Highlanders

by Tarah Scott

  Was Grace right, would the two of them get on well together? He had no desire to marry, but was obligated to carry on the title, as well as manage the estates that supported so many people. But who would manage him? Manage? Eve inwardly grimaced. Tame would be a better word.

  In the year since his return from the war, he’d dallied with two actresses, an opera singer, two widows whose husbands had died within a week, one of the most notorious women of the demimonde and—how many others that hadn’t made it into the gossip sheets or the rumor mill?

  Unexpected concern surfaced. Eve had been so intent on avoiding marriage that she hadn’t stopped to consider how Grace would be affected by his lifestyle. Did Grace understand what it would be like to awaken late at night to the sound of his bedchamber door opening and wonder what other woman’s bed he had just risen from? What of the meetings in ballrooms with women who she would later learn had been seen with her husband in a darkened garden in recent nights? Eve hadn’t told Grace of the snide remarks Lady Quincy and Lady Consworth had made two nights ago, but she was sure to encounter such comments herself.

  Grace would never remain in Scotland while he moved through Society as if she didn’t exist. She would insist on accompanying him to London during the Season, host house parties at their country estates, and go for rides in the park. She might understand and even expect that he keep a mistress, but Lord Rushton didn’t keep mistresses, he had women. Eve stared at Grace, who listened raptly as Lord Rushton pointed out The First Presbyterian Church. Dear God. Her sister would make him the worst sort of wife.

  *****

  “You were right, Rushton,” Somerset said. “The food is superb. I haven’t had such good pigeon pie in ages.”

  “Indeed,” Grace Crenshaw said. “You have excellent taste, my lord.”

  “I am glad it pleases you.” He looked at Miss Eve Crenshaw, who sat at the table in the private dining room between her sister and Somerset and picked at her food. “You have barely touched your lunch, Miss Crenshaw. Is the lobster pie not to your liking?”

  “As Lord Somerset and Grace have said, my lord, you were right. Mrs. Larson is an excellent cook. My appetite is not its usual self today.”

  “You aren’t seasick, by chance?” He gave her a look of mock horror. “Miss Crenshaw, you should have said something. In your concern for me, you have neglected yourself.”

  Her lips pursed, and he suspected she repressed an urge to disabuse him of the notion that she had even the tiniest bit of concern for him. When she said in a sweet voice, “Never fear, my lord, if I feel any sickness coming on, I will find you post haste,” he knew he was right. “Perhaps,” she added, “I should force myself to finish the lobster…just in case.”

  It was the devil in him, but Erroll had always found the devil a livelier companion than any angel, so he said, “We are stranded in Ireland, madam. As we must board ship again in order to reach home we must hazard it.”

  She paled. Erroll frowned. What had he said? But he realized what he’d said—or what his words implied: she was stuck with him. He’d never known a female to avoid marriage with such vigor. He’d never known a female to avoid marriage at all, in fact. She roused his curiosity. Erroll mentally grimaced. From intrigued to curious. Montgomery was right, that’s how trouble began.

  The door to the dining room opened and a maid entered, two plates of baked goods and small serving plates in hand.

  “Oh my,” Grace Crenshaw breathed as the girl set the confections and plates on the table, then began removing their dinner plates. “Is that minced pie with ambergris sugar?”

  Erroll spotted the minced pie she stared at. “I believe it is.”

  “It looks too beautiful to eat.”

  Erroll winked. “Don’t let that stop you.”

  She laughed and he was surprised to note no womanly wiles in the sound. She reached for a minced pie, then hesitated and shifted her hand to a wigg bun. Her eyes flitted to the candied fruit.

  “If I may.” Lord Somerset lifted the tongs sitting on the platter to the left and put one of the small minced pies on a dessert plate, then added a tong full of candied fruit, and a wigg bun. He set the plate in front of the lady and her eyes sparkled.

  “Thank you, my lord. I would have been all day deciding which one to eat.”

  “Why eat only one?” he asked.

  She picked up the wigg bun and nibbled a bite. Her eyes closed as if in ecstasy—Erroll was sure that was the case—then she opened them and said, “Mamma says a lady should never over indulge. It is impolite and adds to the waistline.”

  Erroll had seen the mamma. She didn’t follow her own advice.

  “Your waistline is in no danger, madam,” Somerset said.

  Grace glanced sharply at him, the bun frozen half an inch from her lips. The surprise on her face mirrored Erroll’s thoughts. Somerset found the girl interesting.

  She, however, seemed shocked by his interest. One would think she had never received a compliment. She was breathtaking. Erroll would wager not a day passed that she didn’t have some young buck confessing his undying love. She seemed to suddenly realize the bun still hovered an inch from her mouth, took a small bite, then set it on the plate.

  Then an idea struck that Erroll thought just might get him out of this mess.

  *****

  “Are you certain you should not have worn the blue day dress?” Eve asked Grace, as the clerk placed yet another neatly wrapped package on the counter in the rear of the shop. Eve shifted to gaze out the window where they sat. “It is an uncommonly lovely day, and the blue might better complement your eyes than the yellow.”

  “I will have ample opportunity to wear both,” she replied.

  “I quite liked the gold evening gown. I’m surprised you did not purchase it. You do want to be sure you have enough clothes.”

  “The day is young.” Grace took a sip of tea, then said, “I wonder that you’re not chiding me for spending too much money, or were you being delicate?”

  Eve shrugged. “Lord Rushton gave you leave to spend all you like.”

  “Us,” Grace corrected. “He gave us leave to spend all we like.”

  “I made purchases,” Eve said.

  “Two dresses, a few underclothes and a nightgown.”

  “I do not plan to be long in Scotland.”

  “Neither do I, but a man in his position expects to spend money.” Grace laughed. “I imagine he would think me quite strange if I chose to be frugal. Such a trait is not to be commended in a marchioness.”

  Eve watched a passing coach on the quiet street beyond where Oscar sat with the driver atop the seat of their carriage. When she was fifteen, and had gone riding with a visiting cousin on a day much like today—well, a sunny day like today. No other day in her life had been like today or the previous three days. Her horse had thrown her, knocking her unconscious, and her cousin had raced home for help.

  Her parents weren’t home, but Oscar reached her, and he carried her the quarter mile home. That wasn’t the first scrape he’d pulled her out of, nor was it the last. He’d practically grown up in her household and had proven a good friend throughout the years, a bit of the older brother she never had. He certainly watched over her more closely than many brothers did. So why had he become the rat who was siding with the man who could ruin her life?

  “Eve.”

  Eve broke from her thoughts.

  “Where is your mind today?” Grace asked.

  “My mind is on Lord Rushton. He may expect to spend money, but we both know he is accustomed to spending money on women with no intention of marrying them. Can you really want to marry a man who admits he would make a terrible husband and has sworn to attend to his pleasures as he always has despite his marriage?”

  “That is what most men do,” Grace replied.

  “Not quite. Most men don’t abandon their wives in the Scottish Highlands, and a decent man is discreet.” Though she’d wondered what was decent about marrying one woman
and regularly bedding another. “Lord Rushton will not curb the behavior that places his name in the gossip sheets on par with George IV.”

  Grace giggled. “Thank the powers above that Lord Rushton is not so…homely.”

  Eve paused in taking another sip of tea. “I have never known you to care about such things.”

  “You never asked.”

  She had a point. Eve drank the tea, then put the cup back on the saucer and picked up the small plate of sweet goods. She took a piece of shortbread and extended the plate toward Grace. She took a piece and Eve set the plate back down.

  “His is very rich and very handsome,” Eve said. “And he will one day be the Marquess of Rushton. But he does come with one very big drawback.”

  “Only one?” Grace asked.

  “You think he has more?” she asked, surprised.

  Grace laughed. “He is a man. Of course he has more. He has many drawbacks.”

  “Such as?”

  “He thinks he is always right.”

  At least Grace had listed his faults with the most important first.

  “He drinks a lot.”

  Eve startled. She hadn’t heard that and wouldn’t have thought that to be one of his defects. “How much?”

  Grace gave an impatient shake of her head. “Not so much he would beat his wife.”

  “A man who drinks too much has a habit of developing that fault.”

  Grace smiled. “I am sure you would shoot him if he tried it.”

  Eve was doubly surprised that Grace thought she would protect her. “I cannot do that if you are hundreds of miles away in Scotland.”

  “Did you consider that he might want to show me off?” Grace asked.

  “If he was wise that is exactly what he would do,” Eve said.

  Grace’s brows dove downward. “Are you making fun of me?”

  “Not at all. You are a beautiful woman. Any man would be proud to have you.”

  Grace studied her for a moment. “Are you angry that I’m more beautiful than you?”

  Eve smiled. “You always were direct, Grace.”

  “It is a bad habit, I know. Mamma says I must curb that fault until I am married.”

  “Mamma is not always right.”

  “She is not always wrong, either. So, are you?”

  “Am I what?” Eve finished her shortbread.

  “Angry I am more beautiful.”

  “Of course not.”

  “I would be.”

  “You say that because you are very beautiful and cannot imagine being anything less.”

  Grace seemed to consider. “I suppose that is true. Is that wrong?”

  Eve shook her head. “No.”

  “Are you in love with him?” Grace asked.

  “Am I—good Lord—” She broke off and glanced at the clerk who hadn’t reacted to her outburst, but was counting the packages piled high on the counter. Eve looked at Grace and lowered her voice. “No. Why would you ask such a thing?”

  “You should be rushing us to the altar. That would save you from marrying him. Instead, you seem to be against our marriage.”

  “I am against you getting trapped in a marriage that will leave you miserable.”

  “You are confusing me with you,” Grace said. “I am not looking for a love match.”

  “You deserve love, Grace.”

  “Deserve love?” She shuddered. “That is far too much trouble.”

  “Love is not trouble.” Well, maybe it was a bit, she privately admitted.

  “You are funny,” Grace said. “You’re much more practical than I, yet you believe in love. I, on the other hand, have no use for love. I plan to enjoy myself.”

  “How much time can you actually spend parting your husband from his money?” Eve asked. “Will spending money and going to parties be your life?”

  “Partly.” A small smile curled a corner of her mouth.

  Dawning realization crept over Eve. “Do you mean you intend…” She couldn’t finish.

  “Intend what?”

  “Despite his own debauched ways, I seriously Lord Rushton will countenance a wife who takes lovers,” Eve said in a very low whisper.

  Grace shrugged. “I’ll give him the required heir first, and perhaps a spare, if he proves a worthy enough distraction.”

  “Distraction?” Eve couldn’t imagine Lord Rushton as a distraction. The man demanded attention and got it.

  “He will make the perfect diversion for bored nights at home and there is no danger of me falling in love with him.” Grace screwed up her face. “That would be a terrible snag in my plan—and heaven forbid he should decide he loves me.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Eve said. “A woman whose husband loves her is very fortunate.”

  “Men who are in love feel the need to order their wives about,” Grace said. “And they hover. Oh, but that is tiresome. Have you seen the way Katherine’s husband constantly hovers? Lord, he won’t let her out of his sight.”

  “Katherine is heavy with child,” Eve said. “Lord Branson is an anxious father-to-be.”

  Grace shook her head “I have no intention of allowing a man to shackle me. Lord Rushton is not likely to wax sentimental. But he is quite handsome and experienced. I expect we shall enjoy one another quite a lot before we grow bored enough to resort to civilities.”

  “My God,” Eve breathed, suddenly understanding. “You…you are just like him.”

  Grace gave her a ‘you poor dear’ look, and said, “Of course I am.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Three hours later, when Erroll returned with Somerset, he wasn’t surprised at the mountain of packages loaded atop their coach. He was, however, curious about the pensive direction Miss Eve Crenshaw’s mood seemed to have taken.

  “I see you are wearing new dresses,” he commented. The younger sister wore a pretty yellow muslin and the elder a white muslin that contrasted the soft, honey brown curls of her hair.

  “Why buy new clothes if we don’t wear them?” Grace Crenshaw said.

  “I quite agree.” He particularly liked the way the long, Indian muslin pelisse molded to the elder sister’s breasts. “Shall we walk?” he asked. “There is a millinery shop not far from here I thought you might like. We aren’t in the heart of town, so it should be a quiet walk.”

  “How wonderful,” Grace Crenshaw cried. “Do not forget, my lord, you promised we would stop at the bakery on the way back to the ship.”

  “Thank you for reminding me. We cannot forget that. Oscar,” Erroll called, “we plan to walk to our next destination.”

  Oscar nodded and climbed up beside the driver of the carriage.

  Erroll surveyed his group. “Shall we proceed?”

  Miss Eve Crenshaw stepped forward with the obvious intent to partner with Somerset, but Somerset winged an arm at the younger sister who stood between them.

  “May I?” he asked.

  She demurred with calculated perfection, but Erroll caught the drop of her lashes before he turned to the elder sister. “Seems you’re stuck with me.”

  “How fortunate for me,” she said.

  He offered his arm. She accepted and they followed the other two along the narrow walkway.

  “I see you did a bit of shopping yourself.”

  Erroll’s mind snapped to attention. Had her glance indicated more than the notice of his change of attire? “Buckskin breeches are more suited to our current adventure,” he said. “Do you not agree?”

  “I couldn’t say, my lord.”

  Her voice had been casual, but Erroll noted with delight a hint of color rising in her cheeks. So the form fitting breeches were to her liking. Would it be to her liking if he pulled her into the warmth of his greatcoat and wrapped his arms around her?

  They walked a moment with the carriage following behind when Eve Crenshaw slowed, her gaze fixed on a patch of snowdrops that had sprung up wild in the grass beside the sidewalk.

  When Grace and her escort were several paces a
head of them, she said, “What will you do if Lord Halifax dies?”

  “No need to worry yourself over that.”

  “You will leave the Continent,” she persisted.

  “Perhaps.”

  “I don’t think our father will allow either of us to marry a man who is wanted for murder.”

  “I should say not,” Erroll said.

  “That is why you didn’t insist that one of us marry you in Gretna.”

  It wasn’t a question. “That was one reason,” he replied.

  “Your wish not to marry is another.”

  This was not a question either. “Perhaps I simply never found someone I wanted to marry.”

  She gave her head a frustrated shake. “That is a very convenient answer.”

  “That does not make it untrue.” Or true for that matter, he reflected with amusement.

  She studied him for a moment, then said, “Our father won’t allow you to abandon his daughter in Scotland while you return to London and carry on as you please.”

  His daughter? So the lady was softening her tactic in steering him toward her sister—and letting him know her father would continue to take an interest in his daughter’s welfare.

  “In all fairness, I was angry when I said that.”

  Erroll thought he heard a low growl from the coach, which had slowed and was trailing suspiciously close to them. He should have known that ridiculous threat would come back to haunt him. The last thing he needed was the brute leaping from the coach to teach him a lesson in how a gentleman paid his addresses to a lady.

  “I was, after all, innocent of your sister’s accusations,” Erroll said. “Not to mention, I had just endured a very long lecture from my father and a five hour race to catch my accuser. I was not about to passively walk the plank.”

  Her gaze dropped and her shoulders shook slightly. He started to ask what was wrong, but his attention fixed on the curved flesh above her bodice. Lust made a stab at his groin with a dark intent that would certainly have Oscar upon him instantly. Then Erroll realized she was laughing.