“Yes, but it would be a temporary safety only,” the older man replied, suddenly looking alarmingly frail. “I’m not in the best of health, you know. That is why I am come to Bath.”
Hugh sat forward, genuinely alarmed. “Are you ill, sir?”
There was another silence before the general spoke. “I am as well as any man who has reached his seventh decade and who has led the sort of life I have,” he said, his blue eyes meeting Hugh’s with unwavering courage. “I may live another decade, I may die tomorrow. No one can be certain.”
Hugh glanced away, unable to answer for the painful lump lodged in his throat. He’d seen death in all its harrowing forms too many times to count, and he’d thought himself inured to grief. But the thought of the wily old general closing his eyes in death left him reeling.
A tired smile touched the general’s lips. “Not that I am complaining, mind,” he said with a laugh. “Had you not been there to put a bullet through that rebel, I should have died five years ago. Rather ironic when you think about it, don’t you agree?”
Hugh shook his head, failing to see any humor in the situation. He was closer to the general than he ever thought he could be to an Englishman, and it grieved him sorely that this time there was nothing he could do to save the older man from death. And it shamed him more to realize his next concern was for himself. If the general should die, who would help him recover his lands?
“Now you can see why I am so desirous that you wed my granddaughter,” General Burroughs continued, ignoring Hugh’s silence. “Caroline’s only protection is a husband, even a temporary one. Someone smart enough and ruthless enough to protect her from Charles when I am gone.”
Because his granddaughter’s plight seemed uppermost on the general’s mind, Hugh reluctantly made himself think of it as well. “Aye,” he said, accepting at last that the outlandish scheme was indeed the chit’s only hopes of salvation. “But what I cannot understand is why you should want that someone to be me. I understand about the divorce laws, but a man need not be a Scot to make use of them. Why should you be so determined I marry your granddaughter? It makes no sense.”
As usual, the general tumbled to his meaning at once. “Because I am English, and a duke, do you mean?” he asked, then chuckled when Hugh gave a terse nod. “Sergeant MacColme, do you know how I came by my title?”
Hugh’s shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Inherited it from your father, I would suppose.”
“From my uncle,” the general corrected. “A thoroughly reprehensible man whose vices and villainy make Charles look like a dashed choirboy. He died of the pox, but before the disease took him it left him withered and unable to produce heirs. He died without issue, and the title passed to Richard, my elder brother. Richard was a good enough fellow in his way, but he was wild and reckless in the extreme. He died drunk, attempting to walk blindfolded across a section of the roof, and the title fell to me. So you see,” he added, a smile of amusement curving his mouth, “that is how I came to bear the noble title of duke. A case of the pox and a drunken wager.”
Hugh felt an answering grin tugging at his lips. “I wondered why a duke would be a soldier,” he admitted wryly.
“Especially considering I never desired to be a soldier in the first place,” the general said, shocking Hugh with his casual confession. “I was enamored of the stage in my salad days, and quite longed to try my hand at acting. But Hawkeshill tradition had the second son taking up the sword, and so I was content to do my duty to the family name.
“Too content, mayhap,” he frowned. “Even after I became the duke I kept to my soldiering, avoiding my duties to the title whenever possible. I had a wife and two sons, but I seldom saw them. I had an obligation to the land and the people, but I was happy enough to pass it on to others. Edward, my eldest son and Caroline’s father, loved the land, and had he lived, he would have made an excellent duke. Alas, he and his wife died a number of years ago, and still I stayed away, leaving my responsibilities to others. Dereliction of duty, Sergeant Major, wouldn’t you say?”
Hugh realized he did think almost that very thing and was appalled. “You’re being too hard upon yourself, sir,” he said, hastily pushing his traitorous thoughts aside. “You did as you thought best, and none would fault you for it.”
“Perhaps.” The older man inclined his head with touching humility. “But even as I fault myself, it is of no consequence. That is why I am so determined to help Caroline now, you see. I failed her all her life; I do not intend failing her now.”
“General—”
“There is something else to consider,” the general said, his tone urgent as he leaned forward. “So far we’ve only discussed how marriage will help Caroline, but we’ve not yet addressed how it might benefit you as well.”
“Me?” Hugh asked, recalling Lady Caroline’s condescending offer of money. He wasn’t certain how he would respond if the general should make a similar offer.
“I’ve been considering your request for assistance in regaining your lands,” General Burroughs began in his usual forthright manner. “And it occurs to me that while I may be of some help to you in this regard, there are limits to what I can do. As your friend,” he added, the emphasis he placed on the word bringing Hugh to immediate attention.
“Go on,” he said, wondering what the wily general was about.
“As your friend, I would be more than happy to write letters on your behalf, and perhaps petition friends of mine who are in positions of some authority. I would even be willing to pay whatever fines and damages may have been levied against your estate, although I’m certain that Scots pride of yours would never allow such a thing. But that is all I can do.
“However,” he continued, “were you to marry Caroline you would become my grandson, and as my grandson you would command the attention of some of the most influential men in the land. Men who would give far more credence to the grandson of the duke of Hawkeshill than they ever would to a displaced Scottish laird. The return of your lands would be all but guaranteed.”
Hugh sat frozen, unable to respond. Loch Haven his again, he thought, his heart racing with almost unbearable hope. The lands his ancestors had bled and died for, the castle whose stones were laid more than three centuries past—once more in the possession of a MacColme. It was everything he wanted and had prayed for since returning to Scotland, and the price was but a year or so of his life. As he had over fourteen years ago, Hugh made the only choice there was to be made. He rose to his feet, his hands clenched at his sides as he faced the general.
“Very well, Your Grace,” he said, his gaze meeting the older man’s with cold determination. “With your permission, I wish to request the hand of your granddaughter in marriage.”
The general regarded him for several moments before responding. “Permission granted,” he said, a pleased smile playing about his lips. “With provisos, of course.”
Two hours, Caroline thought, pausing in her pacing long enough to cast the elegant clock on the mantel an impatient glare. Her grandfather and Mr. MacColme had been locked away in her grandfather’s study for the past two hours, and not a peep had there been from the pair of them. It was doubtlessly Mr. MacColme who was at fault, she decided, scowling as she resumed her pacing. From what she’d observed of him, the stubborn soldier would argue with the devil himself.
By the time another twenty minutes had passed, Caroline had reached the end of her tether. She was giving serious thought to sneaking downstairs and listening at the keyhole when her maid tapped on the door and came bustling into the room.
“I beg your pardon, my lady,” she said with a hasty curtsy, “but His Grace requests you join him in the drawing room.”
Finally! Caroline thought, hiding her eagerness as she turned toward the door and hurried downstairs to join the others. At the door to the drawing room she paused briefly, pressing a shaking hand to her stomach to calm its sudden churning, then she stepped inside without knocking. Both men were standing before
the fireplace, glasses of brandy in their hands, and looking very much like two gentleman at their leisure. She gave Mr. MacColme a curious glance, wondering what thoughts were going on behind that coldly handsome face, before turning to her grandfather.
“You wished to see me, sir?” she asked, doing her best to appear cool.
“Indeed, my dear, indeed,” her grandfather said, setting his brandy aside and walking forward to take her hand. “The sergeant and I have been talking, and you will be happy to know I have given him permission to pay his addresses to you.”
Although this was the answer she had been expecting, indeed hoping for, Caroline’s stomach gave another uncomfortable lurch. “I see. When is the marriage to take place?” she asked, wondering how she could sound so calm when her entire world had just been set spinning.
“Tomorrow morning,” her grandfather informed her, giving her hand a soothing pat. “I have contacted the bishop, and a special license is being prepared. It should be here by nightfall.”
Tomorrow morning! So soon as that? Caroline fought back panic. When her grandfather moved, it would seem he moved quickly, she thought, swallowing in sudden fear. She was trying to think of what else to say when Mr. MacColme walked over to join them. Without speaking he took her hand from her grandfather, a gesture which struck her as oddly symbolic.
“If you will forgive me, General, I believe it might be best if my fiancée and I were to discuss the rest of this privately,” he said, his warm fingers wrapping around her chilled flesh. “With your permission, I should like to take her for a drive.”
“Eh?” Her grandfather blinked, and then to her astonishment he acquiesced at once. “Oh, of course, MacColme, of course. You always were one to take command of a situation. Very well, you may consider yourself dismissed. Only mind you are back within the hour,” he ordered with an admonishing wag of his finger. “You are not yet husband and wife.”
“Very well, sir.” Mr. MacColme sketched a stiff bow before turning to Caroline. “I will wait for you in the hall, my lady, while you are fetching your shawl and bonnet. I ask you do not tarry long, as we’ve much we must accomplish.”
The desire to toss his peremptory command back in his face was strong, but Caroline managed to control the impulse. Now was not the time to indulge her temper, she told herself as she hurried up to her room to retrieve the requested items. But it was plain she and the sergeant would have to come to some sort of agreement if they had the smallest chance of making this “marriage” of theirs succeed. She hadn’t escaped one tyrant only to place herself under the control of another.
A quarter of an hour later, she and Mr. MacColme were in her grandfather’s elegant coach making their way down Great Pulteney Street. Instead of sitting across from her as she expected, her fiancé settled onto the seat beside her. The feel of him sitting so close to her that their knees and shoulders brushed was disconcerting, and she wondered if he’d done so with precisely that intention. If so, he was in for a disappointment, she decided, her chin lifting with pride. She turned her head, her manner cool as she met the diamond-hard gaze of the stranger who in less than twenty-four hours would be her husband.
“Before we begin, Mr. MacColme, I wish to thank you for your kind assistance. I shudder to think what might have befallen me had you not agreed to this.”
He remained silent for several seconds before slowly inclining his head. “You are welcome, my lady,” he drawled, an unexpected dimple flashing in his tanned cheek. “But are you certain this is what you want? You hardly seem the eager bride, if you do not mind my saying so.”
His mocking words took Caroline aback, and her control wavered dangerously before she managed to rein it in. “As ours is a marriage of convenience and a temporary one at that, I see no reason for subterfuge.”
“To be sure,” he agreed, capturing her hand and carrying it to his lips. “But sometimes subterfuge is the best defense one can hope for—and in our case, you could say it is the only defense.”
The feel of his lips over the back of her hand was unnerving, but Caroline refused to lower herself to anything so undignified as a struggle. “And what does that mean?” she asked, praying she sounded more confident than she felt.
“Merely that while you may be content regarding our arrangement as a simple act of commerce, your grandfather and I cannot be so sanguine. For you to be truly safe, ours must be seen as a marriage in every sense of the word. The world must be made to believe we have married for the usual reasons.”
Caroline’s brows puckered as she mulled over his words. Understanding dawned, and her eyes flew wide with horror. “Are you saying you are going to pass this off as a love match?” she gasped, shocked to her toes. “You cannot be serious!”
“Can I not?” His silvery-green eyes danced with amusement. “But if it will help ease your mind, my lady, I believe I said the usual reasons. It is my understanding your world would never dream of marrying for so base a thing as love. We will put it about that ours is an arranged marriage and leave it at that.”
“Arranged by whom?” Caroline demanded, feeling as if she was on a horse that had bolted and was dashing unchecked toward the edge of a very high cliff.
“Your grandfather, of course,” he replied in the cool, imperturbable tones that were beginning to grate on her nerves. “He will let it be known that I am the husband he has selected for you, which is no more than the truth, when you think about it. As he is the duke of Hawkeshill none will dare question the matter—to our faces, at least,” he added with a cynical laugh. “Behind our backs, I’ve no doubt tongues will tie themselves in knots from the wagging.”
“The prospect doesn’t seem to fill you with undue alarm,” Caroline grumbled, blushing to think herself the object of malicious gossip.
His broad shoulders lifted and fell in an indifferent shrug. “I have no care for what a handful of English gossips might say of me. And in any case we shall not be in Bath long enough for it to matter.”
Caroline did her best not to panic. “And where will we be?” she asked, visions of being dragged off to the wet, windswept Highlands swirling in her mind.
His casual answer verified her fears. “Scotland, of course. Although I’m afraid we must first be paying a visit to London.”
Caroline thought of Uncle Charles, and her concerns over Scotland vanished. “London!” Fear made her pale.
The hand holding hers tightened in comfort. “I’ve business which must be seen to before we can return to Scotland,” he said, coolly. “His Grace will be accompanying us, and we will be staying in his town house. If it’s your uncle you’re worrying over, you’ve nothing to fear from him. If he dares to try and harm you once you are my wife, I will deal with him—on that I give you my pledge.”
The firm words gave her an odd sense of comfort. For the first time since the awful death of her parents, she suddenly felt less alone, a sensation that left her feeling more than a little bewildered. The man holding her hand and promising to protect her was still a stranger, and a dangerous stranger at that, she reminded herself. She would forget that at her own peril.
“When do we leave?” she asked, discreetly withdrawing her hand and shifting away. She needed to think, and that was something she couldn’t seem to do with the feel of him overwhelming her.
He stared down at her, those eyes of his narrowing with some dark emotion. “Directly after the wedding,” he said, closing the distance she had just set between them. “Now that we’ve put that behind us, there’s something else we need to put behind us as well.” And without warning he pulled her against him, his arms as tight as iron bands as they closed about her. Furious, she opened her mouth, but before she could utter a word of protest his lips were taking hers in a kiss of blazing passion.
The taste and feel of him were dazzling, and despite her anger, Caroline could feel herself responding. Although she had been kissed before, nothing she’d experienced in the past could compare with what she was feeling now. It was d
eep and raw, and more than a little frightening. It had to be fear to make her tremble so.
Delicate as her shudder was, he must have felt it, for in a heartbeat she was free. Lashes she couldn’t remember closing fluttered open, and she found herself staring up at his hard, implacable features. Not for the first time she noticed the thin white scar slashing across his tanned cheekbone, and as if they possessed a will of her own, her fingers reached up to stroke the puckered flesh. Her fingertips had barely brushed over his face before he jerked his head back, his eyes flashing with an emotion she could not identify.
“We should be turning back soon,” he said, pushing her gently from him and moving to the other side of the carriage. “Your grandfather will be waiting for us.”
His icy withdrawal was almost as confusing to Caroline as his passionate assault. What on earth ailed the creature? she seethed silently. He was the one who had kissed her without so much as a by-your-leave, so why was he now acting with such rigid propriety? Anger warred with pride, and after a brief struggle, pride won. Not for the world would she let him know his kiss had the slightest effect upon her. In her mind she’d already made a thorough fool of herself, and she was cursed if she would compound that sin. With that thought firmly in mind she drew the tatters of her dignity about her, and forced herself to ape his coolness.
“If you do not mind, Mr. MacColme, there is a question I should like to ask of you first,” she said, taking pride in her calm tones.
He regarded her warily. “What is it?”
She clenched her hands to hide their trembling. “I can see how our marriage will benefit me,” she said, meeting his gaze with a nonchalance she was far from feeling. “But I do not see how it will benefit you. Did Grandfather offer to pay you?”
A look of black fury flashed across his face, and in that brief moment she feared she had gone too far. Then as quickly as it came the look was gone, and he was once again as cold and unmovable as a block of Highland stone. “I am nae a cicisbeo to be purchased for a lady’s pleasure,” he informed her, his accent more pronounced than ever. “The general is helping with a matter pertaining to my estate, Loch Haven, and that, my lady, is all you need to know.”
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