by Jackie Ivie
Elegant.
“You thinking to take a pole and try your luck?”
“Perhaps. Once the rain lets up.”
“I believe I shall accompany you,” Garrick said. “We’ll make a wager of it.”
Neal gave his cousin his full attention. Added another slight smile. This time the fellow didn’t return it. Neal lowered his chin. Almost snarled. And then he answered with a deep tone that projected as much menace as he dared exhibit before his wife.
“Oh, I don’t know, Garrick. Perhaps we should go...grouse hunting instead.”
“Your aim has improved, has it?”
“Oh, yes. In fact...I look forward to proving it.”
“I say, might I have another spot of tea? And a couple of scones? And perhaps one of those iced cakes?”
The vicar was oblivious to the tension. Hopefully Ainslee was, too. Neal didn’t move his gaze from Garrick. He didn’t blink, either. He caught movement from the corner of his eye as the others glanced from him to Garrick and back. Neal watched his cousin swallow. The vicar stood and approached Ainslee. Neal released her hand so she could refill the man’s cup, moving with an inherent grace and elegance. It wasn’t the only thing she exhibited. The impression of innocence about her was almost visual.
And that made her the perfect prey.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Ainslee hadn’t known the duke’s mother was English, although it didn’t matter. She was half Irish. But it explained so many things! His nose, for instance. It was thinner, not near as prominent as his cousins. It didn’t resemble any of the portraits gracing the walls, either. And then she needed to consider his piercing gray eyes. He was the lone Straith with those! Sometimes they resembled a storm-tossed sea. At others, they were more the shade of the clouds as they were today – rain-filled and dark. And sometimes, they looked like polished silver. Ainslee could gaze into them for hours, listening to her heart beat faster while each breath grew shallower.
His matriarchal lineage could even explain why he’d stayed in London-town for so long, seemingly ignoring his responsibilities. He might have been visiting family.
So.
The duke’s father had chosen a Sassenach for a wife. He wasn’t the only Straith to have done so. Niall’s grand-father, the third Duke of Straithcairn, had a younger sister named Iliff. Iliff had wed a man named Findley, a union that was still whispered about if Ainslee enquired. The marriage hadn’t lasted. Iliff had been widowed shortly after the ceremony and had returned, childless, to her ancestral home.
Iliff Findley had been a seemingly-fragile, tiny woman of unique coloring – possessing dark red hair and white skin. There was a miniature in one of the salons, painted of her before she’d wed. She’d died soon after returning to Straith Castle, hopefully she’d been mourned, but then she’d been largely forgotten.
As had her wardrobe.
Iliff’s husband must have possessed some measure of wealth if her clothing was a sampling. Everything had been fashioned in colors to complement her. She’d had them crafted from the deepest shades, the most brilliant hues, supremely vivid tones. Every outfit seemed to have accessories to match. From gloves to shawls, the thinnest of chemises to the thickest petticoats, every necessary item was included, and all crafted in myriad tones to match the dress. There were cloaks, reticules, stockings, garters, corsets…everything. The ensembles were old-fashioned, musty-smelling, and needed altering.
But to Ainslee, it was absolute treasure.
Even if the clothing was laughably ancient, it was a godsend, making her feel ladylike and elegant when she most needed it.
It had started this morn when a note was delivered from Niall’s aunt, asking if Ainslee was going to oversee the running of the castle or if she needed training first. That had been followed by another message an hour later. That one Ainslee tore up and tossed in the waste-bin. She didn’t need anyone telling her she wasn’t a fit wife for a Duke of Straithcairn, and that he should have married Lileth. She already knew what everyone thought. The bottom of the note had degenerated into a scrawl of words, chastising Niall for keeping the dukedom, when he should have given the title to Garrick so he could wed the proper MacAffrey – the one with the dowry. There had been more. The note had been filled with so much vituperative language it burned Ainslee’s eyes to read it.
So, she’d torn the missive into pieces and pulled the cord for help. And the housekeeper, Missus Paige, who Ainslee had known and loved for years, had sent her daughter, Mira, who was now a chamber maid. Mira had brought two other women, Beth and Doreen. Both women were trained as lady’s maids. On their heels had come the castle seamstress, Mistress Aggie. Between them, they’d not only remembered Lady Iliff’s wardrobe, but found which set of rooms in the cavernous fourth floor held it, and which keys worked on the locks.
All of which had combined to see Ainslee hosting her very first tea in that eye-catching green gown.
The fact that the duke had attended, dressed in a magnificence that stole her breath, was perfect! He’d treated her with exactly the right combinations of words and gestures, too. It had been an amazement she wouldn’t have believed if she hadn’t been there. Niall Straith was a consummate actor. He’d played the role of love-struck husband so well he could take the stage if he wanted.
He’d fooled everyone with his portrayal.
And now, he needed to do it again.
Tonight she was the hostess of a castle dinner worthy of the duchy of Straithcairn. This time, Ainslee wore a copper-hued evening gown that Mistress Aggie had worked on all day. The seamstress had removed the topaz-studded ribbons from the neckline in order to make it more fashionable, taken yards of material from the skirt to thin it, and worked an absolute miracle to get it ready for tonight. Ainslee was taking even more care with her appearance than before. Niall’s aunt, Lady Margaret Blair, would be there. Lady Margaret was very aware of her social status. Ainslee had avoided the woman for years. The lives of the very high and mighty had never interested her.
Well…maybe their horses.
Ainslee watched her reflection as Mira and Beth worked with her hair, heating locks with an iron, and wrapping them about rods in order to get some curl and buoyancy, only to ultimately fail. They’d finally resorted to her usual style – braiding, only this time they’d plaited thin locks of hair, entwining the previously discarded topaz-studded ribbon through the tresses as they worked. The hair at the top had been pulled off her face and woven into something resembling a medieval cap, worked into a mass at the crown of her head and then it was left loose, making a waterfall of hair down her back.
They’d managed to get it above her knees, but it was still going to require some awareness to keep it under control. It was a unique style. Eye-catching. Almost outrageous. Then again, so was her dress, but she didn’t have a choice. Mistress Aggie had been exact on her measurements, and there wasn’t time to let anything out.
The copper satin was like a second skin, molding to her breasts, upper arms, waist and hips, while the neckline gave her more than a moment of concern, despite their assurances that the new fashions were so immodest, they were shocking! Women wore nothing beneath their light gauze gowns, and even wet them down in order to appear near-naked!
Well. If Niall was used to that, he probably wouldn’t take a second glance at her.
What was she thinking?
He might not even notice. They both knew he’d chosen her because she’d begged him. He’d hastened the union due to pity. And he’d kissed her because she’d asked him to. Imagining anything else was sheer fancy. She didn’t know for certain why he’d pretended to consummate their marriage last night, but she could guess. He might have been securing her position so he could leave because he knew Lady Margaret’s nature and had heard her aspirations for her son. The reason could be baser, too. Perhaps he didn’t wish any gossip of his manhood questioned. Ainslee knew how men spoke. She’d been in the stables and heard them. She’d blushed at what she’d hea
rd. That could easily be the reason for the duke’s appearance in her room last night. But what did she know?
The only one she could ask was the duke.
And that was impossible.
Ainslee watched her reflection as the women created a vision. She was so completely out of fashion in Lady Iliff’s clothing that the only choice was to create an entirely new one. Unique. She hoped the duke would help. She desperately needed him to keep up his playacting a little longer, praying he’d continue acting the part of loving newlywed, for just one more evening. That’s all she asked. All she needed.
Please God…
Ainslee might need some training on how to be a lady, and exactly how to stand and move and look like a duchess, but she’d never allow such a hate-filled woman as Lady Margaret to give it to her.
“Lordy, Miss Ainslee—I mean, your grace. You are…well. You will definitely set some jaws to wagging tonight,” Mira said it as Ainslee turned this way and that at the mirror.
“She needs jewelry.”
Doreen spoke from the door, where she’d been standing guard, while giving opinions throughout the dressing.
Mira stood suddenly, a broad smile on her face. “Of course! The Straithcairn collection includes a topaz necklace. I have seen it in one of the portraits when I’ve dusted them. I shall be right back! I’ll just go and see about it.”
Mira bobbed a curtsey and rushed from the room. Doreen opened the door for her, and then latched it shut again. Somewhere in the room behind Ainslee someone was fluffing out cloth. Or straightening one of the chairs. Or something that engendered a swishing sound. Ainslee didn’t move her gaze to check. She was too fascinated with her image. The door leading to the duke’s chamber opened, and the duke’s voice preceded him as he just walked right in.
“Ainslee? Mason tells me it would make a grand display if we know what colors you are wearing tonight. That way, I can match my cuff studs and brooch to—”
Ainslee swiveled at the sound of his voice and watched him walk in, talking mainly to the floor, and then he looked up, and stopped dead. He had a strange look on his face. She’d call it shock, but she didn’t know him well enough to peg it. His words ended with a garbled sound, his eyes widened, and his mouth dropped opened. And she wished he’d stayed silent, since the next burst of words were mostly expletives, peppered with negatives.
“Oh, my God! Damn it, Ainslee! Son-of-a-bitch! No. Hell no. And another no. Ah!”
The last word was a massive growl of sorts. It reverberated through the chamber, gaining more than one gasp. Ainslee immediately looked down. They’d spent hours creating this attire and it was all a waste. He wasn’t pleased. That much was obvious. Nobody said anything. Nobody moved. Waves of goose bumps traipsed across her skin. She could feel them against the satin. It wasn’t a nice sensation. Nothing about this was.
“Forgive me,” she told the bit of floor beneath her slippers.
“For. What?” His answer was in two clipped words.
The spot beneath her slippers was swimming oddly. That was odd. She didn’t feel any urge to cry, although she might expire of the embarrassment. This would have been so much easier if she didn’t have her new maids watching and listening.
But it couldn’t be helped.
And what one couldn’t help, one had to endure.
Very well.
The duke could attend the sup by himself. She was going to request Beth to undo all the work on her hair, Doreen to assist with removing this dress that so upset him. Then she’d don her borrowed nightgown and dismiss everyone, so she could hide in her rooms. She didn’t need anyone bringing up her shortcomings. Not even the duke, who didn’t even know all of them.
“You are…na’ pleased with my appearance.” It was whispered, but she said it. And nothing betrayed any kind of emotion.
“What?”
The word was abrupt. Irritated. He was clearly angered. He used the deep loud voice he could wield so easily. This was so patently unfair. Must he go and make this even more difficult?
“This ensemble…is all I have.”
He said something beneath his breath that sounded like another expletive. One, she’d never heard outside of the stable yard. She could hear him walking nearer, his steps sure and solid, and then he did something so amazing, her eyes widened. He went to a knee in front of her, reached for both of her hands, and brought them to his neck, just above his chest. Then he held them there, her fingers touching the slight stubble beneath his chin. And he was visibly trembling.
Her heart went into palpitations.
“Ainslee. Kid. This is getting...” There was a distinct pause before he continued. “Beyond complicated. And I—well. Let’s just say. I’m way out of my league here. And I know it. So. I’m going to try. And find. The right words to untangle this. But it’s not going to be easy. Trust me.”
He’d broken the words into distinct sentences, but he did that often. It seemed to give whatever he said an aura of importance. Once he’d finished, he pulled in such a huge breath, it enlarged his stature. But that was ridiculous. He was already massive. Immense. And kneeling at her feet. Which was absolutely unbelievable.
The duke is kneeling at my feet!
The wonder of it was as thrilling as the actual fact. He was attired in a Straithcairn kilt and shirt. He hadn’t donned a jacket yet. His shirt was stretched at the seams with his physique and the position he’d assumed. That gave her a perfect look at how muscular and wide his shoulders were. It also gave her a view of how long and thick his hair was, since he hadn’t tied it back yet. He wore a fringed sporran that draped from his bent knee, while the sword at his hip skimmed the floor right beside him.
The sight was beyond thrilling.
He blew the air out with a heavy sigh. His breath feathered across her lower arms, raising shivers.
“You are not remotely displeasing, Ainslee. To me. Or to anyone. You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Ever. And...you don’t know what I’m talking about right now, but I have to tell you – that’s saying something.” His frame trembled again.
Oh, my.
“I reacted as I did...because—well. Because—uh. Just spit it out, Neal. It ain’t that hard, buddy.”
The last words were barely audible. Totally mystifying. And something else. Ainslee fought a smile. She hadn’t known the duke talked to himself. Or that he could sound so unsure. It was thoroughly endearing. His fingers tightened on hers. And then he took another deep breath.
“I’ll just admit it. I’m a severe. Failure. At control.”
He broke the words into separate sentences again.
“Control?”
Ainslee straightened a bit with the surprise. Her move pulled more of her bosom from the bodice of the gown. The duke moved his gaze to hers.
And the world shifted.
Words felt like they got hurled back and forth. Raw words. Filled with emotion. His chest rose and fell with increasing rapidity. His nostrils widened as he inhaled. Her nipples hardened into tight knots against the satin dress. Itching. Straining. She almost glanced down, but it wouldn’t have mattered. The duke acted as if he knew!
His upper lip lifted into a snarl next. And his eyes narrowed. Ainslee’s heart seized up, and then started beating in a frantic motion. She caught a flash from between his eyelashes, but his eyes didn’t look remotely silver. Or gray. They were multi-hued glass shards refracting light. He looked wild. Untamed. Extremely dangerous. His unbound hair just added to the impression.
“Do you understand what I’m saying?” he finally asked.
She nodded. And then shook her head.
His response was a complete shock. He slammed his eyes shut and arched backward, and sent a howling sound into the chamber. He didn’t stop until he ran out of breath. Waves of bass tones reverberated through her room. Ainslee’s knees shook first. Her entire body followed. She held back any further reaction, but heard what sounded like gasps from her maids.
Th
e duke finished his cry and looked back at her. He was frowning, and his eyes were the color of lead. Ainslee darted her glance toward the mirror. It was far safer. She watched his reflection release her hands. Gain its feet. Heard the clinking of weaponry as it settled back into place about him. He might be gazing at her in the mirror. He could be checking his own reflection. She didn’t peek to check. She didn’t dare.
“I’m going to leave now, Ainslee.”
“L-l-leave?”
Her heart fell. Her stammer reflected it. He wouldn’t leave her to face everyone by herself. Would he?
“For my own chamber.”
Ainslee dared a glance upward. Got snagged and then held by his gaze. A roar of ocean crested through her ears. A thunder of horse-hooves accompanied it. The breath got sucked out of her, leaving her weak enough to fall.
And fall hard.
Someone knocked on the connecting door. One of her maids opened it. Some talking ensued. She barely heard it. It took a moment to note that Niall’s valet, Mason was speaking.
“...nae need to shout, your grace. I’ve found the answer myself. I’ve got the topaz studs. MacGruder is on his way with the rest. He’ll be here momentarily. You may na’ ken the history behind this particular set. If I recall correctly, it was the third duke who bought the stones, but your uncle who had them set. Or maybe it was his wife. She had a great eye for presentation. Your grace?”
The duke blinked and turned his head from her. Ainslee wavered in place. She felt as washed out and weak as she had one summer day, after she’d slipped and fallen into a burn, and been pulled under by the swift water. She’d fought her way to the shore, and had lain on the bank. Weak. Wrung-out. Shaky.
That’s exactly how this felt.
The duke moved away. She heard him and his valet speaking. She sensed the maids moving about. Most of it failed to register. She reached out and grabbed onto one side of her cheval looking-glass, holding it like a lifeline as the duke and his valet moved toward his door.