Elise

by Jackie Ivie

  “I’m afraid they will na’ accept the obvious, however. They want to hear it from your lips.”

  “What?”

  The word didn’t make it to sound, but he heard it. He had little laugh lines all around his eyes, too, she noticed, as his smile reached there for the first time she’d ever seen.

  “Tell them, my love.”

  “Tell them... what?” she echoed. My love? She wondered it in absolute amazement. She was ashamed to realize the twinge deep within her was back, in force, and was shortening every bit of ability she had to breathe. She was taking short gasps of air to compensate. It wasn’t working. My love? she repeated in her thoughts.

  “Why, that you’ve been in here tonight. All night.”

  He was lowering his head a bit and raising her at the same time. Elise lost touch with the floor, but she hadn’t felt it for some time, and her eyes went wide with the surprise as he put a nose against her cheek.

  “With me,” he finished, whispering it against her skin.

  Someone cleared their throat, dropping her back into the reality that was Colin MacGowan’s arms, his bedchamber, and the murder of Sir Roald Easton. She knew then exactly what the duke was about, and his ability to playact was incredible, and very, very painful. He was saving her, just as he had at dinner, what now seemed a century ago. She meant nothing to him. She never had, and she never would. He was simply saving her. Again. It was extremely stupid of him, and she wondered if he knew what he was doing.

  With every bit of skill and strength at her command, Elise made herself withdraw from what her body was experiencing, taking every bit of the twinge, the overly focused senses, and the burning at the base of where her heart should be, and she hid them. Deep. Deeper. She had to close her eyes partway to make it happen, for the look on Colin MacGowan’s face was making the blood gush through her ears with a force that made them ring.

  “Elise?” he whispered.

  She tilted her head and looked him over critically, and with every bit of loftiness she could. Then she smiled, coldly, calculatedly, and mechanically. “What have you been saying, again?” she asked, as clearly and perfectly as The Ice Goddess always did.

  “You’ve been in here with me.”

  “With you?” she asked.

  “All night.”

  “All night?” she repeated, automatically.

  “I’m afraid they need some convincing.” He tipped his head, motioning to the others in the room.

  “I hardly think—”

  “That it would be necessary? I know, I was hoping it would wait until the announcement reached London, too.”

  “Announcement?” she asked.

  “I’m afraid that is na’ possible now. There’s been a dreadful accident in your chamber.”

  Elise felt her face drain and her knees wobble, but she didn’t give a sign of any of it.

  “It was a prowler, we think. Doona’ we, Lord Barrigan?” Colin turned his head back to their audience. Elise followed suit.

  “It appears Sir Easton must have heard him and went to investigate,” Lord Barrigan explained.

  “Is he—?”

  “He’s unconscious. We don’t know the extent of it yet.”

  Elise was so grateful for Colin’s continued embrace, she would have kissed him if he had been any other person on the face of the planet. As it was, she didn’t have any feeling left in the hand wrapped about the belt at his back, or in the other that was curved about his lapel in order to remain standing.

  “I’m afraid my man, May, here, has a few questions for you.”

  “He does?”

  “It’s rather unfortunate that the incident happened in your bedchamber. Or, rather, what we all assumed was your bedchamber.”

  Barrigan’s voice hadn’t lost a bit of volume. He was loud enough to wake anyone sleeping. Elise touched her glance on him and he grinned, before nudging the viscount at his side.

  “I guess congratulations are in order, MacGowan. The devil knows I should send my condolences to the entire male population of England along with it, too.”

  “My Lady? I mean . . . Your Grace?”

  The constable cleared his throat. Barrigan’s chuckles died as Elise looked back at him. Beside her, she felt Colin stiffen.

  “Yes?” she asked steadily.

  “You say you were in this chamber all night? With His Grace, the Duke of MacGowan?”

  “I already told you that she was,” Colin said in a low, menacing growl of sound.

  Elise moved her hand up the lapel of that fleecy robe and touched his chin, moving his face toward her. The contact burned, or her hands were ice cold. She was afraid it was the latter. She had no choice. It was self-preservation now, and she was going to let the dominoes fall where they would. She sincerely hoped he knew what he was doing.

  She smiled lovingly, but none of it reached her eyes. “Of course, you did, dearest,” she said softly and poignantly.

  The words would have been choking her if she hadn’t closed off every emotion, and the slight pursing of his lips didn’t help. She was afraid he was enjoying this. She just didn’t know why. He was damning himself, too. Elise turned her head back to their audience and smiled across at them. “And it’s true, gentlemen. Every bit of it.”

  “It’s true that the Duke of MacGowan and you are wed? You agree?”

  Elise looked back to Colin. He hadn’t moved from the position she’d put him in. Her fingers still on his chin were probably the reason. She rubbed a thumb subconsciously across the slight scratchiness of his chin and watched the flicker of green that went through his eyes. Then it was gone, leaving nothing but an opaque brown glaze.

  He nodded, but it was such a small gesture, if she hadn’t been holding on to him, she wouldn’t have known it. Elise turned back to the others.

  “Why ever would you doubt his word, sir? I don’t believe I’m hearing this correctly,” Elise replied in her coldest, most arrogant voice.

  The man flushed before replying. “Well, it is a bit of a tangle, I’m afraid. You see, it appears your bed was slept in. Since you weren’t using it that makes it a problem for me. There is also the matter of a woman’s robe still there. Unless you’d given your chamber over to another lady without letting your host know?”

  The man was obstinate, and Elise narrowed her eyes before looking back up to Colin. She sighed loudly. “I’m afraid it’s not going to stay secret much longer, my love,” she said to him. Then she released his chin to move her hand to a span of shoulder no man should own.

  Nothing about Colin was moving. She watched him watch her. She unwound her hand from his belt. She was already thinking through the ramifications. Annulment? No, too severe, much too spicy to stay the gossip. It was a mistake? No. Too much imbibing the night before? No. A bet gone wrong? That was going to be it. A bet.

  With whom?

  She was already calculating the amount and extent of it, and who she’d have to pay to advertise and start the propaganda, and Colin looked like he knew all of it. Elise sucked in on her lower lip and slowly lowered the hand that was still ice cold, despite being in such close proximity with him. Then she was turning her body, still keeping his arm about her but making it more of a conjoined defensive stance than an embrace of love. Colin’s arm dropped to encircle her waist, and he brought his other one to join it as she moved in front of him.

  That was disturbing, but she let it go. Everything about the episode was. His Grace was a barbarian from a barbaric country. He didn’t know what he was doing, or what it was going to cost. She did. She released her lip to smile wryly at the floor. That was strange. The wood flooring looked the consistency of sand.

  This was going to cause more of a stir than her trysting with the Marquis of Quorn had, once the story broke; consequently, she’d now have more whispers attached to her name. That might not be all bad, she decided, remembering Roald’s words. Any notice was better than none.

  She lifted her head, facing everyone from a positi
on in front of Colin. She felt every bit of him as his breath touched her neck.

  “You must see, don’t you? We didn’t wish the explanations... yet. It—it all happened in such a hurry, you understand. I set the stage to look like I was there all night. That’s why I left my robe, so my maid wouldn’t question anything about my absence. I’m sorry it caused anyone such worry, and I’m exceptionally sorry about Sir Easton. Although, now that I think of it, I feel rather lucky that it wasn’t me there instead.”

  Colin’s arm tightened about her waist, and Elise fought the urge to struggle as his interlocked hands made certain she couldn’t move.

  ‘‘You agree you are wed?”

  “How many times must I say it?” Elise replied.

  “Well, that would seem to sum up everything, for certain, my lady... I mean, Your Grace. There is one last thought, though, almost not worth the mention. Would it be impertinent of me to ask when it was that you and His Grace wed, and perchance what church? For the record, you understand.”

  Her heart sank. She lost her color. She gulped on the excess spittle choking her. She looked down, although the floor didn’t have any answers. Elise shut her eyes.

  “Surely that is inconsequential, May,” Colin replied. His voice was louder and had more of a brogue than usual. “For is it na’ Scottish law that to claim to be man and wife before a magistrate of the law makes it legal and binding? And you did all hear us, didn’t you?”

  There was a gruff, snort-like sound from Barrigan that drowned out Elise’s gasp. Colin spoke again, interrupting her from what she was certain was going to be a bout of hysteria, followed by screaming.

  “And you are a magistrate of the law, are you na’?”

  She didn’t hear the reply. She should have simply fainted, she told herself, and wondered how women went about it.

  “That should be proof enough for any man.”

  The duke was still talking, for the rumble of sound accompanied it, and she was still conscious as she heard the announcement that damned her.

  “By Scot’s law, the Lady Elise Wyndham is now my wife, the Duchess of MacGowan. Congratulations are in order. As is some privacy due my wife and I. Gentlemen?”

  Chapter 8

  Elise woke to bright, midmorning sunlight as Daisy pulled the drapes wide.

  “Well ...for an adventure-free night, you are a wonder.”

  Elise was struggling with leaden eyes. The bedchamber looked vaguely familiar, as did the embroidered crest on her pillow. She felt, rather than saw, her maid’s amusement.

  “Daisy—?”

  “No, let me ramble while I puzzle this out. My lady settles into her own bed to sleep. Sir Roald Easton, the poet-snake fellow”—she stopped and wagged a finger at Elise— “why, that gent ends up with a nice scratch to his noggin’ and is found in my lady’s messed bed.”

  “Daisy—”

  Elise tried again but didn’t sound authoritative even to herself. The motion to rub the sleep from her eyes wasn’t helping her, either. She neither resembled a powerful lady of the realm nor an employer. She probably looked like a child.

  “But does my lady lie ravished in her chambers? Oh nay, not her. She is declared wed to the richest Scot on record and found in said duke’s bed, instead!”

  She stopped for a bit, as if for dramatic effect. Elise couldn’t meet her eyes.

  “However did you manage such a restful night?”

  “Could you offer me a little water? My head aches.”

  “Well, that I wouldn’t doubt for a moment. Why, I swear when I was first told the story, I denied it could have happened. I know how you feel about men. I thought they frightened the daylights out of you. I thought... well, I thought I knew you. I will admit, though, that His Grace does seem to be a fine specimen, now doesn’t he?”

  Elise caught Daisy’s glance in the chamber mirror.

  “Why, it’s fairly easy to see why my lady would melt in that man’s arms.”

  “Wrong story,” Elise informed her, in a nondescript tone. She busied herself with patting the pillows into a mound for support behind her back while she waited.

  “Then where is your clothing? Answer me that. Why would your cotton skivvies be missing while you’re wearing nothing more than His Grace’s robe? Did he pull them from you with much passion? That might explain your actions.”

  “Burnt.”

  Elise watched as Daisy assimilated that.

  “Burnt?” she asked.

  “Probably tossed to the winds by now.”

  “What man burns his wife’s clothing?”

  “One who’s hiding blood stains.”

  “So . . . that’s what happened,” the maid said.

  Elise turned her face away.

  “I should have stayed and beaned the rascal for you! Why, he’d be out cold for a week, instead of suffering a mild concussion as Lord Barrigan’s physician man says he has. How dare he?”

  “Sir Roald . . . has a mild concussion?” Elise was choking on the words.

  “He soaked up the housemaid’s attentions with it, he did. Foul-tempered he was, too, so I was informed.”

  “A ... mild concussion?” she repeated.

  “As I’ve already said. Are you all right, my lady?”

  “I must speak with MacGowan. I’ve got to stop this nonsense. This instant. No, I’ll need something to wear first.”

  “Already been seen to, my lady. I suppose it’s to be Your Grace again, isn’t it?”

  “Oh no, not if I can help it. My clothes?”

  “I’d certainly choose the blue daygown if I were you. It’s the best choice of what we brought. I didn’t pack enough, but that can’t be changed at this late date.”

  “You packed sufficiently as always. I already complimented you on it,” Elise replied, lifting the covers to step out.

  “You’re going to need more than we brought in these four trunks.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Your new husband has sent word to close your townhouse. All of your immediate belongings are to be packed and transported without delay.”

  “He—what? When? On whose orders?”

  “This man is efficient and expects orders obeyed. He doesn’t wait for you to catch your breath. He has so many servants, I quite lost count. They’ve been preparing all day... since just after four this morn, anyway.”

  “Preparing for what?” Elise asked, almost against her will. She didn’t want to know. She really didn’t.

  “He’s ordered his traveling carriages prepared. He’s readying for the journey to his home. Seems he’s got to be in Scotland as soon as possible. And if you think I’d drop everything and go to the Highlands in a moment’s notice for anyone else, you’re sadly mistaken.”

  “Oh no, he didn’t. He couldn’t.”

  “Not only could he, but he did.”

  “But he knows nothing of the particulars! Nothing.”

  “I don’t think he quibbles particulars.”

  Elise smacked the pillows. “I haven’t even told him, though!”

  “You got him to wed with you, and you never even told him of Evan and Evangeline? Or Rory? You are a wonder. I’m impressed.”

  “I didn’t have time!”

  “You spent the night in his arms and didn’t have time? Lord bless us!”

  The maid lifted her apron over her face. Elise set her jaw to stop the sound of vexation. It was a wasted effort. Her voice sounded it. “I wasn’t in his arms! Well, maybe I was, but it wasn’t what you think. None of this is.”

  Daisy dropped her apron. She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. Her look said enough.

  “Oh, Daisy, this is ridiculous,” Elise said, with a nervous giggle.

  “Just as I told that Barton woman when I was informed of His Grace’s plans. According to Barton, who got her information straight from your husband’s man, Mick, His Grace isn’t staying another moment longer than necessary. He’s delayed long enough already. Seems he was only staying in London
long enough to choose himself a bride. Now, thanks to the poet-snake fellow, he’s gone and got himself one.”

  “I must speak with him. I must stop this! At once! Hurry!”

  “The blue?”

  “Anything, and quickly!”

  Elise was more in Daisy’s way than helpful. The entire episode had gotten out of hand. That’s what she got for her bout of feminine squeamishness last night. Sir Roald was suffering a mild concussion. She’d joined her name with Colin MacGowan’s for absolutely nothing. She should have lit the lamp after she’d hit Sir Roald with it. That would have been the smart thing to do.

  Elise had purchased the blue satin daygown because the color made her eyes stand out. It was trimmed with small pearl buttons that gave the dress an elegant air. She cursed those same buttons under her breath as she fumbled with those at her wrists, while Daisy fastened those up her back. She should have used hooks; they would have been faster.

  Daisy refused to let her from the chamber until her hair was pinned up, too. Elise couldn’t keep still long enough, and the result wasn’t as artistic as she usually prided herself. Still, it was off her shoulders and atop her head in some semblance of order, which was proper enough.

  She met Sophie and Lady Beth in a sitting room. They were sitting beside each other and sipping tea.

  “Have you seen the duke?” Elise rushed to Sophie, ignoring all the social pleasantries as she did so. She didn’t have time to exchange polite chitchat. She had to stop this madness.

  “Your gown is stunning, Elise. How much did it cost you?”

  “You can have it, Sophie. Only tell me where the Duke of MacGowan is!”

  Lady Beth looked shocked for a moment, and then giggled behind one gloved hand. Sophie allowed her eyebrows to raise slightly at Elise’s outburst. “Your new husband has been directing orders from the library like he was still in the military.”

  “My new hus—?” Elise bit off the word. Colin MacGowan was not her husband, but she wasn’t about to unburden it to anyone. Just a hint of what had happened would be more than either woman would keep secret. Elise was determined to prevent any further scandal until she could start her own propaganda.