’s back. Lord Wilshire drove his fist into Lord Newhall’s jaw. Lord Newhall’s head snapped back, and fear lanced through her when he groaned. He shoved off the marquess and jumped up. Lord Wilshire leapt to his feet and stumbled back. His shoulder hit the wall. He snapped his head up, his attention fixing on the swords mounted just above his head.