While a brother might have broken up a fight between father and son, as a friend, Richard didn’t try to interrupt the brawl he knew Jack had been longing for. There were years of anger and bitterness built up in his friend. Despite his display on the terrace, Jack wasn’t a man given to impulsive violence. Certainly they had been in their fair share of scuffles over the years, but Jack usually saved his fights for when it counted. Protection or, in this case, redemption.
The ghastly sound of flesh meeting flesh sounded again and again in the suddenly silent ballroom as guests crowded about to see what was happening.
“Aren’t you going to stop them?” Oona screeched.
“You caused this fight, why don’t you stop it?”
Francis, too, after rushing into the fray and assessing the situation for what it was, also stood firm at Richard’s side refusing to break it up. It was long past time for the truth to out.
“What on earth is going on here?” Richard turned to see Abby’s grandmother pushing through the crowd and reached out to offer her his arm. Alice Boughton was a nice old bird who Richard knew well, having spent enough time at Rose Lawn in years past while visiting with Jack to be genuinely glad to see her. Joshua and Alice Boughton were in their middle sixties, he thought, but both still seemed as vital as his own grandmother.
Unlike some he knew, Lady Boughton had also retained a sense of mischief through her years. She looked into the fray with a choking sound that sounded suspiciously like laughter to Richard’s ears. “I guess I should have expected that when I invited him, shouldn’t have I?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Richard agreed with a wide smile, finding even more humor in the situation. Overall, the evening had managed to provide more humor and distraction thus far than any single night Richard had experienced in years.
Just then a young, blond in debutante white – not in possession of such humor – pushed through the crowd and screamed in horror. “Papa! Jack? Is that you? What are you doing? Stop it! Stop it! You’re absolutely ruining my engagement ball!”
Richard’s smile stretched even more broadly.
At least he had the answer to that question now.
Chapter 15
Always do what you are afraid to do.
- Ralph Waldo Emerson
After making her way through the ballroom, Abby raced up the stairs to the room her grandmother kept for her, wondering what had come over her. One minute she was boldly seducing Richard on the terrace, and the next she was berating her brother – who she hadn’t seen in years – like a fishwife, when all she really wanted to do was throw herself in his arms.
The darkness was to blame, Abby decided. In the dark, she’d felt safe. Free to be who she really was on the inside, not the shadow she’d become. The annoying will o’ the wisp Eve had accused her of being after the accident. But for that flash of trepidation that had come at the thought of Richard seeing her in the light of the ballroom, Abby felt exhilarated.
Richard had kissed her!
After years of dreaming, it had actually happened. Of course, Abby had been the one to initiate the kiss. It had shocked him, she’d felt him tense and known a moment of fear that he would pull away, confirming that his feelings were purely fraternal. But then, he had sunk into it, pulling her body against his with strong arms.
The feel of him against her…!
Abby pressed a hand to her bosom, feeling her heart pounding wildly in her chest. She’d never felt anything like it. Her blood was hot, yet goose bumps broke out across her body as she recalled the flavor of him, the feel of him.
She wanted that moment again, wanted it to go on and on forever.
Unless she could keep him literally in the dark, however, Abby was sure that those brief moments of desire were all she would ever have of Richard. When they next met, he would see for himself the thing that kept every other man in London at bay. Richard would know the reason why her only suitor was a man who – while very charming and caring – was likely to marry for no reason greater than his need for an heir.
Given that Richard was also a generous soul and a caring one, Abby knew he would make every effort to remain friendly. The moonlit kisses, though, were surely a thing of the past.
Still, Abby thought, pressing her fingers against her lips, reliving the tingle of that magical kiss, the evening had delivered much more than she expected when readying herself for the ball. The culmination of a lifelong dream.
Hurrying to her desk, Abby pulled out several sheets of paper and prepared to put her pen to them. With a broad grin, she shook her pen to start the flow of ink, not caring in her excitement that the ink splattered everywhere.
At last, after all this time, she would have something truly adventurous to tell her friends about. She described in vivid detail each moment she and Richard were together on the terrace. How his dark hair had shown in the moonlight. How handsome he looked once again in his red-jacketed uniform of the Scots Guard. How it had hugged his broad shoulders and chest tightly. The number of ribbons and medals decorating the front. The gold braid, the black belt. He’d worn the jacket again with the black trousers beneath it and his shiny boots, but Abby knew sometimes on state occasions, the guard wore their kilts instead of trousers. With a chuckle she wrote on, speculating on how bonny Richard’s bare legs would look under a tartan kilt.
Then her descriptions turned to the feel of arms around her and her amusement faded. The press of his body against hers, strong and powerful. The taste of champagne on his lips. Abby drew in a shaky sigh as she laid it all out in brilliant detail. Perhaps she wouldn’t send it along without some editing of the more intimate aspects, but for now it was all there.
Her first kiss.
Perhaps her only kiss with Richard.
She would treasure the memory for the rest of her days.
Chapter 16
Moral wounds have his peculiarity –
They may be hidden, but they never close;
Always painful, always ready to bleed when touched,
They remain fresh and open in the heart.
- Alexandre Dumas, The Count of Monte Cristo
The next afternoon
Richard left Buckingham Palace with a grumble of frustration after waiting all afternoon in hopes of obtaining an audience with the Queen. For hours he’d paced the halls of the visitor’s receiving room, waiting, but to no avail. The Queen would not be hearing petitions of any sort that day.
Together that morning, he and Francis had had as little success in gaining an audience with the Prime Minister, Robert Gascoyne- Cecil, the Marquess of Salisbury. It was as if word had spread through the government of their petition and anyone that might be held responsible for the entire affair was avoiding them.
What would they do if they couldn’t gain military support for a rescue mission? It was a question that he and Francis might need to consider more seriously in the days to come. Without the support of the War Office, intervention by the Duke of Cambridge as Commander-in-Chief of the Queen’s Armies – or by the Queen herself – was their only likely avenue of hope. So far, they hadn’t heard whether CB had had any luck with the Duke. Rosebery seemed to have gone to ground. Neither he nor Francis had any luck meeting with him as yet, while Stanhope was refusing to commit his support without further understanding of the mission so far, claiming it was beyond the scope and responsibility of the current administration. It seemed no one was prepared to place himself in a responsible position for the blunder. Beyond that, it seemed to Richard that, so far, neither CB or Stanhope had been provided any details on the mission beyond those he’d been able to give them, leaving him to wonder who had initiated the command to begin with.
All Richard did know at this point was that dispatches had been sent out to his own commanding officer, but General Adamson had long since been reassigned to India. Contacting him and receiving the information the others wanted might take more time than Richard and his brother were willing to waste in the waiting.
&
nbsp; Mounting his horse, Richard wondered if Francis was having any better luck in tracking down Bertie, as the Prince of Wales was known, at any of the clubs the prince frequented. Though Bertie was something of a womanizer and a roué who the Queen openly despaired would never become a true statesman, Francis thought it might be a good last line of defense to have the prince beg their cause to his mother. But that was reserved as only a last act of desperation.
At loose ends, and aware that it was nearing the five o’clock hour, Richard turned his mount toward Hyde Park. Again, thoughts of Abby had lingered in his mind throughout the tedious day. No longer was she merely a person of curiosity, however. Today thoughts of her recalled the seductive vixen she had been the evening before. Their flirtation had led him without warning into an unexpected, yet surprisingly passionate embrace. That simple kiss had whetted his appetite for more. He wanted to plunder and pillage with all the fervor of his Scottish forefathers. He wanted to sink into her with all the tenderness of a besotted lover.
However, the sweetness of her kiss had shown him how truly innocent she was.
Richard knew he should feel some remorse for taking advantage of her. But he could not. That brief kiss in all its madness had stirred his ardor swiftly to heights he wouldn’t have ever dreamed of when thinking of Abby just weeks before. Yet, there it was. An unimaginable desire for a lass who had become a woman while he wasn’t looking.
And she was all woman now, Richard thought. Though she was small in stature, the feel of her petite body pressed against his had shown him that she was a woman grown, with a body made to please a man. Her breasts were full, her waist tiny. Just the sight of her was enough to rouse a man as he considered the thought of how much of the devil there might actually be hidden inside such an angel.
Shifting in his saddle, Richard grimaced, not from the pain in his back this time, but from the pain in his groin. He would have to find a woman, he supposed to relieve the ache, for he had told Jack the truth. He did not intend to pursue Abby. Certainly, Richard did not intend to put his fantasies into play.
A groan escaped him as he imagined a physical seduction of Abby. He pictured the bounty of her figure when released from her corset, the breasts that had pressed against his chest, filling his hands. Closing his eyes against the image, Richard shook his head, calling himself ten times a fool.
He would be leaving London again soon, no doubt. He wouldn’t dream of seducing and leaving behind any lass much less one who he actually liked a great deal… or one whose brother had guaranteed his death should he do so.
Aye, Abby was an angel of any man’s dreams but she was also the lass he’d known since childhood. The wee lassie who’d gone from following in his wake to towing him about with all the command of an infantry officer. She was a fighter, a commander, a virago of the first order who wouldn’t take kindly to being abandoned in such a way. An amused chuckle welled up in Richard’s chest.
All things considered, in the end he might better fear Abby’s wrath than Jack’s.
Richard entered the park at the Cumberland Gate, in the reverse of the normal flow of Rotten Row traffic, earning himself a few glares as he weaved his mount around elegant displays of equipage, mounts of excellent breeding, and the stylish throng of those with both elegance and breeding, who were content to perambulate through the shady path along the Serpentine with hats or parasols tipped just so. Absently his gaze wandered from woman to woman, but it wasn’t until Richard caught sight of Abby perched atop a large gelding with Jack by her side that Richard realized he’d gone to the park unconsciously hoping for a glimpse of her.
Hailing the pair, he had only a moment to cast a rueful grin at Jack, who glowered a warning back at Richard, before Abby caught his full attention.
How many times would he look at her before the sight of her stopped taking him by surprise? Before his breath didn’t catch at her beauty? She was dressed in bold color today rather than angelic pastels Richard had seen her in before. The bright turquoise color of her linen riding habit was the exact shade of her wide eyes as she peered up at him. Those brilliant eyes seemed framed by her pale locks that she wore parted sharply in the center. Each side swept low along her temple and cheeks in smooth wings before looping up on the sides at her jaw with a twist into narrow braids that were then woven into the elaborate knot at the back of her head. It was an unusual style but given the Abby’s heart shaped face and doe-like eyes, seemed to suit her very well, drawing attention to those vibrant eyes. Atop her blond head, her small top hat was wound with a band of gathered chiffon veiling that fell over the brim and across her cheek before being thrown over the opposite shoulder rather like a scarf. It seemed a rather warm day to be wrapped so but the chiffon created a soft halo about her, enhancing the angelic delicacy of her features.
Richard smiled broadly, as he maneuvered his horse next to hers. “Good afternoon, Abby.”
“Richard,” she offered stiffly. She didn’t smile or greet him in any other way. Instead, it seemed to Richard that Abby was displeased to see him or even indifferent to his appearance, going so far as to turn away from him as she slowed her mount, dropping back.
Richard was bewildered by her reaction. She was like the Abby he had met that first night at the Rosebery ball all over again. While that other-worldliness was enough to bring most men to their knees, Richard preferred the sass and fiery animation that had lit her features the previous night.
Did she think he would not? Did Abby believe that men preferred such unapproachable perfection? Such detachment? Perhaps some men might appreciate the challenge that breaking through that icy exterior represented, Richard allowed, though he wasn’t one of them. He simply tended, as most Scotsmen did, to like a lass with fire in her soul.
What a difference a handful of years made. For many a year, Abby had seemed forever in his business, always trying to get his attention. Now it seemed, he wanted hers more than she desired his.
Or perhaps, in the light of day, Abby was merely embarrassed by their embrace. She might believe that Richard thought her fast for engaging in such an intimate moment with a man she wasn’t married or engaged to. It didn’t seem in Abby’s character, as he remembered her, to be put off by protocol or propriety, but Richard acknowledged that it had been some years since he had seen her. People changed. He was a fine example of just how much a person might do so. Any urges toward reckless behavior that he might once have had were long gone.
Casting an inquiring glance across the widening gap at Jack, all Richard received in return was a dismissive shrug that offered no explanation for her cool behavior. Of course, Jack was likely to prefer the indifference she was showing now when compared to their behavior on the terrace.
Determined to put Abby at ease, Richard decided not to mention the previous evening, but rather, simply enjoy the company of friends. He hadn’t had the opportunity to do so in the past few years, given his mission and more recent incarceration.
Jack cleared his throat with open annoyance, drawing Richard’s attention. His friend scowled at Richard once again, but still Richard could only shrug away the unspoken question. Richard could provide no answer as to why he’d been drawn so undeniably to Abby. He only knew that he was.
“Any luck today?” Jack asked after a moment of conveying his displeasure in silence.
Well, that was enough to recall Richard’s attention. “No, none.”
“Stanhope?”
“Tight-lipped so far.”
“Rosebery?”
“Haven’t tracked him down yet.”
Richard could feel Abby’s interest as she edged closer almost coming abreast with them once more. As he’d just been thinking, she’d always been one to be overly interested in the affairs of others. Such cryptic conversation was sure to lure her from her silence.
Jack released a harsh laugh. “Figures. How about Salisbury? You might as well try to go straight to the top.”
“Tried for a bit higher today, but the Queen wasn�
��t available.”
“Available for what?” From the corner of his eye, Richard saw Abby bite her lip even as the question escaped her. She was curious but was hesitant to show it, to show any interest in him at all. Richard couldn’t help but wonder why when it was easy to see that she wanted to know what they were speaking of. When, as a lifelong friend, it was more than acceptable for her to ask.
Before he could respond, a young lad of less than a dozen years trotted up to them on a small mare. Breathlessly he handed Abby a handkerchief. “I found it, Abby. I told you I would.”
“Thank you, Sandy,” she said with a warm smile, questions forgotten. “I don’t know how I dropped it.” She leaned over to take the cloth from the lad before straightening and tossing Richard a fretful glance. She fidgeted with her veil.
“Who’s this?” Richard asked.
“This is our brother, Alexander, though we call him Sandy,” Abby told him. “Sandy, this is Richard MacKintosh. He’s an old friend of Jack’s.”
“And yours,” Richard reminded her with a smile as he leaned over to shake the lad’s outstretched hand. So, this was the youngest Merrill. “Good to meet you, lad.” Sandy was a big for being just eight years of age or so. In fact, Richard wagered that the lad was probably near Abby’s size if they were to dismount. He had dark brown hair and, aye, startling golden eyes.
Cocking a brow at Jack, Richard added, “I can see where the problems started.”
Sandy did bear a startling resemblance to his older brother… or uncle, if the truth were told.
“Aye, I can see it now, when I couldn’t years ago,” Jack acknowledged. “Today is the first time I’ve met him, did you know?”
“Really?” Richard said in surprise. He couldn’t imagine not meeting a brother for the first time until years later. As it was, he was nearly as anxious to return home to his hoard of eight younger siblings as he was to return to Egypt to retrieve the one. “How is it so far?”
Questions for a Highlander Page 9