Turned out of White’s? Without being allowed to defend his honor? No, his mind repeated over and over. It couldn’t be true.
“This is not the last of it!” he roared. Blind with rage, he turned on his heel and stormed out.
Damn it to hell. He would not accept this so easily. He would find Sinclair this minute and call the man out, that’s what he would do. But then he thought of Honoria—Miss Lyttle-Brown—and stopped short. He took several deep, calming breaths, attempting to think rationally. Had the news yet reached her ears? With a sick feeling of certainty, Colin realized that Sinclair had no doubt gone straight to her with his lies, attempting to divert her affections and wheedle himself back into her favor. What other purpose could he have in ruining him?
Not now, his mind screamed. Not when he’d come so very close to finding happiness, to securing love. He’d seen both Lucy and Susanna married off in the past two years—seen them find love and companionship, watched them gaze adoringly into their husbands’ eyes—and he’d selfishly wanted the same for himself, wanted someone to gaze at him with such longing. He’d turned into a bloody romantic fool, but so be it. And after all these years, all this time searching for just the right sort of woman, he thought he’d finally found his match in Honoria. Would she still have him if Sinclair got to her first with his lies?
With a groan of frustration, Colin made haste for the Lyttle-Brown residence, just off Berkeley Square. He only hoped he wasn’t too late.
Chapter 2
Brenna swallowed hard and raised her eyes to the man standing before her. Her brother. Her mind repeated the words over and over again. She had a brother. A twin. Was it truly possible? She blinked back tears as her gaze searched his face, scouring it for some sign of recognition. Wavy auburn hair curled against his collar; round, blue-green eyes stared back at her, surveying her just as curiously as she surveyed him.
All at once, his mouth curved into a grin, his eyes dancing with obvious delight. “Dear God, you are my sister.” He shook his head. “I rushed home from Sussex as soon as I received the news. I can barely believe it, though my heart tells me it’s true.” He opened his arms and gathered her in his embrace.
A single tear slipped down Brenna’s cheek. There was something so familiar about this man, this complete stranger. Hugh Ballard, heir apparent to the Earl of Danville. Her brother.
He was the reason she’d finally capitulated to Lord and Lady Danville’s demands that she accompany them to London. Not because she felt any obligation to these people who had ordered her about as if she were a child, who had called the only family she’d ever known thieves and kidnappers, but because they told her she had a twin brother in England.
She had grown up with no siblings, no childhood companions. So many of Glenbroch’s tenants boasted loud, boisterous broods that made Brenna’s quiet, solitary existence within the manor’s walls seem dull in comparison. While other children her age played blindman’s bluff and skipped stones on the loch, Brenna whiled away her afternoons in her papa’s study, watching, learning, helping with the ledgers once she proved herself clever with sums.
On nights when the seemingly ever-present mists rose, she would climb the steep stairs up to the observatory they’d built her in the south tower. There she would gaze through her telescope for hours on end, carefully charting the skies above Castle Glenbroch in her leather-bound books—her most prized possessions, save the telescope itself. It had been a happy childhood, yes. But a lonely one. How she had longed for a brother or sister. She’d always felt as if she somehow didn’t quite belong, as if something vital was missing from her life.
And now that the man they called her brother held her in his arms, she knew with all her heart that she was bound to him by blood, no matter the years they’d spent apart. A sigh escaped her lips as she pressed her cheek against his coat.
There had been no denying the pressing curiosity that had lured her away from Scotland when she’d learned she had a brother, though she had been terrified to leave Glenbroch and the only life she’d known for the unknowns of London. Yet, through discreet inquiry into Lord and Lady Danville’s lives, she’d learned that they frequented the same social circles as the Marquess of Hampton, absentee owner of Glenbroch’s neighboring estate. If only she could gain the man’s ear, she could learn his intentions toward his Highland estate, perhaps convince him of the evils of the Clearances. At the very least, she could use her time in London to raise awareness of the brutality being perpetrated so coldly and ruthlessly in the far north. Yes, she would stay in London, at least until autumn. How could she not?
“Let me look at you again, Margaret.” Her brother stepped away from her, still clutching her hands in his own. “Pinch me so I might believe I’m not dreaming this.”
“’Tis not a dream, I assure ye. But ye must call me Brenna.”
“Brenna? Is that what those people called you?” he asked with such evident disgust that Brenna could not suppress a shudder.
“Brenna Margaret Elizabeth Maclachlan. And ‘those people’ were my parents, Mister...Lord...”
“Hugh. You must call me Hugh.”
Brenna nodded. “Hugh, then.”
“But those people were not your parents,” he continued. “Surely you know it to be true? You heard the evidence Mr. Wembley presented. And now, standing before me, can you deny it?”
She sighed, shaking her head. Nay, she couldn’t deny it. As dreadful as the revelations were, as painful as they were to hear, she could not deny the truth when faced with such overwhelming evidence. “Aye, I accept the truth, though it is with great difficulty. My parents...the people who raised me, they loved me dearly, as I loved them. They were the best sort of parents, and...” Her voice faltered, thick with emotion. “And I won’t hear them spoken ill of.”
“But they stole you from your home, your family.” Hugh ran a hand carelessly through his hair, mussing it. “They raised you in the uncivilized wilds, away from proper society and—”
“They loved me with all their hearts, educated me as well as any man, and raised me to take my position one day as Lady of Glenbroch. How many English girls can make such a claim?” She raised her chin in the air, glaring at him defiantly. Her hands skimmed across the folds of her fine lawn skirts, and her heart ached for her familiar, practical woolens. I dinna belong here, her heart cried.
“You are six-and-twenty and still unwed. My parents found you in a drafty old manor, nearly in rags—”
“Rags?” Her hands clenched into angry fists. “Because I wore garments more serviceable, more practical, than this?” She spread her arms wide, indicating the silly, ribbon-bedecked frock Lady Danville had insisted she wear. “And ‘twas caution on Papa’s part, allowing me ample time to choose a proper husband, rather than accept the first fortune hunter who came my way. Besides, a bonny price was asked in tochradh—”
“Tochradh?”
“The English say dowry. In clan tradition, the dowry comes from the groom, to compensate the bride’s family for their loss. That drafty old manor, as ye so derisively call it, is a lucrative estate, and I am its sole heir, by right of Papa’s will.”
“Come now, Margar—Brenna,” Hugh corrected himself. “Must we bicker? I only want to get to know the sister I’ve been deprived of all these years. No more of this. Will you allow me to escort you to Lady Brandon’s soiree tonight?”
“Have I a choice? Your mother didna make it seem as if I did.”
“Your mother as well as mine,” Hugh said, his tone near insolent.
Would it ever seem so? To lose a mother and then gain another in so short a time.... Tears welled in Brenna’s eyes, and she willed them to remain at bay. Would anything in her life ever be the same again? Be right again?
“I’ll go,” she said at last. “If it will please you.”
Hugh nodded. “It will please me greatly.” He reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. “But I must say, I hope you’ve a strong constitution.” His mouth cur
ved into a mischievous grin, and Brenna couldn’t help but return it with her own.
“And why is that?” she asked.
“Your appearance will surely set the ton on their collective ear. We’ll set many tongues wagging, I wager. My long-lost sister, home at last.”
Brenna sighed. She had never felt as far from home as she did at that very moment.
***
Sinclair had gotten to her first, the bastard. Just as he’d expected.
Colin’s steady gaze met Mr. Lyttle-Brown’s wavering one as the man told Colin that Honoria was not at home. He was lying, of course. Colin had watched Honoria glance out a second-story window as he walked up the steps to her family’s town house not ten minutes ago, her pale blond head framed in the glass for a fleeting second before the drapes fluttered shut.
“With all due respect, sir, I believe your daughter is indeed at home, and I implore you to allow me to speak with her at once. It is a matter of utmost urgency.”
“I’m afraid I cannot allow it. I made a grievous error when I told you I’d be willing to consider your suit. In light of recent events, I’d say that your marrying my daughter is now entirely out of the question, and I’ll ask you to leave off where she is concerned. Good day.” He dismissed Colin with the wave of one hand toward the door.
“Sinclair was here, wasn’t he?”
“I’ve no idea what you speak of.”
“Oh, I think you do. I thought you a better judge of character than this, Mr. Lyttle-Brown. I suggest you have a care where your daughter is concerned.”
“It would seem I’m a far better judge of character than my daughter. I knew all along that you were reckless and wild, Rosemoor. That you should be a cheat, too, comes as no surprise. I should never have listened to Honoria’s pleas on your behalf in the first place. Silly chit. I’m only glad the truth came to light before the contract was drawn up and her life ruined. Now, sir, I will give you two minutes to vacate these premises, and then I will have you forcibly removed. You will henceforth steer clear of my daughter or there will be hell to pay. Have I made myself clear?”
“Perfectly,” Colin bit out, smarting at the insult. Without another word, he quit the man’s company. Nearly tripping over the butler in his haste to depart, he retrieved his hat and stormed down the front steps. He climbed into his curricle and took up the ribbons, refusing to acknowledge the blow he’d just received.
He slapped the backs of his matching grays with a growl, and the conveyance sprung forward. Did they think he would simply slink off with his tail between his legs? That he would accept his fate and disappear into the countryside without a fight? No. Oh, no. He would face them all—tonight. With his head held high. He would declare his innocence to Honoria, scold her for believing Sinclair’s lies. They could elope, travel to Gretna Green before the week was out and be done with it. He nodded, pleased with the plan.
After all, he had to do something before all was lost. His life was swiftly spinning out of control, making him feel powerless, impotent. He could tolerate neither.
He resisted the urge to head toward London’s seediest district and find a gaming hell where his name held no blight, desperate as he was for a stiff drink and a hand of cards. No, he needed to think clearly tonight. He could not have his mind muddled when he faced Honoria. He couldn’t go to his own lodgings, either, he thought with a scowl as the curricle continued on at a brisk clip. No, nothing to do there but drink—again, not a good idea in his present state of mind. Nor could he go to Rosemoor House or Mandeville House, where he’d be forced to endure a severe dressing down from either his father or Lucy. It wouldn’t do. But where to, then? His mind frantically searched for a solution.
Ballard. His most level-headed, rational friend leapt to mind. Yes, of course. He’d see if Hugh Ballard could offer him a single brandy—no more—and a sympathetic ear. With a satisfied nod, he turned the pair of horses toward St. James’s Square.
A half hour later, Colin stood uneasily in Lord Danville’s front parlor, gazing out on the busy street while his presence was announced to the earl’s son. Colin watched uneasily as an elegant coach and four rattled by, an elaborate coat of arms on its door. A pair of mounted soldiers in regimentals followed, shiny gold buttons reflecting the afternoon sun. Just as the clip-clop of their horses’ hooves died away, Colin became aware of a tapping of heels against marble, gaining strength, moving toward the parlor’s open door. He turned toward the sound, expecting the housekeeper, perhaps, but instead found himself staring into the roundest, most extraordinary pair of aquamarine eyes he’d ever seen.
Brenna stepped into the parlor and stopped short, a small gasp parting her lips. An uncommonly tall man stood facing her, looking as startled as she felt. “Pardon me, sir. I was looking for Lady Danville and I thought...” She trailed off, unsure of what she meant to say. Her gaze absently flitted over the room’s furnishings before returning uneasily to the man before her.
He blinked but said nothing. His eyes—neither gray nor blue, yet somewhere in between—widened a fraction, and then he bowed before meeting her gaze once more.
Brenna swallowed hard, feeling shy and unsure of herself for the first time in all her years. How did a proper English miss correctly greet a gentleman? She wasn’t entirely certain. But this man was no doubt a gentleman—everything in his dress and manner exuded wealth and breeding, perhaps a touch of arrogance to boot.
Like Hugh, he was similarly attired in a fashion that struck her as far too formal for midafternoon—fawn-colored trousers, striped gray waistcoat, and a dark blue coat, finely tailored and without a crease or rumple. The only hint of dishevelment was his cravat, lying slightly awry against his linen, as if he’d just tugged on the folds. Brenna raised her gaze to his fair hair, which fell in soft waves across his forehead and against his collar.
He looked elegant, yes. Refined. As if he led a life of lazy indifference and genteel leisure. As was probably the case, Brenna decided. Suddenly she realized how rude she must appear, sizing him up like livestock. A blush infused her cheeks with sudden warmth as she reached for the door, prepared to flee. “Ye must excuse me, sir.”
“Wait,” the man called out, and she forced her feet to still.
Reluctantly, she turned back to face him. For a moment, neither spoke.
“I apologize for startling you,” he said at last. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Colin Rosemoor.” He bowed again, more exaggeratedly this time.
And how should she identify herself? Brenna? Margaret? She barely knew who she was anymore, and the uncertainty left her more than a little off balance. “I am Brenna, Lady Maclachlan,” she said at last, the familiar words rolling off her tongue. “From Castle Glenbroch,” she added, simply to fill the silence.
“Scottish, eh?” His full lips curved into a smile, and Brenna noticed a faint cleft bisecting his strong chin. “I should have known. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady Maclachlan. I say, though, you look so familiar. Have we met before?”
“We havena met before, I’m certain.” As always, her brogue thickened when her emotions ran high, as they were now.
“Are you visiting Lord and Lady Danville, then?” he asked, his tone conversational.
“Aye, I am. For...for the Season.”
“Splendid.” He looked past her shoulder, to the empty hall, then retrieved his watch from his waistcoat and flipped open the case.
Brenna took two steps back but stopped when he raised his eyes to hers again, returning the watch to his pocket.
“And has your husband joined you here in Town?”
“Husband?”
“Here on business, perhaps?”
“Ye misunderstand, sir. I have no husband.” Why ever would he think she did?
“Oh, pardon me. I just assumed that, well...” He waved one hand in a dismissive motion. “And have you yet made the acquaintance of my sister, Miss Jane Rosemoor?”
He thought her too old to be unmarried, she realized. Sh
e tipped her chin in the air, her pride pricked. “No, I havena made her acquaintance. I’ve only arrived within the fortnight,” she answered, her voice cool.
“Well, then, you must have Lady Danville make the introduction. Jane’s the best sort of girl. I’m sure she’d enjoy dragging you about Mayfair and making the proper introductions.”
Brenna arched a brow. “Indeed?”
“And I’ll wager she won’t hold your Scottishness against you.”
He was teasing her, of course. Still, the comment piqued her temper. Was that how everyone would see her? An aged, Scottish spinster, fit for nothing save parading about drawing rooms, engaging in naught but idle chatter and frivolous entertainments?
She could do long columns of sums in her head, keep ledgers, plan crops, and buy livestock. She was solely responsible for the livelihood of Glenbroch’s tenants, people she’d known her entire life—people who depended on her, people who cared about her. And she’d left them—left them all—in the hands of her steward, capable though he was. And for what? To come to London where she’d be judged as uncultured, uncivilized, should she let her true self show; where she knew no one save strangers. Strangers who shared her blood but not her life, till now.
“Good day, sir,” she choked out, turning toward the doorway. She dashed to the stairs, nearly blinded by the tears that had suddenly welled in her eyes.
Home. She wanted to go home.
Damnation, was it something he’d said? Colin watched in surprise as the woman fled from him as fast as she could—with tears in her eyes, at that. He shrugged, retrieving his watch once more. Where the hell was Ballard? Colin’s patience wore thin. He’d give him two more minutes, no more.
He returned his gaze to the now-empty hall. Something about the woman had intrigued him. No doubt she was pretty enough, though not the type he usually found himself attracted to.
This slip of a woman—Brenna, she had called herself—barely reached his shoulder, and she looked fresh from the nursery. Until he studied her face, that is. Her hair, an indescribable mix of red and gold, had been pulled back into a coil on the back of her head in an almost matron-like arrangement. And her eyes, the color of the sea, seemed to reflect a degree of knowledge and experience that most English misses lacked. Beyond that, there was something so very familiar about her. Yet he could not quite put his finger on it. He slapped his gloves against his palm, growing more impatient by the moment.
Undressed (Undone by Love) Page 2