by Lauren Smith
Alvina settled onto the bed. “What’s wrong?”
Tears welled up in Moira’s eyes, and she did her best to blink them away. “This Season isn’t turning out as I hoped.”
“What did you expect to happen?”
“I thought Pippa, Alice, Patience and I would have a grand time and then find our husbands in the end.” She narrowed her eyes. “Not get our names in that betting book.”
“We are barely into the second week of the Season,” Alvina reminded her.
“And I’ve yet to meet a Scotsman.”
“Oh, yes, I had forgotten.”
Moira blinked and looked up at her.
“What of Ainsely?”
Tears pooled again.
“What is it? Has he done something to hurt you?”
Moira shook her head, unable to answer.
”Moira, you must tell me.”
“I am in love with him,” she broke on a sob.
Alvina chuckled. “Is that all? I thought it was more dire.”
“But it is,” Moira insisted. “His estate is in Yorkshire.”
Her sister-in-law sat back and narrowed her eyes. “Are you certain?”
“He told me so himself. Why?”
Alvina shook her head. “I thought it was farther north.”
“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Moira grumbled and got out of bed. She found her slippers and pushed her feet inside, before she padded across the room and pulled on the bell to have Beatrice bring her morning chocolate, even though it was afternoon.
“Why doesn’t it matter?”
Moira chewed on her bottom lip, debating how much she should say. If any of her friends were here, she wouldn’t hesitate, knowing they would take her secrets to the grave. While Alvina was a good friend, she couldn’t trust that she wouldn’t tell Nyle.
“You have to make me a promise.”
“What?” Alvina settled into the chair by the window.
“No matter what I tell you, you cannot, under any circumstances, tell Nyle.”
The smile fell from Alvina’s face and she sat forward. “What has he done to you, Moira?”
“Promise, or I shan’t say a word.”
Alvina studied Moira, as if weighing her decision. “I swear not to tell my husband anything.”
“Very well.” Moira settled onto the stool and told Alvina everything that had occurred at Vauxhall and in the park and Ainsely’s last words to her.
“How did he know your breasts were bound?” It was her very first question.
Moira’s face heated and she shrugged.
Alvina leaned forward and grasped Moira’s hands. “I must know. Did he touch you anywhere else or was there any other intimate contact between you?”
Moira pulled back and laughed. “Of course not. We were in the park.”
“It didn’t stop him from taking some liberties.”
She did have a point. “I can assure you, that is all that happened between us.”
“Then I don’t see why you’re so upset.”
“Because he never asked me to marry him, or even if he could court me for that matter.”
“Are you certain?”
“Of course.” Moira stood to pace the room. “He said that despite what my beliefs of marriage may be, I am not to marry any Scot unless he feels exactly the way Ainsely described.”
A mischievous smile pulled at Alvina’s lips.
“What are you thinking?”
“If Ainsely were to ask for your hand, would you marry him, even though he has an estate in Yorkshire?”
Moira sank back down on the stool and looked her sister-in-law in the eye. “Yes. I think a chance at love is more important than never having to endure Mother.”
“There you have it.”
“Alvina, he didn’t ask me. He is not interested in marrying me.”
“Are you so certain?”
Why did she keep going on like this? “Of course. If he were, he wouldn’t have helped me find a husband by pointing out all the eligible bachelors in the park.”
“None of whom have an estate in Scotland,” Alvina interrupted.
“He didn’t discourage me. Instead, he told me what kind of Scot to marry.”
“Very well.” Alvina slapped her hands on her thighs and stood. “We shall find you that Scot.”
“How do you propose we do that?” Moira was fairly convinced such a man wasn’t in London this Season.
“You just leave that to me. Get dressed and I will be back shortly.”
Chapter 15
Moira dressed for the day, though she had no intention of leaving the house. Her rash had somewhat cleared, but the terrible color had barely faded in her hair. Besides, her eyes were now red and puffy with dark circles from a sleepless night spent crying. Why did she have to fall in love with Ainsely? Why couldn’t he love her? At least enough to convince her that Yorkshire was far enough away. But all he did was kiss her senseless, make her feel pretty for the first time in her life and tell her what type of Scot to marry.
Tears welled again. Why did he have to go and kiss her? It didn’t matter that she wanted him to, because she’d never anticipated falling in love. She’d been quite happy thinking he was becoming a grand friend and someone she could depend upon. Someone who could be very dear to her this Season. He’d then gone and ruined everything by pointing out her four best features. It was entirely his fault that moving to Scotland to get away from her mother was no longer important, and he was the reason no other gentlemen would make her happy.
She took the steps slowly to the breakfast room. Where had Alvina gone? She was to have returned, but that was an hour ago.
Moira’s stomach grumbled, though she didn’t have much of an appetite. The breakfast room was too bright, and pain stabbed behind her eyes. “Could you please pull the drapes?” she asked the footman as she entered. He did as she bade and the room dimmed, bringing a bit of relief. Nothing Cook prepared this afternoon tempted her, despite the objections of her stomach, so Moira chose a piece of bread as the footman poured her a cup of tea. “Is Mother at home?”
“She has gone out,” the servant answered.
Thank goodness. Moira was not in the mood to deal with that woman right now.
The footman hovered by the door. She hated eating while others watched and really, what could she possibly need that she couldn’t take care of herself? “You may go. If I need anything, I will ring.”
“Very good.” He bowed his head and left the room. Moira let out a sigh and bit into the bread.
“What am I to do?”
“Find the perfect Scot, of course.”
Moira looked up to find Alvina standing in the doorway, a large book in her hands, beaming. “What is that?”
“Debrett’s.”
“I don’t know how that can be of any help. I am not looking for an English Lord.”
A quizzical look passed over Alvina’s features. “Have you never read it?”
“No.” Moira dismissed and took a sip of her tea. “Mother pores over it daily, however, suggesting which heirs and peers I should meet.”
“You should have been looking through it as well.” Alvina plunked the book down on the table in front of Moira. “This one lists Irish and Scottish titles.”
“Scottish?” Why hadn’t anyone mentioned this? Just the other day Alice and Pippa were discussing Debrett’s, and neither one bothered to mention this piece of information to her.
Alvina poured a cup of tea and settled into an empty seat at the table. “I am sure you will find at least one candidate for your hand in marriage.”
Moira opened the book to Scotland and began flipping through the pages.
“Why not start at the top, with the dukes?”
Moira grimaced. “I don’t think I would make a very good duchess.” While Scotland seemed like the next best thing to heaven, being married to the head of a powerful family was a bit too daunting. “I will be happy with any lesser peer, or even se
cond son or mister, if he owns his own estate.” Though most young women wouldn’t assume they could marry so high, Moira knew her worth. A bloody fortune to anyone who married her. It really didn’t matter what she looked like. Plus, her father had been an earl, which raised her position and choices somewhat.
“Very well.” Alvina settled back in her chair, cradling the cup in her hand, watching.
Moira tried not to let Alvina bother her, but it was as if she were waiting for something. There were no eligible dukes anyway. A few marquesses held promise, as did a few earls.
“Do you think I should write them down, so I remember?” Moira glanced up at Alvina.
Her sister-in-law grinned into her cup. “I am sure you will remember what you need to.”
Alvina was acting very strangely. Moira focused back on the book and flipped the page. “Viscounts.”
Alvina sat forward and placed her cup on the table.
Moira began reading names and stopped. She grasped the page tight, almost tearing it from the binding. “He lied to me.”
“I am sure he had good reason,” Alvina assured her.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I wanted you to see for yourself and gauge your reaction.”
“Why?”
“To determine how much you love him.”
Moira slammed the book shut. “It doesn’t matter what my feelings may be. If he cared or wanted to marry me, he would have told me and not made up some estate in Yorkshire.”
“He does own an estate in Yorkshire, and a townhome in Mayfair.”
“If only he needed my dowry.”
“Be glad he doesn’t. Then you would never know if it was you or the pounds he wanted.”
“That is just it,” Moira cried as she stood, knocking the chair backwards in her haste. “He doesn’t want me at all.”
The footman stepped through the door. “Excuse me, Lady Moira.”
She glanced up at him. “Yes?”
“Viscount Ainsely to see you.”
Moira clenched her teeth and inhaled deeply. Anger like she had never experienced before coursed through her veins. How dare he come to call after the way he had lied.
Gideon was left cooling his heels in the blue parlor. He couldn’t sit, he couldn’t stand. All he did was pace through the room, the bouquet of fresh flowers clutched in his hand. If Moira did not make an appearance soon, they would be wilted.
His stomach was in knots. What if she rejected him? Maybe the kisses they’d shared had meant nothing to her. No. She’d enjoyed the kisses as much as he had. She had to have. He couldn’t accept otherwise.
Damn. He turned on his heel and paced back across the room. He had never courted a lady before. Did they usually keep gentlemen waiting? Except, Moira probably wasn’t aware of his purpose and may not wish for the courtship, despite the kisses they’d shared.
He glanced at the clock. He had been here for thirty minutes. What could she be doing that was taking so long?
Hopefully she wasn’t trying a new hair dye or worse, binding her breasts.
What if she rejected him? No, he couldn’t think of that.
Perhaps he should approach Hearne first, ask permission, and then Moira wouldn’t have a choice. Besides, wasn’t a gentleman supposed to speak to the guardian first?
Gideon thrust his fingers through his hair. He was going to bungle this, he just knew it. At the end of the Season he would return to Scotland, alone, his heart back here with Moira.
“Why?”
Gideon turned to find Moira framed by the doorway. Her calico hair curled and fell haphazardly around her, and those glorious breasts were free. She stood erect, chin high, and hands clenched into tight fists. Anger?
“Why what?” he asked cautiously.
“Why did you lie to me?”
His gut tightened. “I haven’t lied to you. Can you be more specific about what you perceive as a lie?” He needed to tread carefully.
“Of course.” Her laugh was bitter. “You didn’t lie when you told me you owned an estate in Yorkshire.”
His gut twisted further.
“You simply omitted the fact that you live outside Selkirk, Scotland.”
“I can explain.” He thrust the flowers at her.
Moira grabbed them from his hands. “Thank you.” Her shoulders dropped as if some energy had left, but he knew better than to think the flowers had completely disarmed her.
“Why?” she asked quietly, burying her nose in the bouquet.
He was at a loss for words. Whatever he said would hold the power to turn her away from him for the rest of his life or bring her into his arms where she belonged. One wrong word, and she would be lost to him forever.
She looked up, and unshed tears shimmered in her eyes. “Was it a game to you?”
“No, of course not.” He took a step forward, wanting to draw Moira into his arms. The pain in her eyes was a knife to his heart. “Why would you think such a thing?”
“Because you let me go on and on and then agreed to help me find a Scottish husband.” Tears fell freely down her cheeks, and Gideon resisted the urge to wipe them away. “You kissed me, made me feel beautiful and long for Yorkshire more than Scotland.”
She did want him, for himself. Hope surged. But were their chances destroyed because of his omission?
She sniffed, wiped her nose with the back of her sleeve, and continued. “You told me to only accept a Scot who felt that way. You never offered yourself.”
Gideon fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to her. Moira accepted and blew her nose in the most unladylike fashion he had ever witnessed.
God he loved her.
“Come here.” He held his hand out to her.
Moira eyed it suspiciously. “Why?”
“Just come here.”
Reluctantly, she took his hand and Gideon led her to the settee. She sank down onto the cushions, and he sat beside her.
He kept her small, trembling hand in his and took a deep breath.
“It isn’t what you think.” He prayed she understood.
“Then explain,” she demanded then sniffed.
“I was afraid that if you knew, all you would see was Scotland.”
“So?”
“I feared you would try to compromise me.” The thought of a bonny woman throwing herself at him had never caused fear before. It would be rather humorous if the situation weren’t so important. “You only cared about being free of your mother, living far away. I would never have been confident of your feelings for me.”
Her brow furrowed. “I don’t understand.”
“Many marriages are arranged because of status, wealth, connections, and some have thrived on much less. I did not want to be in a marriage where only one set of feelings were involved—mine.”
“Yours?”
Gideon closed his eyes and took a deep breath before moving from the settee and down on one knee before her. “Lady Moira Kirkwood, I am in love with you. I don’t know when I fell, but I did. I would be honored if you would become my wife and live with me at my home in Scotland.”
She stared at him, studying his face. His heart ceased beating, waiting for a response. Slowly her lips turned into a smile. “You love me?” Tears formed once again.
“Aye, I do.” He picked up the hand he held and kissed the back. “I can only hope that you return the feelings one day and that you don’t only want me for my estate.””
Her face lit as if sunlight burst from inside. “Oh, but I do, I do. I was willing to settle in Yorkshire as long as I could have you.” Her arms came up and around him as her lips connected with his. The momentum of her embrace sent them sprawling onto the floor. Gideon wrapped his arms around his impetuous future wife and deepened the kiss, holding her close.
“Moira Kirkwood,” the Dowager Countess Hearne screeched. “You must stop accosting gentlemen in the parlor.”
Gideon chuckled and broke away from the kiss. Moira looked up, her f
ace a lovely shade of rose, and moved away from him. Gideon sat up. “It is quite all right, Madam. Moira can accost me any time she chooses.”
The woman gasped, hand to her throat. “Nyle, do something.”
Moira’s brother stepped further into the room, chuckling. “It appears Moira has succeeded in compromising a gentleman, and she must do the honorable thing.”
Gideon would have stood, but he didn’t wish to have himself on display, or his physical reaction to Moira’s heated embrace noticed by anyone. Instead, he remained where he was. “Hearne, might I have the pleasure of your sister’s hand in marriage?”
“Call on me this evening and we will work out the details.” He turned to his mother. “Come along.”
“But...” She tried to pull her elbow from Hearne’s grasp.
“They are to be married, and possibly by special license. Leaving them alone will harm nothing.”
“Oh, no,” her mother objected, trying to pull her arm from Hearne’s. “Moira will have an announcement, reading of the banns, a respectable wedding at St. George’s, and an elaborate wedding breakfast.”
Hearne ignored his mother, but kept a firm hold of her arm and looked back at Moira. “Congratulations on finding a Scot.”
Moira gasped. “You knew?”
Hearne shook his head and chuckled. “Expect my wife and me to be frequent visitors.”
“Scot?” Her mother halted and peered over at Moira. “No daughter of mine is going to live in Scotland.”
“It is too late, Mother.” Nyle tugged on his mother’s arm to pull her from the room. “Moira has compromised the poor gentleman and must now do the proper thing by him.” His laughter echoed and the door clicked, leaving Gideon alone with Moira.
“Do you really love me?” she asked, biting her lower lip.
“Aye.” He rose from the floor to sit beside her.
“And I love you.” Her lips met his again, and Gideon knew he would be facing pure torture until he could finally make her his.
Historical Romances by Jane Charles
The Tenacious Trents
Compromised for Christmas
A Misguided Lord
A Perfect Gentleman