by Tarah Scott
“You must tell us all about last night,” Miss Davenport said. “What was it like to have two gentlemen dueling over you?”
Kenna prevented the grimace that started to form. Sir Stirling had called the sword fight a duel. She thought the idea ludicrous, but this was exactly what she needed these women to say.
Kenna shrugged lightly and gave the reply Sir Stirling had instructed her to give, “They were not fighting over me. It was a misunderstanding between them. I simply happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
As expected, the girls looked at each other in obvious disbelief.
“You can trust us, Miss Ramsay,” Miss Davenport said. “Did Lord Wilshire ask you to elope with him and Viscount Newhall interceded on your behalf? Everyone knows the marquess is a terrible rogue.”
Kenna was surprised at how close Miss Davenport’s guess came to the truth. Lord Wilshire hadn’t asked her to marry him, but he had wanted a kiss—or more. He was dashing, strong, and very certain of himself. But Miss Davenport was correct, he was a terrible rogue.
“They are both very handsome,” Miss Davenport said. She glanced around as if to assure herself no one listened, then whispered, “Did either of them make assignations with you?”
“I really shouldn’t talk about what happened,” Kenna said demurely.
The women exchanged glances.
“How I wish I had been there,” another girl said, her voice dreamy. “I would just die if either Lord Newhall or Lord Wilshire fought over me.”
Kenna refrained from rolling her eyes. The girls were young, no more than nineteen, if she had to guess. She had been just as doe-eyed at that age. Well, perhaps at fifteen.
Two gentlemen entered the room. Sir Stirling and—
“Lord Newhall,” Miss Davenport cried.
The other girls’ heads snapped toward the door.
The room, Kenna realized, had gone quiet.
What in the world was Sir Stirling doing with the viscount? Did Sir Stirling want her to speak with Lord Newhall? A horrifying thought struck. If she were alone with a gentleman, might Lord Newhall challenge that gentleman as he had the marquess? If he did… Nae. It couldn’t be.
She noted no tension between Sir Stirling and Lord Newhall. Lord Newhall looked their way. Sir Stirling’s eyes shifted onto Kenna before he said something to the viscount, then they veered toward her. Kenna’s heart galloped. Lord help her, the last thing she wanted to do was talk with Lord Newhall.
“They are coming this way,” Miss Davenport whispered.
The girls giggled. Kenna wanted to melt into the floor. What would she say to the man?
The men reached them, and Sir Stirling said, “Ladies.”
The girls all curtsied and murmured, “Sir Stirling” and “Lord Newhall.”
“A pleasure, ladies,” Lord Newhall said.
“Miss Ramsay, you remember Lord Newhall.”
Kenna wanted to laugh. She curtsied. “My lord.”
“It is a pleasure to see you again, Miss Ramsay,” he said as if he hadn’t fought Lord Wilshire last night.
Kenna burned to ask what had gotten into him. But the last thing she needed was to make a fool of herself in front of these girls. Any misstep on her part would reach the rumor mill within the hour.
“If you are looking for Lady Chastity, Sir Stirling, I believe she is in the card room down the hall.” Kenna pointed to the hallway to their left.
He smiled. “I believe I will see how she is doing. Ladies.” He angled his head toward them, then said to the viscount, “Newhall.”
Lord Newhall angled his head and, to her chagrin, Sir Stirling left him standing with them. Kenna held her breath. Which of the silly girls would be the first to mention last night? Society was supposed to have better manners than country folk, but Kenna suspected that if the gossip was juicy enough, curiosity would win out over manners every time.
“We hope you were not harmed in last night’s sword fight,” Miss Davenport said.
Not a single one of the girls reprimanded her. She stared, eyes wide in anticipation.
“I am unharmed, as is Lord Wilshire. Think nothing of the disagreement. You know how we men are, we love a good—”
“Disagreement,” Kenna interjected before catching herself.
His gaze shifted to her. She was startled to note how dark his eyes appeared. She hadn’t noticed that before. And his gaze was, well, downright forceful. Her cheeks warmed.
“Aye, Miss Ramsay,” he said. “Disagreement.”
The devil possessed her, and she said, “Have you settled your disagreement?” before she could stop herself.
A glint appeared in his eyes. “I believe Lord Wilshire comprehends my position.”
His position?
“I’m immensely relieved you are unharmed, my lord,” Miss Davenport said. “I am certain Lord Wilshire deserved the thrashing you gave him.”
“Indeed,” Lord Newhall said, his eyes still on Kenna. “Miss Ramsay, could I get you some punch?”
She blinked. He wanted to fetch her punch? Kenna stared. Dear Lord, did he still intend to pursue her?
He winged an arm toward her. She wanted to refuse, to tell him to go straight to the devil, but those were the low manners of a country girl who didn’t know better. Kenna kept her expression neutral and slipped her hand into the crook of his arm.
He angled his head toward the girls. “Ladies.” Without another word, he led her away.
***
Out of earshot of the young ladies, Bryson said to Miss Ramsay, “You are angry with me.”
“What would give you that idea?” she said in a too-sweet voice.
“Wilshire does not have honorable intentions when it comes to any lady.”
She looked up at him. “Really?”
There was that too-sweet voice again.
“You know he is a man not to be trusted?” he asked. Before she could answer, he added, “Then why were you alone with him in the parlor?”
Her eyes narrowed. “It is really none of your concern what I was doing with Lord Wilshire.”
“If you care for your reputation—”
“I do not think you are in a position to lecture me on how to care for my reputation.”
Two gentlemen glanced their way, and her cheeks pinked. Bryson directed her away from the men, past three ladies seated at a card table, toward the table where refreshments awaited in the corner of the room.
They reached the table and privacy. “You would be wise to stay away from Lord Wilshire.”
“I believe you are truly daft.”
He paused in reaching for a crystal punch glass and looked at her. “I beg your pardon?”
“If you are looking for a girl to thrill with your domineering attitude, then look no further. With the slightest encouragement, Miss Davenport and her friends would worship at your feet.”
He stiffened.
“The grand ladies here in Town clearly are enthralled with your handsome face, broad shoulders and deep voice. But I dinnae like being ordered around by any man.”
“You forgot my money,” he said.
She frowned. “What?”
“You forgot my money. Ladies are enthralled with my money. I am very rich.”
Her expression darkened. “Forgive me. How could I overlook your best quality?” She whirled and stormed away.
Bryson stared until she disappeared beyond the open balcony doors. He sighed and set down the cup he’d picked up. This falling in love thing wasn’t going to be easy.
Chapter Eight
An hour later, Kenna seethed over Lord Newhall’s tyrannical attitude. What made the man think he had the right to give her orders? In truth, it wasn’t his commanding tone that truly bothered her, but his judgement of her. She shouldn’t care. She didn’t care. He was just so maddening.
She strolled alongside Mister Davis on the garden path. The rest of the group walked ahead of them, no doubt whispering about her earlier encounter w
ith that man, and now her walking with Mister Davis.
It had been too much to hope that Lord Wilshire would attend the luncheon. Aside from him being the perfect candidate for her plan to embroil herself in a scandal, she burned to prove to that man that she didn’t need his advice. Unfortunately, she had no idea when, or even if, she would ever see Lord Wilshire again. She simply couldn’t wait for a time she might run into him.
Mister Davis was a sweet young man who would easily fall into her trap. A slight pang of conscience struck. Would he be hurt when he realized that she’d only led him on? Nae, she was being silly. He wouldn’t fall in love with her. The next beautiful woman who crossed his path would make him forget her. All she had to do was get him to take a walk with her in the arboretum. They would be caught kissing, and the scandal would be enough to induce Lady Chastity and Sir Stirling to send her home. She half wished Lord Newhall would be the one to discover her in a compromising situation with the young man. That would teach him a lesson.
Good Lord, she was the one who had gone daft.
“We had better catch up with the others,” Mister Davis said.
Her heart fell. The worry in his voice was genuine. She couldn’t use him to fulfill her plan. Why hadn’t Lord Wilshire attended the party?
Mister Davis cupped her elbow and quickened their pace toward the bend around which the others had already passed. Rustling in the bushes to the left and behind them caught her attention. They started to turn toward the sound. Mister Davis cried out, then crumpled to the ground. Kenna jerked her gaze from his motionless body to the large man who stood behind them. She opened her mouth to scream, but he yanked her to him and clapped a meaty hand over her mouth.
Her heart leapt to a frantic rhythm. She clawed at the hand. He lunged toward the bushes. Kenna jammed her eyes shut and threw an arm across her face. They burst through the foliage. She snapped open her eyes. The brute was striding toward the trees bordering the garden.
Tears stung. He meant to rape her. Her head swam. This couldn’t be happening. Who was he? How did he get into Miss Davenport’s private garden? Kenna thrashed and kicked. Her heel struck his leg shin. He growled and tightened his arm around her waist.
She clawed his face. He released her mouth and seized her hands. She drew a deep breath and screamed. He jammed her arms to her side, his arm an iron band that pressed the air from her lungs. Then he clamped his free hand over her mouth again.
“Bloody ‘ell,” he cursed. “I ain’t going to hurt you, woman.”
She tried to stomp his feet.
He kept walking. She caught sight of a rear gate. He was taking her away? Dear God, this didn’t make sense. Would he kill her after he raped her? Panic froze her thoughts. The shrubbery swam in her vision. This couldn’t be happening. It wasn’t real.
They reached the gate. His hand remained clamped around her waist while he released her mouth to lift the bolt from the latch. Kenna tried to drag in a deep breath, but his hold around her waist made anything more than a feeble ‘Help!’ possible. He gave her a hard shake as he swung the door open.
“Help!” she tried shouting again.
He clamped his hand over her mouth again and growled. As he passed through the gate, she grabbed the edge and slammed it into the back of his head. He groaned and stumbled backwards two paces. His hold on her loosened. Kenna twisted free and lunged into the alley toward a parked coach. No driver sat in the driver’s seat. Was the coach empty?
“Help!” she shouted. Without looking back, Kenna raced toward the carriage. “Please, someone help me.”
The pounding of boots on the gravel sounded behind her. Her heart thundered. Tears pricked.
“Help!
The door of the carriage opened.
Her heart jumped. Dear God, please.
A gentleman’s boot appeared on the step. Through a sudden flood of tears, she recognized Lord Hensley. He stepped to the ground as Kenna reached him and she flung herself into his arms. He caught her close.
She seized the lapel of his coat and looked up into his face. “Please, help me, sir. That man tried to abduct me.”
Lord Hensley swung her into his arms. She buried her face in his shirt. She couldn’t catch her breath. Through a haze of tears, she realized he was stepping into the carriage. Kenna looked up as he sat on the cushion and settled her across his thighs.
She pushed away from him. “What are you doing?” Kenna tried to scoot off his lap, but he held her fast.” Let me go,” she demanded.
Someone appeared in the doorway and Kenna drew a sharp breath at sight of her kidnapper. The man closed the door, then the carriage listed slightly and he realized he was stepping up into the driver’s box. She froze when the horses lurched into motion.
Kenna snapped her gaze onto the viscount’s face. “What do you want?”
“Nothing nefarious, I assure you, my dear,” he replied.
She stiffened. “Then release me.”
His hands loosened around her waist and she scrambled off his lap and onto the opposite seat. She stared, willing her pounding heart to slow.
At last, she said, “Why have you kidnapped me?”
He hesitated. “I could think of no other way to get your attention.”
Kenna blinked. “You have had my attention in the past—and without kidnapping me.”
He shifted and she pressed into the cushion back. He stilled.
“You do not understand. I…I want to marry you.”
Of all the things Kenna had expected to hear, a marriage proposal wasn’t one of them.
“Are you daft?” she demanded. “I would no sooner marry a man who kidnapped me that I would a…a—I cannot even think of anything. Stop this carriage and let me go.”
He shook his head. “You must marry me.”
Kenna stared. “I must marry you? I have no money and you cannot be in love with me. We met only two weeks ago.”
“Then you would be wrong,” he said with conviction. “A man can be struck by a woman’s beauty and grace. I cannot live without you.”
“You sound like a sixteen-year-old schoolboy. You are old enough to know better. Order this carriage over and let me go.”
He leaned forward and grasped her hand. She stiffened.
“I can give you a good life. You can attend all the parties you like. Sir Stirling will give his blessing, I promise you.”
She regarded him. “How do you know Sir Stirling will give his blessing? Did he tell you to kidnap me?”
“Nae, but I am a viscount.”
She yanked her hand free. “I care not if you are the king. I do not marry men who kidnap me.” She reached for the door.
He grasped her hands and eased her back into the seat. “I am sorry, Miss Ramsay. But I cannot let you go. Once we are married, I will do everything to make you happy. You will see.”
***
When Mister Davis finished retelling his tale of being hit over the head then regaining consciousness to find his friends surrounding him and Miss Ramsay gone, Bryson looked at Stirling and said, “Who the bloody hell would kidnap her?”
Stirling shook his head. “I have not the vaguest idea.”
Bryson faced Davis. “You are certain you do not know the man?”
Davis shook his head. He rose from the divan and faced Bryson. “I am certain.” He spoke in a hoarse voice. His face, Bryson realized, was still quite pale. “As I said, I glimpsed him for but an instant,” the young man said. “He was a rough sort, perhaps a stable hand.” His mouth thinned. “I cannot believe I allowed him to take her without so much as a whimper.”
“Anyone can be caught unawares,” Stirling said.
A knock sounded on the open door of the parlor. Bryson snapped his head in the direction of the door as a footman entered, trailed by Sir Stirling’s driver.
Stirling strode to them. “Did you find anything, Lucas?”
“Perhaps so, sir. There is a lad who sweeps the streets. He described a coach that waited in th
e alley near the Davenport’s home. A lion in gold carrying a sword.”
“Hensley,” Bryson said in unison with Stirling.
Bryson pinned him with a hard stare. “I told you Hensley was not a match for her.”
Stirling’s mouth hardened. “Do no’ be a fool, man. Of course, I knew Hensley was not a match for her.”
“But you said—“
“I simply played along when you jumped to the conclusion that I had facilitated an introduction between them.”
“You mean, you did not try to match them?”
“Nae,” he said in a whisper. “I matched her with you, you fool.”
“With me?” Bryson staggered back a pace and caught himself. “But how did you know?”
“Never mind that. We must catch Hensley before he does something that will cause one of us to kill him.”
“Where do you think he has gone?” Bryson asked.
“Grier has always been a little unhinged,” Stirling said. “There is no telling how he thinks he can get away with such chicanery.”
Bryson’s hands fisted at his sides. “You knew he was unstable and allowed him near Miss Ramsay?”
“We attended a luncheon, Newhall. Even Grier shouldn’t be such a fool as to carry her off from here. He must know that we will deduce he is the kidnapper. It can only mean one thing.”
Horror washed over Bryson. “He intends to marry her.”
Bryson made all speed through Inverness to Hensley’s townhouse. Stirling had agreed that Hensley wouldn’t risk anything less than the vows being repeated before a parson for fear the so-called marriage would be deemed unlawful. By now, Stirling was probably already meeting with the bishop, in hopes he might know of a parson Hensley might be able to talk into performing an illegal marriage.
Bryson stopped his horse in front of Hensley’s townhouse and dismounted. Stirling’s pistol pressed Bryson’s side where he’d stuffed it into his waistband. Bryson wondered if he would be able to keep from shooting Hensley if he found him. Stirling had warned him that Miss Ramsay was sure to marry another man if Bryson ended up in prison.
Wind snapped the hem of his greatcoat as he bounded up the stairs and then pounded the door knocker. A maid answered the door.