“I dare say, none of us could’ve predicted such a thing,” Liam said politely, before directing a wry grin at Broden.
“We’ve quite a convoluted family tree,” she said, inspecting the plate of food before her. “Branches stickin’ out in every which direction. Quite a prolific family, too.” Squinting, she aimed her regard upward in contemplation. “If I recall correctly, Broden inherited the title from the line of his great great-grandfather’s youngest brother.”
Broden turned to look at her, his hawkish brows knitting together. “Ye kent I was in line to inherit?”
Picking up her fork, she gave a little offhand shrug of one plump shoulder. “I kent a remote possibility existed, but I truly didna expect it. After all, Standish was a younger son. And his father was a younger son. I tell ye,” she said, waving the eating utensil, “that family has had a wicked run of bad luck in the past decade.”
Broden wasn’t a younger son.
But he was one of three, and his brothers were both dead—the younger to a fever when a wee laddie, and the other to a tragic accident when he’d fallen from a tree just shy of his eighth birthday.
Even as Mrs. McGregor said the words, her countenance fell, a somber shadow marring her earlier animation. “And now some villain is intent on doin’ ye harm. My only remainin’ son and kin.”
Broden covered her hand with his and gave her one of his winsome, comforting don’t-worry-I’ll-make-everything-right smiles. “Dinna repine on it. The previous earls had the misfortune of livin’ in England. I intend to live out my days in Scotland until I’m a feeble old codger, bowed over, toothless, and bald.”
“There’s a lovely image,” Liam quipped.
Kendra couldn’t summon the same jollity. In fact, the oddest despondency flooded her.
Broden playfully chucked his mother’s chubby chin. “But I think I shall purchase a larger house, so ye better start plannin’ the furnishin’ and how many servants ye wish to hire. I’ve often admired Glenawayshire, and the estate ’tis no’ only available for purchase, ’tis also but a scant five miles away.”
His mother’s calm pale-brown eyes lit with excitement. “Glenawayshire? My, that ’tis impressive. A right proper house for an earl.”
Again, Mrs. McGregor cast Kendra a surreptitious look, but she pretended absorption in her—ah—toast. Yes, the bread browned to perfection.
A wife generally saw to the furnishing of a house and hiring of the staff. Broden had no plans of wedding soon, then. Not even for an heir, now that he bore the burden of continuing the line?
Or perhaps, he didn’t plan to wed yet. Mayhap, Broden needed time to put his affairs in order and become accustomed to his new role. She couldn’t find fault with that logic if that were the case.
Kendra had only been to Glenawayshire once, three years ago, before the previous owners—Sassenachs—had decided the Highlands were too rusticated for their refined tastes.
More palatial than manor-like, the mansion boasted sixteen bedrooms. He’d need to find a countess and get busy if he intended to fill them all with wee McGregor bairns.
Or would the children be Montforths?
Liam focused his attention on his sausage, and after stabbing a piece with his fork, leveled Broden a considering look. “I ken ye dinna need my advice, but I dinna think ’tis wise for ye to travel alone.”
Kendra agreed wholeheartedly.
And so, apparently, did Mrs. McGregor, from the relieved expression washing over her face.
Broden gave a slow, reflective nod.
Kendra released the breath she’d held in anticipation of his answer and whether his typical obstinacy would rear its head.
“Aye. I wanted to discuss that with ye,” he said. “If it wouldna be too much of an imposition, I’d like ye, the Kennedy brothers, Roxdale, and McPherson to accompany me. I’d ask Catherwood, but he’s still honeymoonin’.” He angled his knife, the tip covered with preserves. “Mayhap even Wallace and Rutherford, if their wives dinna object.”
Most of the Scots he’d just named had foiled a plot to assassinate Emeline last autumn. The men trusted each other completely, much as brothers would.
Liam narrowed his eyes reflectively as he chewed. He swallowed, then took a sip of his coffee. “Aye. I think there’s wisdom in travelin’ in numbers, but no’ so many that ye draw undue attention. I’d say ye, me, and two more at the most.”
The whole while they spoke, her agitation high, Kendra attended to her breakfast. She spread preserves over a slice of toast and took a bite. The food had no flavor. No texture. She might’ve been eating foolscap.
She couldn’t stop thinking of how many of the former Earls of Montforth had died premature deaths. Now Broden was the new earl, and some fiend had already tried to kill him.
Coincidence?
Perhaps. Perhaps not.
Who was she trying to fool? Most likely not coincidence at all.
Broden brought his regard to her across the table, and their gazes tangled.
She wouldn’t plead for him not to go.
Not only wasn’t it her place, she understood he must leave. He’d never shirked responsibilities, and although he mightn’t want the duties and obligations that accompanied the earldom, he’d do what needed doing.
Besides, until she had analyzed whatever this was, she felt for him now—well, her thoughts and emotions were a messy, gnarled confusing knot. And it might take some time to pick the threads apart and sort them all out. To identify whatever had her in a jumbled snarl.
He’d kissed her. And she’d kissed him back. And it had been divine. Something, for certain, she’d never expected in a lifetime.
She still tingled at the strength of his corded muscles as he’d held her in his arms. She’d pressed her palm and breasts against the granite wall of his chest and reveled in it. The man was all sinewy muscle, strong angles and lines. Primal masculine virility ready to burst loose and devour.
God help her, she wanted—yearned—to be devoured by him.
He’d smelled of soap and clean linen and Broden.
Masculine, the merest bit musky, with a hint of cloves and bay.
She still couldn’t rid her mind of the vision of his scrumptiously naked chest and the mesmerizing light brown hair covering the even ridges marching along his hard-hewn torso. Oh, how she wanted to touch that delectable flesh. Run her fingertips along the rigid planes. Fan her palm on or rub her nose in the tempting hair on his chest.
Good Lord.
How could she have gone from reviling him to admiring his physique like a lusty, experienced tavern wench?
Her nape hairs tingled, and Kendra glanced upward through her lashes.
Yes, he watched her. His rich brown eyes trained on her mouth.
He recalled their stolen kiss, too.
Was he as bewildered as she? As much at a loss to understand the unexpected magnetism escalating between them?
She took a sip of her chocolate, needing to steady her unruly pulse and irregular breathing. This new manner in which Broden upset her world was even more disturbing than when he’d continually miffed her.
A most unpleasant thought burrowed its nasty way into her mind.
God above.
Was she back to being the silly, besotted girl that she’d been years ago?
Remembered humiliation suffused her, and only with a supreme force of will did she keep her face impassive.
Nae, I willna make the same mistake again.
Wear her heart on her sleeve.
She mightn’t have a great deal of experience with men and kissing—none, except for him, truth to tell—but she was female enough to recognize Broden’s arousal. Quite amorous arousal if the hard length nudging her belly while they kissed was any indication.
But did he desire her?
Or would any woman do?
Chapter Seven
Broden did indeed speak to the two hostelries. Much to his disappointment, he learned nothing more than Liam had during
his inquires. He’d even queried at the livery stable and the three other pubs in Eddleshaugh.
No one had noticed anyone unusual lurking about. Except for Oswald, that was. The lanky solicitor was hard to miss. His contempt for the locals had been palatable and earned him no kind words or warm recommendations after his departure.
If only Broden knew what his long-lost cousin several times removed, Edwin Archibald Wiggins McGregor, looked like. He could’ve then described the man he was fairly certain had attempted to kill him.
Except, as he’d reflected earlier, Edwin may have hired someone to do the job.
Likely, had done so, and that made tracing the cutthroat much more difficult. Impossible, in truth.
Broden, Liam, Camden Kennedy, and Bryston McPherson were to leave in in two days for Sommerley Parke House. Broden bristled at the delay, but the other men needed time to prepare for their absences. Keane, the Duke of Roxdale, conveniently had business in England and had made arrangements to meet Broden in London.
Roxdale knew his way around the city and was acquainted with several members of Society, as well. And he’d promised to introduce Broden to their elite circles.
He’d rather be lashed.
A missive was sent ahead, notifying the Countess of Montforth of his pending arrival. That was what he’d been about the day someone had tried to kill him—posting the letter. But considering how irregular the post was, he wouldn’t be surprised if she weren’t aware of his coming until he stood at the door, surrounded by his Scots friends.
Hmm, that might send the unsuspecting woman into a swoon.
As he strode the path from the stables after relinquishing Sheik to the stable boy, he contemplated his future. The earldom had plunged him from the comfortable, uncomplicated life he’d enjoyed into something quite foreign. Unwelcome.
He felt slightly adrift.
His mother didn’t seem affected one way or the other about their newly elevated station, and to his relief, she’d acquiesced to remain at Eytone Hall in his absence. The Dowager Baroness Penderhaven had eagerly agreed to lend her expertise in suggestions about furnishings and servants. Liam’s man of business had conceded to make an offer for Glenawayshire, too.
At least Mother would have something to occupy her time while he was away, and perhaps, she wouldn’t fret overly much.
The women had even summoned the local seamstresses to begin working on a new wardrobe for her. Nothing too elaborate, she’d insisted. Liam had suggested Broden visit a tailor while in London, as well.
He supposed his position required a few of the fancier togs men of his rank wore, but by God, nothing with ruffles, lace, or in colors more fitting for tropical birds or stage actresses with questionable reputations.
He’d just rounded the corner beside the tidy hedgerow when Kendra exited the rear of the house, her hood pulled over her hair. Carrying a basket, she moved swiftly, with purpose, and it only took him a moment to realize she was headed to the stables by way of another pathway.
Before he left for Sommerley Parke House, he must speak to her about their kiss.
A fortnight or more was too long to wait to have the discussion. Honestly, Broden wasn’t sure what to say. It shouldn’t have happened. But it had, and now he must decide what to do about it. Ignoring their embrace wasn’t an option. Doing so could very well create a bigger chasm between them than what had been there before.
His raging desire for Kendra had grown every time he saw her in recent months, but until he’d inherited the earldom and she’d kissed him so eagerly, he’d never seriously considered a union between them. But now…?
It wasn’t just her beauty that drew him. Though her brilliant gray eyes in a diamond-shaped face, a nose as impertinent as she was—a small pointed chin just as stubborn, too—with skin so pearly smooth, he’d wondered more than once if she used cosmetics, left him breathless more often than he’d care to admit.
Neither was it her effervescent wit, lively conversation, or a figure so lush and delectably formed, he kept his hands balled a great deal of the time when around her to resist reaching out and testing the curves of her flesh. Yes, each attribute contributed to her allure, but that didn’t—couldn’t—explain his obsession with her.
The appeal, he’d decided while laying sleepless again last night, was the whole of her, each a piece of a perfectly constructed puzzle. Incomplete without all the other unique pieces, but when assembled, brilliant and breathtaking beyond compare.
As yet, there’d been no opportunity for a private conversation. Although she didn’t deliberately avoid him as she’d done in the past, he couldn’t help but notice that neither did she allow them to be alone.
Did she fear he’d try to kiss her again?
Hell, he was afraid he would.
No, he knew he would.
Reversing his steps, Broden aimed for the opposite side where the boxwood hedge opened onto the expansive, rolling greens. Kendra emerged from behind the shrubberies, and he increased his pace.
“Kendra,” he called. “Please wait.”
For a long stretch, she stood still, tense and quivering, like a startled deer poised to flee.
Finally, she turned toward him, lifting her hood a few inches. A small, puzzled furrow wrinkling her forehead, she waited for him to approach and offered a tentative smile. “How fared yer trip to Eddleshaugh? Any good news?”
“Nae.” Broden shook his head, slightly distracted by her hesitancy. “Nothin’ that we didna already ken.” He eyed her basket, partially filled with apples. “What are ye doin’ with those?”
She glanced downward before lifting the forearm the hamper was slung over a couple of inches. “These are the rest of last years’ that were stored in the root cellar. Cook’s directed the removal of the old produce, so I’m takin’ them to the horses. They’ll enjoy the treat, even if they arena quite as crisp as fresh fruit.”
Reaching back into his mind, he couldn’t recall a time Kendra hadn’t adored horses.
A vision of her atop a stout, pewter-colored Shetland pony sprang to mind. Her hair in braids, she’d trotted the docile beastie around the paddock, a broad grin wreathing her round face and exposing her missing front teeth.
She couldn’t have been more than six or seven.
“Look, Broden,” she’d called, laughing in the unconstrained and exuberant way only children do. “I’m ridin’ Shadow all by myself.” She’d been so proud and confident. So excited to share her accomplishment.
Eager to join Liam and Quinn on an excursion to The Crowing Cockerel, he’d scarcely spared her an impatient half-smile and an even shorter wave. In truth, it had been the new owner of the pub’s curvaceous and very, very amiable daughter they’d been eager to ogle.
Kendra’s glowing countenance had fallen, and she’d bitten her lower lip, before flinging those long braids over her shoulders in offense and trotting the pudgy pony in the opposite direction.
As if it had been yesterday, he recalled her crestfallen expression, swiftly followed by proud indifference. How many times had he treated her so offhandedly? Disregarded her? Made her feel unimportant?
Something akin to shame sluiced through him.
He’d do better by his wards. He must. The responsibility weighed heavily upon him.
They mightn’t know him, but he was now accountable for their wellbeing, and they’d not be neglected or feel unwanted. He hadn’t worked out the details regarding precisely what that meant. Meeting them would likely help him formulate a plan.
Another incident with Kendra flared to memory.
Why now?
Perchance because he couldn’t deny he hadn’t been kind to her over the years?
She’d been fourteen or fifteen—a lonely girl with no females of her age living nearby to play or socialize with. For nearly seven years, she’d tagged after him and Liam, and he had grown heartily exasperated with her constant shadowing.
He’d spied her hiding in the hayloft, silently staring at him�
�her somber eyes, big silvery pools—as he and Liam saddled their horses.
Leaving her behind, once again.
When Liam had led his mount outside, Broden had craned his neck to look at her, peeping less than subtly down from her perch.
“Dinna ye have a doll to play with? Sewin’ to do? A kitten to occupy ye?” He’d scowled as he swiped his too-long hair back, then swept a hand down his horse’s withers to calm the high-spirited beast.
“I dinna like playin’ with dolls. ’Tis borin,” she snapped, highly affronted. Several pieces of straw stuck from her rich, chocolatey-brown hair, laying in wild curls and tangles about her shoulders that day.
“Well, ye need to find somethin’ fittin’ for a young lady to do and stop pesterin’ yer brother and me.” Hell, he’d been an arrogant, insensitive ass. “We’re adults, and yer a child. Ye need to leave us be.”
His chest constricted at the memory of his callous words. His heartless disregard for Kendra’s feelings. Her loneliness.
Her gorgeous eyes flashing with frustration and wounded anger, she’d jerked her mutinous chin upward. Even from where he’d stood below, he clearly saw the tears sparkling on her lashes.
“I vow the day will come, Broden McGregor, ye mean, conceited arse, when I’ll be the one tellin’ ye to leave me alone,” she said, her voice quaking as she sniffled and angrily swiped at the tears on her plump cheeks. “Just see if it disna.”
“In yer dreams, lass.” He’d laughed heartily and left the barn, not once looking back.
Now here he was, all these years later, feeling rather like a pest himself. Her very prediction had come to fruition. “May I walk with ye?”
Head tilted, she studied him. Running that too astute, inquisitive gaze that was so Kendra over him. “But werena ye headed toward the house?”
So, she had seen him and chosen to pretend she hadn’t. Still, she hadn’t retreated. He could count that as an improvement.
“I was,” he admitted. “To speak to ye.”
“Why?”
It was his turn to regard her with a degree of bewilderment.
To Enchant a Highland Earl Page 7