Seduced by a Scot

by Julia London

  Dunnan slowly eased himself into his seat once more. “Now what have I done?” he asked plaintively.

  There was no way to explain to Dunnan that what he’d done was to be himself, and he shook his head. “Just be there,” he said, and stood, too. “Donna be late and do no’ bring your mother, man.”

  “No,” Dunnan said, his color draining.

  * * *

  AT HALF PAST TWO, Nichol was the first to arrive in Dunnan’s study. He was restless, wanted this meeting over and done. He walked to the window and stared out. He wanted this marriage business settled once and for all, and by extension, his own fate. Then he would take his leave. Get on with it, so to speak. Push down the feelings as he had trained himself to do. As a lad, he had learned to mask his disappointment and hurt behind his unsmiling face. Once, the housekeeper had advised him to look in the distance and imagine something that pleased him. A puppy. A girl. As a man, he preferred to push his feelings down into a bottle of gin.

  As he contemplated his fate, he noticed the tracks of two horses in the snow below the window along the path that led to the stables. He wondered idly who had tried to leave when the snow was so deep?

  The door opened behind him, and Nichol turned from the window and the curious tracks in the snow. Thank the saints, but Dunnan had dressed properly, had bobbed his hair, and was cleanly shaven. He walked straight to the sideboard and poured brandy.

  Nichol had known Dunnan for several years now, and through some trying times. He had never seen him look as out of sorts as he had these past two days. One moment he was laughing, the next he seemed almost despairing. Even when Nichol had first met him, and there had been the matter of an astounding debt, he’d not seemed so ill at ease. Perhaps he really was simply extraordinarily uncomfortable in the presence of women. But no, he’d seen Dunnan with women...the sort of women that inhabited gaming hells...but nevertheless, he was not so uneasy.

  A thought suddenly occurred to Nichol. Was it possible something was afoot now? Had Dunnan gone and done something stupid? He glanced at the open door, then at Dunnan. He strode across the room and closed it, then turned to face his friend.

  Dunnan frowned at the closed door. “Miss Darby has no’ yet arrived.”

  “Dunnan. You know you can trust me, aye?”

  “Pardon? Aye, I do, Bain—”

  “Is everything all right, then?”

  Dunnan blanched. He looked again at the door. “Why would you ask such a thing at this moment, of all moments?”

  “You are no’ yourself. You are rather apprehensive.”

  “No,” he said, and put down the brandy. He glanced wildly about the room, almost as if he was looking for another exit. “I’m no’ in the least, Bain. But I...well, you know verra well how I am when it comes to the fairer sex. I’m quite hopeless, and she,” he said, gesturing to the door, “she is verra bonny. Too bonny for the likes of me.”

  “Aye, she is bonny,” Nichol agreed, and felt another stab of regret and guilt and repugnance for himself. He had always considered himself a man of upstanding moral character—it was imperative to him that he was, to contrast with the man he’d thought was his father—but his actions here had been deplorable, and the knife dug in a little deeper each time he thought of it. He felt at odds with himself now. As if everything he thought he’d understood about himself was wrong. All those years he strove to be someone his father would respect, all those years he believed something must be fundamentally wrong with him, and none of it true. All those years he’d avoided intimacy for fear of exposing the vile thing in him.

  Nothing was true.

  He wasn’t sure who he was anymore.

  There was something about Dunnan’s claim that rang false, too. “Are you certain there is nothing more?” he asked.

  “Aye,” Dunnna said, and swallowed.

  Bain studied him a moment. “How is the linen trade?” He’d seen the workhouses in the distance this morning, and smoke rising from the chimneys. The work was continuing in spite of the snow.

  “The linen is verra good,” Dunnan said. “Better than good, if I may. I’ve been down to London to open a new warehouse.” He abruptly drained his snifter of the brandy.

  Dunnan had promised to stay away from London. He had agreed he was faced with too many temptations when he was in London. “Have you,” Nichol drawled, trying not to sound accusatory.

  “It was a little jaunt, really. Mamma accompanied me and we attended the theater—”

  The door swung open and Maura stepped inside, effectively halting any more conversation on the subject. She paused just inside the door and looked at the two of them warily.

  “Miss Darby,” Nichol said, and cast a sidelong look at Dunnan.

  He seemed to understand Nichol’s look; he jerked to attention and offered his hand to Maura, intending, Nichol assumed, to help her into a seat.

  But Maura ignored his hand and walked to the center of the room where they were standing. She clasped her hands tightly at her waist and cleared her throat. “Mr. Cockburn.”

  “Aye?”

  “If we may dispense with the pleasantries?”

  “Pardon?”

  “If I may be so bold, then, I was brought here with the understanding that you intended to offer for my hand in marriage. Do you, or do you no’, intend to do so?”

  Nichol and Dunnan exchanged a look of astonishment. Nichol had never heard a woman speak so directly about such a delicate matter. Not even the Mackenzie women, whom, he had learned, were quite outspoken.

  Dunnan looked almost stricken by her question. He coughed. He glanced helplessly at his empty snifter. “Well, ah...aye,” he said with an affirmative nod of his head, and lifted his chin so that he could rub the underside of it with two fingers, as if contemplating, when, precisely, he meant to extend his offer. “I certainly do intend...that is, I intend if that is what you want. That is to say, if you will, umm...have me.”

  Maura cocked her head to one side and openly examined him. “I’ve no choice in the matter. What of your mother?”

  “Pardon?”

  “You are surely aware that she doesna want a union between us, aye?”

  “My mother?” Dunnan said, sounding quite baffled.

  “Aye, your mother, Mr. Cockburn. Mr. Bain’s mother is no longer living.”

  Nichol choked down a cough of surprise.

  “It would seem you are no’ aware, then,” she said crisply when Dunnan looked to Nichol for help. “Allow me to inform you that your mother doesna wish me to be here. She’s made it quite plain to me, that she has.”

  “There must be some mistake,” Dunnan said. “She does want you here, Miss Darby, on my word!”

  “I think she rather likes being mistress here,” Maura pointed out.

  Diah, but she would have it all out, the consequences be damned, and Nichol couldn’t help but admire her for it. It was precisely the sort of thing he’d do. One could not negotiate terms if one’s cards were not on the table.

  Poor Dunnan stared at her as if she were speaking French.

  “Do you think, Mr. Cockburn, that you might have a word with your mother, then, and set the matter to rights?” she asked curiously.

  Good God! She was bloody well bold and direct and Nichol couldn’t have been more aroused.

  “I will,” Dunnan said, nodding adamantly that he would. “At once. Straightaway. Shall I ring for her?”

  “No,” Maura said quickly. “No’ until we’ve come to a mutual understanding, aye?”

  “Aye, of course, of course,” Dunnan said, nodding even more violently, to the point Nichol worried he might damage his brain. “Would you like a wee bit of brandy, Miss Darby?” he asked, gesturing to his snifter. “I’m feeling a wee bit parched myself.”

  “No, thank you,” Maura said pleasantly. “Now, as for your mother, I woul
d suggest that if we are to marry, she might enjoy a long holiday. Perhaps to France.”

  Dunnan coughed so hard that Nichol was compelled to pound him on the back. “Miss Darby,” Nichol said low, trying to warn her from taking this so far that Dunnan had no choice but to cry off. Perhaps that was her intention.

  “I beg your pardon, Mr. Bain, but if you please, it would seem your role here is done, is it no’?” she asked coolly, and fixed her light blue gaze on him. She was challenging him, all right. He could almost feel the frustration radiating from her. “This concerns me and Mr. Cockburn. Is that no’ so, Mr. Cockburn?”

  “It certainly is. B-but I, for one, should like Mr. Bain to stay.”

  She shrugged. “If you wish. I’ve nothing to hide from him,” she said, leveling another look at him. “I think you should know, Mr. Cockburn, that if you would like to make an offer of marriage, you must be prepared to make some accommodations.”

  Dunnan gaped at her. So did Nichol. This woman! She was incredible, prepared to lay out the terms of her survival here, as if she had the bargaining power. She had no bargaining power that he could see, but she had come in here as if she owned all of Luncarty. She had taken Dunnan’s measure, had found him to be without the slightest hint of a spine, and was battling forth, and Dunnan was allowing it.

  She was brilliant, and Nichol was in awe of her.

  Dunnan may have admired her as well, but at present, he was quaking in his boots.

  “First, I should like an allowance, aye?” she said cheerfully. “I am in need of new clothes since the ones I had were dispersed. I donna want to have to ask for every pence, sir.”

  Nichol thought this quite smart of her—this would be the easiest thing Dunnan could agree to. Money was not an object for him, not since his debts had been settled.

  “Absolutely, Miss Darby. Consider it done,” Dunnan said with great verve, and likely thought that was the end to her demands.

  It was not.

  “As I said, I should like some distance from your mother until such time she is at ease with our arrangement. I think it impossible that we might embark on married life with someone constantly between us, aye?”

  Dunnan winced. “Now that—” he said, shaking his finger “—that is a wee bit more problematic, you see. I am responsible for her.”

  “I understand completely,” she said graciously. “You are the best sort of son, sir. But is it no’ possible to be responsible for her at a distance, then? It’s no’ as if she needs you to be her nurse.”

  Dunnan’s face began to turn red. “We are verra close, my mother and I. Perhaps we might move her to another part of the house?” he asked hopefully.

  Maura smiled. “Perhaps another house altogether. Please do think on what I’ve said.”

  Dunnan blew his cheeks out, then sucked them back in and nodded his agreement. “Is there more, then?”

  “Aye. I donna know how to say this delicately, so I’ll just say it, shall I? There will be no conjugal relations until we are certain we are compatible.”

  Now it was Nichol’s turn to cough and cover his cry of surprise. Maura had just thrown down a gauntlet, daring Dunnan to pick it up. Dunnan would not pick it up. He didn’t know how to pick it up.

  He looked to Nichol with wide eyes, but Nichol shook his head. He could not help him with this. No man could help him. He was an island in the sea of gentlemen who would never agree to such terms.

  Dunnan looked at Maura forlornly. “No conjugal felicity, madam?” he asked, his voice going higher. “Is that no’ the foundation of a good marriage?”

  “Perhaps it is, Mr. Cockburn, but I should think compatibility would be higher on the list than that, would you no’ agree, then? I hardly know you, or you me. You have verra graciously agreed to marry me, in spite of my current state, which, I admit is lacking. I am grateful to you for that. But I still must insist on certain conditions, aye? I think it will benefit us both, then.”

  “But when—”

  “If we do come together,” she said, coloring a little herself, “it will be a mutual desire. I have one last demand, then.”

  “What could possibly be left?” Dunnan groaned. “I’m to give you my money, remove my mother and stay out of the marriage bed. What more, Miss Darby?”

  “This is mine.” She put her hand to her necklace around her neck. “It is all I have of a family I remember with great fondness, and I will no’ part with it.”

  “No, of course no’,” he said, flicking a wrist at her necklace. “That is the least of my concerns.”

  “Thank you,” she said. She drew a deep breath. “Verra well, those are my terms. What are yours, then, Mr. Cockburn?”

  Dunnan stared at her. Even Nichol felt a little tongue-tied. “May I think on it?” Dunnan asked carefully.

  “Of course! Take all the time you need.” She smiled prettily.

  “I shall. But at present, I’m a bit discombobulated, I am,” he said, and touched two fingers to his temple. “This has been a most unusual meeting, has it no’?”

  “Well, I have given you a lot to think on, I have,” she said sympathetically. “I beg your pardon for it, but I thought it important. If I may, then, I’ll take my leave.”

  “Please,” Dunnan said weakly, and gestured to the door. She twirled and walked smartly out of the room without a word, her head high.

  Dunnan slowly turned and looked at Nichol. He was dumbfounded, quite at a loss.

  For once, Nichol didn’t have an answer for him.

  He didn’t have an answer for any of them. He was completely out of answers.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  THE REST OF the guests began to rouse themselves at three o’clock, stumbling out of their rooms, heading downstairs to find something to eat and drink. By five o’clock, the house was alive with music and laughter.

  As they were housebound, they decided on the production of a play, using the grand salon’s furnishings as props. That was followed by charades, where common phrases were acted out by one team, while the other team was made to guess. They continued until a misinterpretation of a word led to a few punches between two gentlemen who had very nearly finished a bottle of whisky between them.

  From charades, the group moved to games of chance. Platters of meats, bread and cheese were brought from the kitchens, and everyone helped themselves. Wine and whisky flowed, and Mrs. Cockburn, who had clearly imbibed too much, remarked loudly to all that she would host cards every Sunday once her son was married. By seven o’clock, her laugh had become loud and harsh, rising above everyone else.

  By seven o’clock, everyone was loud and harsh.

  Maura took herself to her room at that point. She had not found the day particularly diverting, as furious as she was with the world at large and Nichol in particular. She could scarcely bear to look at him, for each time she did, her heart twisted into a painful knot. She had decided after last night had bled into today that she would make the best of this wretched, wretched situation, and if she had to marry Mr. Cockburn, she would at least make certain that she had some say in what would happen to her. That’s all she wanted! A voice in what was to be her fate.

  Nichol sat next to her more than once, but she refused to be wooed by him. He had made himself quite clear this morning in his bed—she was not best for him. Not that Maura believed that for as much as a minute. Nor did she believe that he believed it. But he had made up his mind and he would not yield, would not bend his way of thinking. He was stubbornly determined to carry the mantle of bastard. He was a rolling stone, or so he fancied, and he would not be burdened with the likes of her, no matter what his heart might be telling him.

  “Miss Darby? Are you in there?” a muffled voice called on the other side of her door. That was followed with a firm knock.

  Maura stood up from her bed, where she’d been very close to tears a
nd opened the door a bit to see who wanted her.

  Miss Fabernet’s smiling face peeked at her. “I’ve brought you something,” she said.

  Maura opened the door a little wider, but Miss Fabernet pushed it all the way open and sailed into the room with an armful of garments.

  “What is this, then?”

  “What do you think? I’ve brought you some clothing.”

  “Oh, but that’s no’ necessary,” Maura said. “I’ve a few gowns,” she added, pointing to her bag.

  “Are they as sad as the one you are wearing now?” Miss Fabernet asked gaily. “If they are, mine is an errand of mercy. And besides, I couldn’t remain in the salon another moment. Mr. Johnson’s hands take to wandering to places they ought not to go when he’s pissed. He’s being quite wretched this evening.” She shrugged. “Otherwise, he’s a perfect gentleman.” She tossed the gowns onto the bed. There were four.

  “Is Mr. Johnson no’ married to the lass with the red hair, then?” Maura asked.

  “He certainly is,” Miss Fabernet said, and winked. “But you know how men are.”

  Maura knew very well how men were.

  “Moreover, Mr. Cockburn has left the gathering to his mother, who is a dear, she is, but she does like her card games when the rest of us would prefer to sing, and she doesn’t care to lose, if you take my meaning,” she said, and waggled her brows at Maura.

  “I’m no’ surprised in the least,” Maura muttered. “Where is Mr. Cockburn, then?”

  “I’ve not the slightest idea,” Miss Fabernet said.

  If Maura were lucky, he’d be off thinking of a way to cry off of their supposed marriage agreement.

  Miss Fabernet put her hands on her hips and surveyed the gowns she’d brought. She picked up a green-and-white stripe and held it up, just under Maura’s chin, and studied it.