Ewan turned with Yvette in his arms, a wide grin on his handsome face. “‘Tis all right. We’re betrothed.”
Chapter 15
Thirty minutes later, Yvette sat beside Vangie on a settee sipping tea. Ewan and Ian sat in a pair of armchairs on either side of an ornate fireplace.
“So, you see, we’d no choice but to pretend to be betrothed.” Yvette flashed a glance at Ewan. He seemed completely unperturbed by the awkwardness of the situation.
Vangie nodded, uncertainty reflected in her eyes. “Yes, I do see how it became necessary, but . . .”
Ewan interrupted her. “I take full responsibility. I should have woken Yvette the moment I realized she was in my room.”
“Yes, you should have,” Ian snapped. It’s a damn fine thing to have one of my dearest friends compromise my wife’s cousin.”
“I didn’t compromise her,” Ewan said.
“You might as well have.” Ian sighed. “But, I suppose, I’m the last person who should be judging anyone in that regard.”
Yvette didn’t wonder at the exchange. Ian had been accused of compromising Vangie, and they’d been coerced into marriage.
“If anyone is to blame, ‘tis me.” She smiled in an attempt to lighten the mood. “In any event, we arrived safely and my reputation is relatively intact.”
Jasper, the butler, entered the room with the boxed carousel. “Miss Stapleton, your package.”
Vangie insisted on making for the nursery straightaway after opening the gift. She placed the carousel as a centerpiece on a small marble-topped table, rather than on a shelf already overflowing with toys, dolls, trinkets, and picture books for the child.
She turned the merry-go-round’s knob, and the four adults watched the miniature jeweled horses dance their circles to the tinkling music. Yvette gazed around the nursery, taking in the handsome carved cradle and cushioned rocking chair. A wave of yearning encompassed her. She wanted children of her own.
A child with Ewan.
Merciful God in heaven, where did that come from?
She sought his eyes, and a tingling shock reverberated through her entire being. He’d been watching her. His I-know-what-you-wished smile was brimming with understanding and simmering with an unconstrained promise. She turned away, pretending to be absorbed in a picture book, lest the blush stealing across her face give her thoughts away entirely.
Lord above, he was reading her mind again.
Yvette’s gaze wandered to her cousin and Ian. Her lips curved. Vangie leaned against him, his arms encircling her distended abdomen as they watched the carousel complete its fanciful journey. The baby must have chosen that moment to kick because Vangie jumped. Ian chuckled and murmured something in her ear which earned him a loving smile.
Indeed, what would it be like to have a child with Ewan?
The cousins sat in the middle of Yvette’s bed nibbling shortbread and giggling. Both were reluctant to retire and bring an end to their long-awaited reunion. A plethora of plump pillows were spread at the head of the bed, and it was amongst these the women relaxed, chatting.
A heavy rapping caused both ladies to turn their heads toward the door.
“Enter,” Yvette called.
The housekeeper, Mrs. Tanssen, marched in. She inclined her head. “Please excuse the interruption, Lady Warrick, Miss Stapleton. My lady, your presence is required below stairs.”
Vangie sent the housekeeper a quizzical glance. “Whatever’s so urgent it cannot wait ‘til morning?”
Yvette assisted Vangie from the bed.
“Mr. Carmichael is in the drawing room. He’s been wounded.”
Vangie and Yvette were out the door before the housekeeper finished her sentence. On bare feet, the cousins flew down the lengthy corridor. Vangie had a gift for healing. It was part of her Romani heritage.
Vangie called over her shoulder, “Mrs. Tanssen, please fetch my healing basket.”
Yvette and Vangie barged into the drawing room. Mr. Carmichael, bare from the waist up, was propped against a sheet-covered settee. Pale, but alert, he was speaking to Ewan.
“They were only a small troupe of highwaymen. Two of them had accents. The smallest of the group, no more than a boy really, appeared to be their leader. He was furious to find the coach unoccupied.”
Ian said, “No occupants means no jewels or money.”
“If that’s what they were after,” agreed Ewan.
The women hastened to Mr. Carmichael.
“Blade or firearm?” Vangie asked before examining the wound.
“Pistol, Lady Warrick.” He flinched, his muscles bunching when she pulled away the cloths Ewan held to staunch the blood.
Vangie peered at the injury. Yvette tried not to.
“Ah, ‘tis but a flesh wound,” Vangie said. “You’re fortunate Mr. Carmichael. The bleeding’s all but stopped. You won’t require suturing.”
Yvette swallowed in relief. She wasn’t sure she would have been much help with the task. The sight of blood left her feeling queasy and light-headed.
Mrs. Tanssen arrived with Vangie’s basket of healing goods.
“Thank you, Mrs. Tanssen,” Vangie said, reaching for the basket. She set about tending Mr. Carmichael’s wound.
Feeling rather useless, Yvette scanned the impressive room. Her gaze rested on Ewan. His mouth was turned downward into a pair of grim lines. She raised her eyes to his and a shudder stole through her. What if they’d been in that carriage?
Ewan noticed Yvette the moment she rushed into the room. She stood near the settee, her toes peeking from the hem of the proper nightgown she wore. Her shoulders were draped with a coral and yellow fringed silk shawl, more for modesty’s sake than any need to stay warm. Her hair was plaited. The golden rope teased the swell of her bottom.
Something primitive and hot stirred in him seeing her attired thus. Was she naked beneath the gown? His gaze explored the covering. It revealed no secrets unlike the gown she’d worn a few nights ago.
His gaze met Yvette’s, wondering and wistful, from across the room. He turned his lips upward in a silent greeting. She smiled warily before returning her attention to Vangie and Trent. Damn, she was too perceptive by far. She’d read his uneasiness in his eyes.
“Carmichael, did you wound any of them?” Ian paced back and forth, like a giant panther.
“Malcolm and I managed to get off a round before I was hit,” Trent said, flinching. “Someone was hiding in the shadows and shot me from behind. I’m sure my aim was true. I heard the bugger’s cry of pain.”
“Accent you say,” said Ewan. “Mayhap Italian?”
He hoped to God Trent said no. He restrained a wince when Yvette gasped and searched his face in stunned surprise.
“Perhaps. I’m not familiar with the language.” Trent grunted again as Vangie cleansed the wound.
Ewan prodded, “There were three of them?”
“Four.” Trent sucked in a sharp breath, gritting out the word. “Three stopped the carriage. Two blocked the road ahead and one snuck up from behind. The other scoundrel lurked out of sight, undercover of some tall shrubbery beside the road. ‘Tis when they found the carriage empty things turned unpleasant.”
“Evvy, hold this bandage in place while I secure it.” Vangie smiled at Trent. “Almost finished. Can you lean forward, so I can wrap the bandages round your back?”
Grimacing, he did as he was bid. “The short one started arguing with the other two,” he continued. “Half the conversation was foreign gibberish. They were arguing about ransom—” Trent stopped abruptly, his gaze sliding to Yvette.
Damn. Ewan shot her a glance. Her eyes flashed with accusation. The devil take it. He’d not meant for her to hear that bit of news. There’s no help for it now. The truth would out soon enough.<
br />
“There, all done,” Vangie announced.
Ian helped her to her feet. “I’ll return momentarily,” he said to no one in particular. “I want to see Vangie to bed.”
After Vangie bid the others good night, Ian led her from the room.
Ewan began pacing then. “Could the small thief have been a woman?”
Closing his eyes, Trent nodded. “Perhaps. If so, her hair was quite short for a woman, and she was dressed in men’s clothing. They were masked, so I can’t say for certain.”
Ewan felt Yvette’s puzzled stare boring into him. He met her gaze head on, and his lips curved in reassurance. She’s intelligent. Already she’s putting the pieces together.
Yvette had been silent to this point. She turned to Trent. “The man in the shadows, did you get a look at him? Was it Edgar?”
Yvette felt Ewan’s eyes on her.
Crossing the distance between them, he lifted her hand and brushed his warm lips across her knuckles. “That’s why I switched carriages. I was afraid something like this would happen.”
“Do you know who they are?” She could read nothing in his eyes.
Ewan cast a glance at Mr. Carmichael. “You know Marquardt. Was he one of the highwaymen?”
Mr. Carmichael started to shrug, then winced. “I can’t be certain.”
Ewan met her gaze again. “I have a strong suspicion whom they may be.”
“Which you won’t share with me.” She shook her head, annoyed. “Why? I’m not some delicate flower, Ewan, and you don’t have to protect me from this unpleasantness.”
He opened his mouth, then shut it. Why was he so secretive?
Withdrawing her hand from his, she tucked it to her side, all too aware Mr. Carmichael watched them. The smile curving the corners of the agent’s mouth brought a dash of color to her cheeks.
She wanted to shout at Ewan, demand he tell her what he knew. If Mr. Carmichael wasn’t present, she might have indulged the urge. If Ewan didn’t trust her, how was she to ever trust him? Disappointment and frustration washed over her.
“Yvette,” Ewan began.
She shook her head, cutting him off. “Goodnight, Ewan.”
Yvette looked to the agent. “Goodnight, Mr. Carmichael. I hope your injury doesn’t prevent you from sleeping.”
“Thank you, Miss Stapleton.”
As she turned to leave, Ewan touched her arm. “Please, ride with me tomorrow, before breaking your fast.”
Yvette studied him for an intense moment. The eyes staring back at her were clear and guileless. Should she deprive herself of the pleasure because he was being evasive?
No, that would be childish. She curved her mouth upward. “That would be lovely. ‘Tis been too long since I’ve indulged in a ride.”
His small smile was tinged with relief. “Is half-past seven too early?”
She shook her head. “Not at all. Shall I expect you at the stables?”
“Nae. I shall have our mounts at the manor’s entrance.”
“Splendid. Till the morrow, then. Goodnight.”
“Sleep well, Evvy.”
As she departed the room she heard him say to Mr. Carmichael, “Tell me more about the smallest highwayman. Did he carry a knife?”
Chapter 16
Yvette raced beside a buckthorn hedge, her horse’s thundering hooves routing pheasants and partridges. The fowl took to the early morning air amid a chorus of raucous scolding and frightened cries. As her steed surged ahead of Ewan’s, her laughter tickled the drooping leaves clustering the curling branches of a willow tree.
His shout of laughter echoed across the meadow as the horse he was riding cleared the hedge in an agile leap.
“Unfair, Ewan.” Yvette’s voice sifted away on an airy breeze as her mount galloped up the sloping incline.
“That was sneaky of you, my lord,” she said laughing. “We agreed to race to the top of the hill. There was no mention of jumping the shrubbery. You know ‘tis much more difficult to stay seated sidesaddle.”
Oh, how she’d come to enjoy these early morning rides with him this past week.
Edging his mount next to hers, so close his buckskin covered thigh brushed her lavender-gray linen draped one, Ewan leaned forward until his face was but inches from hers. Yvette’s eyes were riveted on the carved lips framing his mouth. They transformed into a roguish smile. Her lids lowered in anticipation of the kiss sure to come.
“I expect my betrothed to call me by my name.”
Her eyes sprang open in astonishment at the unexpected chastisement. “I . . .”
“‘Tis apparent I’ve been too lax,” he murmured.
Ewan was devilishly close. She could see the gold flecks in his irises, feel his breath caressing her cheek.
Sideling closer, his lips all but touching her parted mouth, he whispered, “A fitting punishment ‘tis needed. What say you? A kiss every time you don’t use my name?”
In one deft sweep of his arms, he snatched her from her mount to sit across his lap. His arms engaged in balancing her on his thighs, his powerful leg muscles contracted under her bottom as he used his knees to control his prancing horse.
“Oh!”
Yvette’s astounded yelp was cut off as she clutched at his stony forearm in alarm. Her added weight shifted the saddle and the stallion side-stepped, adjusting his footing. She gripped Ewan even tighter, positive she was going to topple, helter-skelter to the ground.
His chest shook, rumbling with suppressed humor.
Brute.
“I have you.” He was chuckling aloud now, a wolfish grin emphasizing his darkly handsome face. “I’d never let you fall.”
She tilted her head staring into his eyes. God in heaven, she loved the color of his eyes. It was like looking into the sea’s depths. She watched his humor recede and an altogether different emotion surge to the surface. His eyes fixed on her mouth. She licked her lower lip.
With a groan, Ewan’s mouth descended.
Yvette’s slipped her arms upward to grip behind his sturdy neck. She clung to him, welcoming the onslaught. She kissed him with everything budding in her heart and kindling in her soul. Her tongue jousted with his, igniting the flames of her passion into a rapturous inferno. Her soul sparked anew.
He lifted his head.
Disappointment washed over her when he broke their kiss. His labored breathing and tightly closed eyes revealed how much the effort cost him. Dazed, her head spinning, she stared at him, awed.
Lord Almighty, what his kisses did to her. A lifetime wouldn’t be long enough to enjoy them. Only, she plucked the heavy skirt of her riding habit, she didn’t have a lifetime. She didn’t have any time left with him. Releasing a pensive sigh she lowered her eyes.
He had delivered her to Somersfield. Their time together was at an end.
Yvette twisted on his lap, levering her arms to lean away and look at him fully. She had tucked the worry about their sham engagement aside, pushing it to the corner of her mind. Now she would have an answer. Her eyes searing him with a direct look, she spoke plainly. “I’m aware you must leave Somersfield soon. What will be said when ‘tis known our betrothal is ended?”
She could already hear the cruel barbs and waspish innuendoes. Fingering the row of silk braiding edging her jacket, her gaze shifted away from his astute scrutiny.
She didn’t dare look at him lest he see the pain and humiliation reflected in her eyes. Instead, her gaze shifted past his shoulder to a gnarled oak tree. A pair of mourning doves perched on a branch, cocking their delicate grayish-brown heads from side-to-side. Their intense black eyes studied her. It seems she was an object of speculation for the birds too.
Her lips curved in irony. She was in a deuced difficult position, and it didn’t help in the l
east that it was of her own making. Her naive musings about remaining unwed might prove to be prophetic in the end.
Dash it all, she didn’t really want to be a spinster.
Studying the transparent emotions in concert across Yvette’s features, Ewan understood the battle warring within her. Wasn’t he occupied with the same maddening conflict?
Their faux engagement wasn’t widely known, thus the scandal might be minimized.
No, the devil take it, that wasn’t likely the case at all.
Mrs. Pettigrove.
One might as well take have placed an advert in Blackwood’s. Her notorious sister, Lady Clutterbuck was a vicious gossip. He didn’t doubt she had been wagging her tongue all over Town, and most likely, embellishing the truth.
He shifted in the saddle, positioning Yvette more securely on his lap. She gave him a brave, half-smile before her gaze shifted over his shoulder again.
There would be disgrace attached to the dissolution, no matter the circumstances. Members of the peerage didn’t enter into a betrothal agreement without considering the considerable consequences of breaking the contract, even an unwritten one.
The scandal might spell ruination for her. And his honor? It wouldn’t be worth a hog. Yet he’d been desperate to remove her from London.
He scanned the meadow. They had been here a week now, and thus far, there had been no sign anyone lurked about. Ian had instructed several of his stable hands, former soldiers, to keep a careful watch and patrol the estate away from the manicured grounds. He’d also restricted Yvette and Vangie to the grounds within sight of the manor house when they took their daily strolls.
If Ewan’s hunch was right, and he hoped to God it wasn’t, they were still in danger. Fear’s icy fingers slithered round his heart. He’d risk all to keep Yvette from harm. Extending a hand, his fingers skimmed her cheek.
Highlander's Hope Page 13