Beguiled (6 page)

Feminine articles dotted the room. Hats and cloaks hung by the door. A pair of Agnes's gloves rested near his traveling pouch. Not in years had he seen his possessions nestled with articles of feminine attire. Oh, his mistress hung his clothing in a special place, but this innocent mingling of personal items reminded him of his life with Elise. A carefree couple, they had often packed up their young son, left the servants at home, and taken off for Carlisle or to a favorite inn near Paisley.

Hannah had been conceived on a balmy summer night with only the stars as witness. It was odd that he would recall that event now; he hadn't thought of it in years. Nor had he felt so lonely.

Desperate to put it aside, he peered inside the adjoining room and froze at the sight of Agnes MacKenzie.

She sat up in bed, a mountain of pillows at her back, a well-worn copy of
Humphry Clinker
in her left hand, Hannah fast asleep in her lap. Agnes wore an Oriental robe of red satin, elaborately embroidered with peacocks. Her honey blond hair was braided and draped over her shoulder.

Her smile gladdened his heart. “Come in,” she whispered.

His throat grew thick, but he managed to utter the first thought in his mind. “You look . . . different.”

She closed the book and put it aside. He moved to take Hannah, but Agnes stopped him. “Let her stay here and sleep with me. She's frightened—being in a strange place.”

He tried to ignore the alluring vision of Agnes MacKenzie and his sleeping daughter. “How do you feel?”

“Much better.” She caressed his daughter's head. “Hannah put a good spell on me. Tis powerful magic, she assured me. Upon our arrival in Glasgow, I should be well enough to climb into the manger and see the mouser's newest litter of kittens.”

Edward entertained the urge to keep his distance. He was still pondering the thought as he sat down on the edge of the bed. “She's a sound sleeper. I doubt our talking will wake her.”

“She's a delightful lass.”

The smell of exotic blossoms filled his senses, and he knew that Agnes MacKenzie had acquired both the garment and the unusual fragrance in China. “How do you truly feel?”

“There's stiffness, but I'm making progress.”

“Christopher tells me you collect knives.”

“My contribution to a MacKenzie tradition.”

“Begun with?”

“The first one out of the cave. He collected clubs.”

Her candor disarmed him. “Do you all hoard weapons?”

“Oh, nay,” she said, as innocent as a child. “Lottie doesn't have to. She was born with a razor-sharp tongue.”

Edward remembered the elegant and efficient countess of Tain. With the duke and duchess of Ross attending the wounded Agnes, Lady Lottie had taken charge of the MacKenzie brood. She had also taken Christopher and Hannah under her wing. Edward had spent an edifying few hours in her company. “If I'm remembered of it correctly, the countess assured me that you were beyond reformation and could not be trusted in polite society.”

“The word ‘polite' left Lottie's vocabulary long before
we
left the nursery.” Her expression turned pensive. “But there's no one better in a crisis.”

“Tell me about the Lady Mary. Michael Elliot swears she's the finest artist on the isle.”

Agnes raised her eyes to the beamed ceiling. “Sarah's new husband is correct, but poor Mary fell in love with a man who belittles her devotion to art.”

“And her political views.”

“According to the earl of Wiltshire”—Agnes stiffened her neck and lowered her voice—“a woman hasn't the intelligence to comprehend the deep subject of politics, or the soul to paint with the skill of the great masters.”

“Let us hope he has a change of mind soon, else her child will be branded illegitimate.”

Absently, she combed her fingers through Hannah's hair. “ 'Tis not so heavy a cross to bear.”

Abashed, Edward said, “I'd forgotten.”

“As do most people worth counting. What other family secrets, besides Mary's condition, did Lottie tell you?”

“A doctor would recognize Mary's ‘condition' without a word from Lottie. She did, however, tell me all of your secrets.”

“All
of them?” Her finely arched eyebrows rose. “From your tone, 'twould seem you think of me as notorious.”

“What I think of you will be
my
secret. But I'll tell you this, you have an interesting family, to say the least.”

Fondness glimmered in her eyes. “Aye. Tell me how you came to know Sarah's new husband.”

“I met him in India about twelve years ago. I went there to learn more about the cotton industry. For centuries the Napiers have dealt in textiles—I now manage our Glasgow mill. Elliot convinced me to invest in the East India Company, and together with Cameron Cunningham, we've done very well in the trade.”

“ 'Tis a small world. Cameron promised to marry my sister Virginia—when she grows up.”

“The lost sister.”

“She is not lost, only misplaced. I'll find her.”

Remembering the friction between Lord Lachlan and Agnes, Edward thought it best to change the subject. “I hope you do. Now let's have a peek at that wound.”

She parted the robe enough to show him her injury.

The star-shaped wound flitted into focus, but his attention was drawn to the thin shoulder strap of her white silk gown. Against the pale fabric her skin glowed like ivory satin.

“It itched frightfully all day,” she said, “but the hot towel you sent up took care of that. Thank you.”

Hannah squirmed; Agnes soothed her with soft words.

Edward forced himself to concentrate on the wound. He found the surrounding area bruised but only slightly swollen. “The muscles adjacent the clavicle and the covering tissue are healing nicely. Your powers of recuperation are remarkable.”

“How remarkable?”

She was mocking his professional speech; she'd done it several times in Edinburgh. Her father had been present during those visits. But the duke wasn't here now, and thank the saints for that small favor.

Edward caught her gaze. “Most remarkable—like that of a healthy child or an animal in the field.”

She tensed. “An animal?”

“Aye,” he said with zeal. “Vixens are the most adept.”

“Thank goodness.” She huffed with disdain. “You could have compared me to a cow.”

“Only were I daft would I liken you to a bovine.”

Apprehension flashed in her eyes. “Tell me about your other patients.”

Satisfied that he'd made a subtle point, he relaxed. “I only treat the poor, for they do not mock me.”

She radiated confidence. “I did say that you overburdened my injury. You would not listen.”

“ 'Tis better said that I underestimated you.” Actually he'd underestimated his own attraction to her. “You come from good stock.”

“So my mother says.”

“Your mother? I was speaking of the MacKenzies.”

“The duchess of Enderley swears that my heartiness comes from her kinsmen, Clan Campbell.”

Edward was shocked to learn the identity of her mother, he hadn't expected her to be so forthright. But why not, considering how bold she was. “Bianca Campbell gave birth to you? She must have been very young at the time.”

“And very much in love with Lachlan MacKenzie. 'Twas a flourishing malady in '61.”

She spoke candidly about what would have been a scandal in any other family. But the ducal MacKenzies had managed to hold themselves above gossip. Almost above, for the duke's four illegitimate daughters had made their own mark on society. “No more so than the season you shared with your half sisters at court. They say you lifted the value of every Scots maiden in the marriage market.”

“None of us found husbands there.”

She had not mentioned her father's role, but everyone knew that MacKenzie's lassies could select their own mates. Edward had to admit that Sarah had chosen well in her pick of Michael Elliot. “No, but you turned the Hanoverian court tapsal-teerie.”

“They needed a bit of excitement. Too starchy and boring, those Germans.”

Again his attention moved down. The robe had slipped aside, revealing the darker outline of her areola through the silk. As he watched, it puckered, making a tent of the fabric. He glanced up at her neck, and her pulse quickened. She turned her head to follow the line of his vision, and their cheeks touched. The slight drag of his stubbled jaw rasped against her smoother skin, sending currents of sensual friction to his loins.

Her lips were a quarter turn away, and without conscious thought, he moved closer. The first touch of her mouth on his only whetted his appetite for more. The kiss was tender but not tentative, yet something in the intimacy told him that she had not anticipated it and was as surprised as he.

In the blink of an eye, spontaneity turned to earnest discovery, and Edward laid into the kiss. Startled, she grew still. “Shush.” He whispered the word, and to his delight, she yielded, moving beneath him in a graceful, if unskilled, effort to deepen the exploration. Like a midnight fog obscuring the stars, need clouded logic, and as he thrust his tongue between her lips, he noted that Agnes MacKenzie was a woman who could free his mind of all thoughts save those of her.

Too soon to suit him, she pulled away. “I will not fall in love with you, Edward Napier.”

The words sounded like a pledge, letting him know that she'd uttered it before. In doing so, she made the mistake of grouping him with men he'd never met. She didn't know Edward well enough to box him in with a horde of swains eager to clap hands on her dowry and gain favor with the powerful duke of Ross.

Pride stinging, Edward said, “Love?”

She acquiesced beautifully. “Perhaps you're just grateful to me for saving your life.”

A slap would have hurt less. “What I feel for you at the moment is desire, base and raw.”

That statement fixed her attention, and she studied him so closely, Edward almost looked away. She lost the advantage when she said, “Then you would feel the same for a milkmaid?”

They were sparring words on dangerous ground. To end the battle, he said, “Were you a milkmaid, I'd learn to monger cheese.”

He might have patted her head, so quickly did she settle down. “I think perhaps—” she hesitated, then grudgingly said, “I did encourage you.”

His manly control restored, Edward spoke from the heart. “A treasured invitation, to be sure, but one I should have declined sooner. My apologies.”

As fast, her ire returned. “You are sorry? Didn't your father tell you that a gentleman never apologizes for being attracted to a woman?”

“Aye, but my father never had a patient of your like.”

“He was a doctor?”

“To barnyard animals.”

“You despicable rogue—”

He put his hand over her mouth. “Careful or you'll awaken Hannah.”

She relaxed, and he withdrew his hand. “Be careful yourself, or I'll find another physician.”

Weariness weighted him. “You should not have been injured at all.”

“Are we back to that, Lord Edward?” She laid her hand on his arm. “Please, put it behind you. I have no regrets, and rest assured, I would do it again.”

Rather than soothe, her touch provoked him to say, “I should have left you in Edinburgh.”

She glanced down at the soundly sleeping Hannah. “The safety of this angel should be reason enough to keep me.”

He remembered the fierce argument between her and Lord Lachlan. “That and your father's threat to banish you to China.”

“Speak no more of the duke of Ross. Tell me about Napier House and your life in Glasgow.”

“You'll find it dull and parts of my home ancient.”

“In the carriage today, Christopher told me you were an inventor of machines. Where is your laboratory?”

“In the old dungeon. I'll put something on this and then let you get to sleep.”

He treated the wound with a soothing salve, applied a bandage, and bound her arm to her chest. “That should do it.”

“Have you a balm for bruised pride?”

Would she never leave it be? He felt like a lad called to task for finishing his studies too quickly. “Will you please forget my unfortunate choice of words?”

“Certainly. If you will forget the kiss.”

He hadn't played a courting game in years, and certainly not with a woman as bold as she. “You're setting another verbal trap, and I refuse to stumble into it. I should not have kissed you. I enjoyed it. I wish I had not.”

“Will you promise never to kiss me again? Honestly?”

“That depends on how long you stay in Glasgow.”

“There's no mystery to that. I'll stay until I find the man or woman who is trying to kill you.”

“A woman?”

She yawned. “Women are more than capable of murder or its solicitation. Surely you've read about the Borgias, and everyone accepts the guilt of Lady Notorious of Kent.”

In a fit of anger, the Kentish lady had poisoned all of her in-laws. “I'll ponder it tomorrow.” He leaned down and kissed Hannah's cheek. “Sleep well, Button.”

Speechless at his tenderness and unfeigned affection for his daughter, Agnes closed her eyes. But she would not sleep, not until Auntie Loo awakened at the prearranged hour of two o'clock. Then Agnes would sleep for a few hours. From this day forward, until the assassin had been captured, neither of the children would be left alone. Staying awake posed no difficulty for Agnes; awareness of the kiss lingered, and she wanted to explore the feelings a little longer.

*  *  *

The next morning as Agnes lay on a canvas pallet beneath the Napier carriage, checking for signs of tampering, she was thinking about the intimacy. She was attracted to the earl of Cathcart. What woman would not find him appealing? But more was involved than admiration. She felt a rare comfort—even a promise of companionship in his presence.