He shook his head, afraid to even think what she meant.
“Besides, I’m trying to be nice,” she added, sounding rather surly. Inexplicably, that tone eased the tightness in his chest. “I can be nice, you know, despite what people say about me. And I choose to be nice to you, specifically, you dreadful man.”
As he took a step closer, Ainsley held her ground, meeting his gaze with one both defiant and curiously vulnerable.
And Lady Ainsley Matthews was never vulnerable.
He gently rested a hand on her ridiculous poof of a sleeve. Royal longed to touch the smooth, bare skin just beyond the frill of lace and silk, but he didn’t yet dare. They barely knew each other, and yet the connection between them was battering through his ribcage, forging a path straight to his heart.
When she didn’t pull away from his touch, he found his voice. “I don’t need you to be nice to me, either.”
She stared up at him, her violet, wide-eyed gaze shimmering with vulnerability and longing. Longing for him? It seemed impossible.
“What does that mean?” she whispered.
He left the safety of her sleeve, brushing across her soft skin to cup the back of her neck.
“This,” he whispered as he lowered his head to her parted lips.
He sank into a cloud, into a soft whisper of passion with the promise of more to come. Though their lips barely touched, their breaths became one, a press of silken heat between one heartbeat and the next.
Those heartbeats were enough to know he was forever changed, no matter what happened next.
Drawing in a steadying breath, he reluctantly let his hand drop away, straightening to put some room between them. It was still much too close for propriety’s sake, since her breasts—God, those magnificent breasts—all but brushed the front of his coat.
Ainsley breathed out a little sigh that he swore was one of regret, then her eyelids fluttered open. He waited for her to speak—or haul off and slap him—but she simply gave him a dreamy, sweet smile. It was so unlike her that he was tempted to laugh. Or collapse from the joy and astonishment flooding through him.
He was struggling to find a safe path through the emotional earthquake. “Lady Ainsley, shouldn’t you apologize for taking advantage of me? I am quite shocked, I must say.”
She blinked, the smile fading as her expression turned blank.
He was a moron of the first order to make a joke of their first kiss—a confounded, stupid joke.
Then she giggled, a charming ripple that drifted around him like butterflies on a summer breeze. Everything about her was magical. She transformed the air he breathed and made him dizzy.
She playfully tapped him on the shoulder. “Mr. Kendrick, if you think—”
“What the devil is going on here?” blared an aggrieved voice from behind them.
Ainsley jerked away, the backs of her knees connecting solidly with the bench. Royal shot out an arm to steady her, but his damn leg chose that exact moment to buckle and he staggered. She slapped her hands on his chest, bracing him against a humiliating tumble.
“Are you all right?” she gasped.
“Yes,” he ground out. He glanced at the tall man charging at them like a boar with a spear in its rump. “Who the hell is that?”
“The Marquess of Cringlewood,” she said in a tight voice.
“Never heard of him.”
She shot him a grim look. “You’re about to hear quite a lot, I fear. And please, Mr. Kendrick, let me do the talking.”
Ainsley stepped forward, as if to protect him. While Royal would have liked nothing better than to pull her behind him for safekeeping, his energies were directed toward staying on his blasted feet.
“My lord, what a surprise,” she said as their intruder stalked up to them. “I didn’t expect to see you back in town so soon.”
Her cool, well-bred elegance acted like a shield. Still, Royal could read her tension by the hike of her shoulders. He could feel it, too. If he wasn’t mistaken, Ainsley was more than embarrassed. She was downright nervous.
“Lady Ainsley, what are you doing out here?” Cringlewood demanded, glowering like a stage villain. “And who the devil is this person?”
Royal finally took Ainsley by the arm as he moved up by her side. She all but jumped out of her shoes.
“Remove your hand, you cad,” Cringlewood hissed.
Royal repressed the impulse to roll his eyes at the man’s absurd theatrics.
“My lord, there is no cause for alarm,” Ainsley said, pulling her arm away. “Mr. Kendrick simply offered to escort me out to the hall for some cooler air. The atmosphere in the ballroom was stifling.”
The marquess still eyed her with heavy disapproval. “Without a chaperone? I cannot imagine your parents would be pleased to see you wandering about unprotected. Nor, might I add, am I.”
Royal gave him a smile that was mostly teeth. “Her ladyship is not unprotected. She’s with me.”
Cringlewood ignored him. “Your mamma is waiting for you, Ainsley. She’s grown concerned by your absence.”
So, the aristocratic blighter was on a first name basis with her. That was a painful revelation, especially since he was tall, handsome, and dressed with an expensive elegance that Royal could never hope to match. Even worse, he was evidently hale in all limbs.
When Ainsley sighed and gave a resigned nod, Royal frowned. She never catered to any man but her father, the Earl of Aldridge.
He laid a gentle hand on her arm. She glanced up at him, startled, but then gave a tiny shake of the head, as if to warn him.
But warn him of what?
“My lady, perhaps you might formally introduce me to your friend,” Royal said. “He seems such a charming gentleman.”
Consternation flashed across her features before her control reasserted itself.
“Of course. Mr. Kendrick, it is my pleasure to introduce you to the Marquess of Cringlewood.” She gave the marquess a bland smile. “Mr. Kendrick is the brother of the Earl of Arnprior.”
The man barely managed a nod before holding out an imperious arm to Ainsley.
Bloody ponce. Even his name was ridiculous.
“Delighted, I’m sure,” Royal said. “And now that we’ve got the niceties out of the way, I’m happy to return you to the ballroom, Lady Ainsley.” He lifted an eyebrow at the marquess. “Your assistance is no longer required, sir.”
Cringlewood’s nostrils actually flared. The man really did have a promising career on the stage if he ever decided to give up life as an aristocratic idiot.
“That won’t be necessary, Mr. Kendrick,” Ainsley quickly replied. “I’m more than happy to return to the ballroom with Lord Cringlewood.”
Despite the words, she looked anything but happy. In fact, she looked all but ready to break out in hives from a severe bout of nerves.
“Are you sure?” Royal asked quietly. “If you’re uncomfortable with him, I’ll escort you to your mother.”
Cringlewood immediately adopted another outraged expression. “Since Lady Ainsley is to be my wife, she obviously does not feel uncomfortable with me.”
The floor tilted under Royal’s feet. He must even have staggered a bit, because Ainsley put a hand under his elbow.
“Be careful,” she said.
“Is it true?” he asked.
“Of course it’s true,” the marquess snapped. “We’re to be married by the end of the Season, as anyone with a brain in this town surely knows.”
“You get ahead of yourself, my lord,” Ainsley said coldly. “There has been no formal announcement, as you are well aware.”
Something in Royal’s chest seemed to explode. He almost thought to look down and see a gaping hole where his heart had been.
He took a step away from her that felt like a retreat back into darkness.
“So, you are betrothed.” He forced a little bow. “Allo
w me to offer my congratulations.”
She shook her head. “It’s not what you think. I mean…” She cast the marquess a frustrated glance as her voice trailed into silence.
“I demand to know what’s going on here,” Cringlewood said angrily.
After Ainsley maintained a tense silence, Royal shrugged. “I’m sorry to say, my lord, that your fiancée is a determined flirt who enjoys leading unsuspecting fools to their doom. As anyone with a brain in this town surely knows.”
She gasped, but he refused to spare her a glance as he limped away as quickly as his blasted leg could carry him.
Chapter 1
Castle Kinglas, Scotland
April, 1817
Clearly, not even his brother’s library could provide safe haven.
With a sigh, Royal glanced up from his book when her sister-in-law marched into the room. Though the former Victoria Knight was now Countess of Arnprior, and wife to the chief of Clan Kendrick, she was still very much a governess in spirit and looked ready to box his ears.
He raised a polite eyebrow. “Is there something I can do for you, my lady?”
She ached an eloquent brow in return. Perhaps they could conduct this sure-to-be-unpleasant discussion entirely through facial expressions.
No such luck, he thought, when Victoria raised an imperious finger.
“Indeed there is. I want you to stop moping about the castle. You’ve been doing it all winter, and it’s become ridiculous.”
She was never one to mince words or shy away from an unpleasant task. And now that she’d sorted out his brothers, she’d clearly made Royal her special project.
“I’m not moping. I’m reading a very good book.”
Victoria glanced down at the leather-bound volume, then plucked it from his hand and turned it right side up.
Royal winced. “I was just giving my eyes a rest.”
“Of course you were,” she said dryly.
He’d barely glanced at the blasted thing, a history of the Punic Wars he’d ordered last month. After starting it with a fair degree of enthusiasm, he’d quickly lost interest. Today, he’d read only a few pages before his attention had wandered to the windswept vista of craggy peaks hulking over the loch behind Kinglas. Not even the dramatic beauty of the Highlands had the power to soothe him—not like it once had.
He supposed he could go fishing, which he normally enjoyed, but that hardly seemed worth the effort.
“At least join us for a cup of tea,” Victoria said in a coaxing voice, switching tactics. “Taffy made her special seed cakes for you. She said you barely touched your breakfast. Or your lunch, for that matter.”
He glanced over to see a generous tea service set up on the low table in front of the library’s fireplace. He hadn’t even noticed the footman lug the damn thing in.
His sister-in-law’s understanding gaze—along with the fact that Taffy, the castle’s housekeeper, thought he needed coddling—triggered an irrational spurt of irritation.
“I’m not one of your pupils, Victoria. Don’t try to manage me with promises of treats.”
“True. My students invariably displayed better manners.”
“She’s got you there, old fellow,” said Nick from behind the ledgers stacked on his desk. “You have been moping about. More than usual, that is. It’s time you do something about it.”
When Nick and Victoria exchanged furtive glances, Royal had to repress a groan. Clearly, they’d planned this little ambush.
He put his book aside and glared at his older brother with predictably no effect. The Earl of Arnprior was well used to his obstreperous siblings, since he’d all but raised them after the death of their parents. Although the most generous of men, Nick was the proverbial unmovable object when it came to deciding his family’s best interests. And once he made a decision, it all but required an Act of Parliament to change it.
“I repeat, I am not moping,” Royal said. “And don’t you have enough to worry about without fretting over me like a granny with gout?”
As usual, Nick was buried under the mountain of work that came with managing the estate, not to mention a large and sometimes fractious Highland clan. Any normal man would founder under the load, but he never failed to rise to the challenge. And now that he’d married Victoria, Nick had finally found the richly deserved happiness so long denied him.
Royal couldn’t help feeling envious of having a loving wife and a sense of purpose—the feeling that one’s life mattered. A compelling reason to wake up in the morning had been lacking in his life for a long time.
Nick had once relied quite heavily on Royal’s support for everything from running the estate to managing the younger lads. But Victoria now appropriately filled that role, as well as still tutoring Kade, the youngest Kendrick. The boy had struggled for years with ill health, but under Victoria’s loving care, he grew stronger by the day.
Aye, she was a blessing, was the new Countess of Arnprior, though not entirely for Royal. His sister-in-law was as bad as her lord when it came to wanting to repair the broken things around Castle Kinglas, including him.
“And you needn’t regard me as if I’m falling into a decline,” Royal said to her. “I’m perfectly fine. Better than ever, in fact.”
Instead of contradicting that obvious load of bollocks, Victoria smiled. “Of course you are, dear. But I would feel better if you had something to eat.”
She held out a hand.
Sighing, he took it, because today he did need help getting to his feet. The pain was always worse in blustery, damp weather. Some days Royal feared he was losing ground with his recovery. Though he faithfully followed the regime of rest and exercise prescribed by the London sawbones, his pain somehow seemed linked to the heaviness in his heart.
“Need help?” Nick asked.
“I’m not a cripple,” Royal gritted out, even as he struggled to stand.
“And you know I’m stronger than I look,” Victoria said to her husband.
“Aye. Skinny but strong as an ox,” Nick said with a grin.
“If that’s the sort of compliment you employed to woo the poor girl, it’s a wonder Victoria ever married you,” Royal said as he found his footing.
Victoria laughed. “That’s what my grandfather used to say when I was a young girl hanging about the stables of his coaching inn. I loved helping with the horses.”
“He was right,” said Royal. “For such a wee Sassenach, you’re quite hardy.”
“I have to be to survive a houseful of wild Highlanders,” she cheerfully replied, watching Royal carefully to make sure he wouldn’t topple over. “I know. I’m an old mother hen.”
When his gaze strayed to the decanters of whisky behind his brother’s desk, she waggled a finger. “Tea and something to eat first, Royal.”
“Old mother hen is an understatement.” He patted her on the shoulder. “You do realize you cannot fix everything, no matter how hard you try.”
“I know, and it’s just about killing me.” When he started to laugh, she jabbed him in the arm. “But don’t think I’m giving up, either.”
“Thank you for the warning.”
Nick joined them at the tea table, dropping a quick kiss on his wife’s head after she took her seat. “I think we’re being a bit hard on you,” he said. “You’ve done a splendid job organizing the family and estate papers, and we all know they were in…quite the state.”
“Catastrophic disarray is the phrase you were searching for,” Royal said.
“Don’t let Angus hear you. He all but flayed me alive when I took the job from him and gave it to you.”
“So I heard. My ears are still ringing.”
Nick laughed. “Aside from the fact that Angus is a disaster when it comes to paperwork, the old fellow’s getting on in years. He’s earned his rest.”
“I hope to God you didn’t tell him so,” Royal said. Their gr
andfather would be devastated if he thought they were putting him out to pasture.
“Since my instincts for self-preservation are quite good, I did not,” Nick replied.
When Nick and Royal were away during the war, Angus had managed affairs at Kinglas, watching over the younger Kendricks and serving as estate steward. He’d done his best, but with mixed results. The old fellow had an abiding mistrust of modernity—which to him meant anything after the last Stuart monarch.
“Angus did mention that you did a passable job organizing the papers,” Victoria said as she poured them each a cup. “Which from him is high praise, indeed.”
“Seriously,” Nick said, “I can’t thank you enough for taking that on. I know it was gruesome.”
Royal shrugged and reached for a seedcake. “I was happy to do so.”
Oddly enough, that had turned out to be true. His big brother had dragooned him into taking on the job, determined to get Royal “off his arse.”
“You need to accept that your military days are over,” Nick had said, adopting his most lordly manner. “It’s time to figure out what you wish to do with your life and then simply get on with it.”
The problem was, Royal still didn’t have a clue what he wanted to.
All he seemed to be good for was mooning over Ainsley Matthews and wondering what might have happened between them if he hadn’t been stupid enough to abduct her back in January. He’d kidnapped her with the best of intentions, determined to save her from an arranged marriage she was trying to avoid. Of course, he would have gained the only woman who’d ever made him feel truly alive, but that was beside the point. He’d done it for her, and any benefits accruing to him would have been merely accidental.
Still, he knew that reasoning was utterly insane. Ainsley hadn’t wanted to marry him only slightly less fervently than she hadn’t wanted to marry the Marquess of Cringlewood. She’d made that clear in language so caustic it was a wonder he hadn’t been reduced to a pile of smoldering ash.
After Ainsley departed for her great-aunt’s manor house a few hours north of Kinglas, Royal had descended into an even gloomier mood alleviated only by drastic amounts of whisky. Fed up, Nick had finally shoved him into the dusty old estate office and ordered him to work. And wonder of wonders, reading through the history of his family and clan had been absorbing. Putting those records in order, watching the ancient story unfold over the centuries, had given Royal a renewed appreciation for his heritage. The proud Kendricks had fought hard for their rightful place in the history of Scotland, and their story was worth remembering.
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