Lord Danville sighed heavily, his shoulders sagging. “It is possible I’ve gone about this badly, Margaret. I’ll have a word with your mother after tonight’s entertainments. Nevertheless, you will marry him. You just need time, that’s all, to get used to the idea. No need to rush the nuptials. A Christmas wedding, perhaps.” He nodded to himself. “That should do nicely.”
She could only stare blankly at the man. Hadn’t he heard a word she’d said? No matter; she would be long gone by Christmastime, back at Glenbroch. Where she belonged.
“If you’ll excuse me, Lord Danville,” she said, raising one hand to her now-throbbing temple. “I’m suddenly feeling unwell.”
“Very well. You do look a bit peaked. Perhaps you should go lie down.”
“Please give Lady Welbourne my regrets,” she said, then exited the room with as much quiet dignity as she could muster.
Hurrying up the stairs, she retrieved her chart book and quill from her bedchamber, then made her way out to the garden, Hera in tow. With a huff, she plopped onto a wide, stone bench. Hera settled herself at her feet, her small, pointed chin resting upon her paws.
Brenna sighed in relief as she listened to the coach clatter from the mews to the front drive, no doubt collecting Lord and Lady Danville. Thank goodness they had not changed their plans and remained home. They would be occupied for several hours at Lady Welbourne’s musicale, and she would be left mercifully alone with her dark thoughts.
Sold like a brood mare! She pounded one fist on the bench beside her. She wouldn’t stand for it, that was for certain. Lord Thomas had received her father’s consent under false pretenses. Surely the contract wouldn’t be binding under such deception, would it? Whatever the case, she would convince Lord Danville to reconsider. He must. And if he wouldn’t? Then she would do what she must.
Enough thinking of such unpleasant matters. The night was clear, the sky cloudless. She turned her attention heavenward, focusing on the twinkling canvas above.
Aye, this was far more pleasant. There was Ursa Major, the bear. Her gaze followed the line of the tail, up to the bright star Mizar. She squinted, seeking its companion, Alcor. Ah, there it was. If only she had her telescope here.
She reached for her quill, dipping it in the ink with an unsteady hand. Nay, she would not let Lord Thomas Sinclair ruin this fine evening. She began to chart the night’s sky, beginning with Ursa Major.
Botheration. Her first attempt produced little more than an imprecise blob of ink. She tore the page from the book with an irritated scowl. Clear your mind of disagreeable thoughts, she scolded herself, setting down the quill. Focus on the heavens. She closed her eyes and took two deep, calming breaths. At once a sense of peace filled her, calming her jangled nerves. With a satisfied nod, she retrieved her quill and began anew.
This time the results pleased her, and she happily continued on. The scratching of the quill against paper was soothing, comforting. She worked quietly for nearly an hour, when Hera suddenly jumped to the bench beside her, back arched and hair standing on end.
“Dear Lord, Hera, what is it?” She set aside her book and quill. “Ye startled me, silly cat.”
Ignoring her, the cat bared her teeth, hissing toward the dark, empty lawn before them.
Someone was there, in the garden. Brenna’s heart began to race, her eyes scanning the darkness before her. “Who’s there?” she called out, her voice steady and firm.
Colin looked over one shoulder, making certain no one had followed him. No, he was alone. He’d made it through the mews without detection. What good fortune he’d had. Headed toward Rosemoor House in his curricle a half hour ago, he’d passed by Welbourne’s town house just as Danville’s coach pulled up. Reining in his matched grays, Colin had watched as the earl and countess stepped down, onto the walk. Alone. Fate had done him a favor; perhaps he would find Brenna at home, away from her parents’ watchful eyes.
Without wasting a second, he’d hastened to Rosemoor House, left his curricle there, and then made his way to Danville House on foot. He’d paused on the front walk, then stepped quickly into the shadows before he was seen. No, he couldn’t simply knock on the front door. No doubt their servants had been instructed to deny him entrance. Not quite certain of his plan yet nonetheless determined, instinct had sent him around through the mews to the back garden.
And there she sat, scribbling away in a book on her lap, a silver and black cat sitting by her side. Only now the blasted creature had stirred, resembling a lion guarding its kill. Time to make his presence known.
He stepped out from behind the linden tree that was shielding him, clearing his throat loudly as he did so to gain her attention. “Would you mind reining in that beast there?” he called out.
“Oh!” she cried, leaping to her feet.
The cat only snarled more loudly, hissing and spitting now.
“Truly, I’m beginning to fear for my life.”
“Colin Rosemoor,” Brenna said, her voice laced with disbelief. “Ye near enough frightened me to death. What do ye mean by sneaking about the shadows like a specter?”
Colin moved closer, gesturing toward the cat as he would to one of his hounds. “Away,” he tried. “Release.” Nothing. “By God, that beast is tenacious. I can’t say I’ve ever before seen an attack cat.”
“Come, Hera.” She reached down and scooped up the animal, holding it close to her breast. “He’s a scoundrel, aye, but not a dangerous one.”
“What did you call that creature?” He stepped closer still; so close he could smell her scent wafting on the breeze. Deliciously feminine and floral. Intoxicating. Why was it, he wondered, that the scents most ladies favored often made his throat constrict; even the spicy scent that Jane favored sometimes made him sneeze. But not Brenna. He inhaled deeply. She smelled of lavender and sunshine and...Lucy. Yes, that was it. She smelled like Lucy. He shook his head in amazement. How had he never before recognized it? They were alike in so many ways, Brenna and Lucy, and not just scent alone. No wonder he was drawn to her.
“’Tis a cat, not a creature, and I call her Hera.”
“Ah, I see. Your familiar.” He couldn’t help but make the comparison. She bewitched him. A Scottish witch, perhaps, sent to wreak havoc on his life. Only his life was already in shambles, long before she turned up, wasn’t it?
“Ye didna answer my question.” She set the now-calm cat on the ground. As if stalking prey, it wriggled its hindquarters, then leapt at Colin’s boots. “Whatever are ye doing here?” she asked. “I know ye didna come simply to accuse me of witchcraft now, did ye?”
“I called on Lord Hampton’s solicitors today. You’ll be happy to know the deed is now in my name. I had to tell you as soon as possible.” The little beast was now rubbing its body against his trousers, purring loudly. Wanted to be his friend now, eh?
“And what if Lord and Lady Danville had been at home?”
“Ah, but I saw them not a half hour ago, arriving at Lady Welbourne’s town house. Her annual musicale, I suppose. It would seem I did not make her invitation list this year. A shame.”
Her beautiful bow of a mouth curved into a frown. “Oh, dear, I hope you didna give your card to Alfred. He’ll tell my parents the moment they return. They’ve left specific instructions—”
“Of course I didn’t. Do you take me for a fool? I ducked around the mews and headed straight for the garden.”
“But how did ye know to look for me out here?”
He looked to the sky. “The night is clear, and the moon is full. Where else would I find you but staring up at the stars?”
She followed his gaze, her frown giving way to a grin. “Ye know me well.”
“Do I?” he asked, taking a step toward her. He couldn’t help himself; he craved her nearness. “Tell me, what is it you think of when you gaze up at the moon? What puts that lovely smile on your face?”
“Why, I think of home,” she answered, her face tilted upward, illuminated by the silvery glow of the
moon. “Of Glenbroch, and of my mama and da—the Maclachlans.”
“You loved them very much, didn’t you?”
“Aye. They were good people, loving people. I canna explain why they did what they did, but I know with all my heart that they loved me as their own. The fever took them both less than a year ago. Running the estate kept me sane after their loss. I couldna have borne it otherwise.”
“Hadn’t you any family there to comfort you?”
“No one save my former nursemaid, Jenny Cannan. She’s been married now for many years, living on Hampton’s estate—your estate now. She and her husband have a small but profitable croft. I couldna have made it through those dark times without Jenny nearby.”
“You must have been lonely.”
She nodded, her eyes meeting his. Colin inhaled sharply, the pain in her countenance leaving him breathless. If only he could erase that pain, make it his instead.
And then she looked away, back to the sky. “Lonely, aye, but busy. I was only just getting used to my solitude when Lord and Lady Danville appeared on my doorstep with their outlandish tale. Ye wouldna believe what it was like, to learn that I’d been stolen at birth, that I had a family here in London. All my life I’d longed for a sister or brother, and then, out of the blue, I was given one. I couldna turn my back on them, not after losing everyone who was dear to me. I had to meet this brother of mine, my twin.” She bit her lower lip, the warmth leaving her eyes. “What a disappointment he has turned out to be,” she said, her voice hard.
He reached for her hand. She wore no gloves, and her bare skin felt warm and soft as silk to his touch. “I’m so sorry,” he said, stroking her palm with this thumb.
“Hugh and I share the same blood, yet we are nothing alike in character. ‘Tis puzzling, is it not?”
“Perhaps our character is shaped not by blood but by those who raise us. I think the Maclachlans of Glenbroch must have been remarkable people.”
She nodded silently, her eyes bright with unshed tears. He suddenly wished she would cry. If any female deserved a long, satisfying crying jag, then surely she did. He folded her into his arms, pulling her against his chest. His lips found her hair, and he pressed several kisses into the silky, sweet-smelling tresses.
“Thank ye for saying that, Colin,” she murmured, her voice muffled against his coat. “Ye are the first person here who has spoken kindly of them.” Lifting her head, she gazed up at him with damp eyes. “And thank ye for securing the deed from Lord Hampton. I will write to Jenny straightaway and tell her that she remains safe, that their livelihood remains secure in your hands. She is not well, you see, and ‘twill give her peace until I can return there and tell her so myself.”
“You still plan to return to Glenbroch at the close of the Season?” he asked, his chest uncomfortably tight.
“I must return.” Brenna swallowed hard, his nearness making her heart flutter. She knew full well she should not let him hold her like this. ‘Twas improper at best, dangerous at worst. Yet she could not bring herself to leave the comfort, the security of his arms. “Will you be sorry to see me go?” The words tumbled from her lips before she had the chance to consider them.
He reached for her chin and tilted her face upward, forcing her gaze to meet his. “What do you think, Brenna?”
“I...I canna say for certain,” she stammered. “At times, I think aye. But other times...” She trailed off with a shake of her head. “Other times I dinna ken.” Whenever Lady Mandeville is in your company, for example, she added silently.
“You have reason to doubt much in your life, Brenna, but do not doubt that I will miss you. Of this you can be sure.”
She studied his face, looking for signs of artifice, but she found none. Instead, she saw only honesty, sincerity. Truly, he was beautiful, a mystifying mix of masculine beauty and virility. Soft, gold-tipped waves framed his face, brushing his shoulders, nearly concealing a vertical scar beside one brow that lent him an air of danger. Her eyes scoured his face, taking in every detail—full, sensual lips, strong jaw, faintly clefted chin—before settling on his hooded blue-gray eyes. The raw, primal heat in his gaze nearly took her breath away. “Please kiss me, Colin,” she whispered, suddenly desperate to feel his mouth on hers.
In an instant, he crushed her body against his, his mouth finding hers and possessing it with a masterful assurance. She gasped when his lips parted hers, near ruthlessly, and plundered inside. In response, her whole being trembled, her mind awash in pleasurable sensations. Slowly, deliberately, her hands slid up the hard planes of his back. Her fingers tangled in his hair, cupping his head as she pressed herself against him, wanting the kiss to go on forever.
Her tongue briefly met his. Feeling emboldened, she slipped it between his teeth, exploring the unfamiliar depths of his mouth, tasting him. Brandy. He tasted of brandy and smelled of sandalwood, a heady, masculine mix.
He ran his thumbs lightly up the column of her neck, eliciting a shiver of pure delight. She moaned in pleasure, wanting still more. As if he’d read her thoughts, his mouth retreated from hers, his lips trailing a path from behind one ear, down her throat, to her shoulder. His hands moved to cup her breasts, his thumbs drawing sensual circles around hardened nipples that strained against the fabric of her bodice.
Lower still his mouth moved, toward the valley between her breasts. Brenna gasped when his tongue flicked across one sensitive nipple; her back arched in reply, her limbs feeling weak and unsteady. Her heart beat furiously against her ribs.
She wanted to touch him, to feel his bare skin, his warmth, his strength. As he laved her breasts through the thin fabric of her gown, she allowed her hands to roam, to pluck his soft, linen shirt from the band of his trousers. Under the fabric her fingers flew, across the taut muscles of his abdomen, up toward his chest.
At once, Colin wrenched himself away with a groan, gripping her shoulders so tightly that she feared he might crush the bones.
Guiltily, she dropped her hands to her sides.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I shouldn’t have—”
“Dinna apologize.” Raw, painful disappointment lanced her heart. “’Tis my fault. I shouldna have—”
“It’s entirely my fault. You’re far too innocent to understand what you’re doing to me.” He released her shoulders, drawing his hands away as if burned by her flesh. “Damnation, I want you so badly I fear I’m going mad with it. If you keep touching me like that, I cannot promise I won’t ravish you right here, right now.” He raked one hand through his hair. “I must go.”
“Go, then, Colin.” She swallowed a painful lump in her throat, feeling like a fool. A wanton. A flush climbed up her neck, no doubt staining her cheeks with shame.
He nodded stiffly. “You’ll send word at once if you learn anything from Sinclair or Ballard?”
Was this the true meaning of his visit? To remind her of her part in their bargain? “Of course,” she murmured, feeling foolish.
“Very well, Brenna. I bid you good night, then.”
“Good night, Colin,” she said softly.
In seconds, he disappeared into the darkness like a wisp of smoke. She returned to her seat on the bench, her fingers skimming the rough stone as her heart continued to flutter wildly.
Hera leapt into her lap and began to knead her skirts. Brenna sighed, stroking the cat’s back. “I suppose ye witnessed that scene, Hera? Well, ‘tis a good thing you canna speak. ‘Twill be our secret, won’t it? I’ve officially gone daft.”
Hera only meowed in reply.
Why didn’t I tell him about the betrothal agreement? she wondered, not even allowing herself to speak the words aloud. Because he wouldn’t have kissed me, had I told him. And she had wanted him to kiss her. Yearned for it. Despite her confusion about his character; despite her jealousy about his relationship with Lady Mandeville. What a muddle she’d gotten herself into.
“Well, Hera,” she said aloud, “’twill likely get worse before it gets better, won�
��t it?”
Chapter 12
“La, I heard the most remarkable on-dit today.” Colin’s mother set down her cup, smiling broadly. She turned toward Jane, who sat beside her on the sofa sipping her own steaming cup of tea. “Perhaps you’ve had the news already, Jane dearest.”
Colin poured himself a snifter of brandy, swirling it around the glass and watching disinterestedly as Jane arched one brow, peering at their mother over the rim of her cup.
“I haven’t heard any gossip of interest,” Jane said. “Not lately, at least. Do tell.”
“I only supposed you might have heard, as it regards your new friend, Lady Margaret Ballard.”
Brenna? Colin’s flagging attention snapped into focus. Taking his brandy with him, he strode across the room, leaning against the pianoforte.
“Although,” his mother continued, “I don’t suppose there’s been sufficient time for the news to travel far. Still—”
“Mama, please,” Jane chided. “Do not keep us in suspense. You must tell us at once.”
“Well, I heard tell she’s betrothed,” she said at last, then pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Hmmm, but I seem to have forgotten to whom. Wait.” She held up one finger. “I remember now. It’s that odious Lord Thomas Sinclair, of all people,” she added.
Colin froze, his snifter poised halfway to his mouth.
“No!” Jane cried out, her teacup clattering to the saucer.
“Yes, I had it from Lady Cowper, who had it from Lady Danville herself. I was more than a little surprised. Isn’t Lord Thomas Sinclair the one who caused such a scene at the opera with Lucy the year of her come-out?”
A speechless Jane only nodded in agreement.
“He is the worst sort of scoundrel, is he not? Regardless, I heard that the betrothal agreement was signed just last night, before Lady Welbourne’s musicale.”
Last night? The agreement was signed last night—the same night that Brenna allowed him to hold her in his arms? The same night she all but begged him to kiss her? It didn’t signify. Colin’s chest felt suddenly tight; his throat constricted. He set his snifter on the pianoforte’s polished case, carefully measuring his words. “He is indeed a scoundrel. In fact, I’d favor several choice names for him, names I dare not repeat in the company of ladies.”
Undressed (Undone by Love) Page 13