Courting an Angel (19 page)

“I was humorin’ ye,” Gordon told her, his voice colder than the bitter north wind in winter. “I never intended to annul ye.”

“Would you live with a woman who loved another man?” Henry asked.

“The lass doesna ken what real love is,” Gordon replied. “However unintentional, she played ye for a fool.” He turned to Rob, ordering, “Pack yer bags, wife. We leave for Scotland within the hour.”

“No,” she cried.

“I’ll see her a widow before I let her leave with you,” Henry threatened, drawing his dagger.

“Yer a dead man, Talbot.” From inside the top of his boot, Gordon pulled his weapon of last resort.

“Sheath your daggers.”

The three of them turned toward the voice. Earl Richard and Lady Keely stood just inside the study.

“Gentlemen, please do as my husband says,” the countess ordered. “We allow no violent dramatics in our home.”

Reluctantly, both men sheathed their daggers as the earl and his countess advanced on them. At his wife’s nod of unspoken agreement, Earl Richard turned to his young brother-in-law. “Return to court until the first day of spring,” he ordered. “Leave now.”

Henry gave Gordon a murderous glare and started to leave.

“Henry,” Rob called, stopping him. Removing the broach from her bodice, she crossed the chamber and offered it to him, saying, “I canna accept this now.”

Henry smiled and, ever so gently, closed her fingers around it. “’Tis yours, darling,” he said. “Think of me when you wear it.” And then he disappeared out the door.

Rob struggled against the tears welling up in her eyes. Rising anger helped her win the battle to control her aching emotion, and she rounded on her husband. At that moment, she’d suffer no qualms about making herself a widow.

“My lord, I appeal to your common sense,” Lady Keely was saying to Gordon. She looped her arm through the furious Scotsman’s and led him past Rob toward the door. “Traveling in winter is exceedingly dangerous. I assure you that your wife has been properly chaperoned, and nothing illicit has happened between my brother and her.”

The door clicked shut behind them. Sudden silence reigned inside the study.

Rob lifted her gaze to her uncle, who stared back at her. There was no mistaking the irritation in his expression.

“Shame on you for creating such harsh feelings between those two men,” Earl Richard reprimanded her. “You promised to be amenable to Inverary.”

“But uncle, I —” Rob tried to defend herself.

“Remember this, niece,” the earl interrupted. “Legally, I can do nothing if Campbell decides to haul your arse north.” He shook his head in disgust and added, “You’re more trouble than your mother ever was.” At that, the earl quit the chamber too.

Finally alone, Rob succumbed to her tears. She couldn’t face anyone at the moment, most especially Gordon Campbell.

Rob headed for her favorite hiding place, the overly large chair set in front of one of the windows on the opposite side of the chamber from her uncle’s desk. Anyone entering the study would believe the room empty.

She plopped down in the chair and curled her legs up under herself. Gordon never intended to grant her an annulment. There appeared to be no way out of this dilemma for her.

Studying Old Clootie’s mark on her hand, Rob wondered how she would survive the remainder of her years. Living in the Highlands would certainly destroy her; those superstitious Highlanders would never accept her.

Would Gordon be more understanding if she told him the reason why she’d refused him? No, she could never reveal her shame by admitting that her own MacArthur clansmen shunned her.

All she possessed in this world were her virginity and her pride. Oh, Gordon Campbell would eventually take her virginity, but never would she willingly hand him her pride.

Rob sighed in defeat and closed her eyes. The thought of the stinging lecture that Gordon would certainly deliver at first opportunity kept her glued to that chair until she fell asleep.

Chapter 7

He ignored her for a week.

Gordon resumed the daily routine he’d followed since his arrival at Devereux House. He rode in the morning, practiced his golf game during the afternoon, and closeted himself within her uncle’s study each evening. However, he did not seek out her company.

Alert to her husband’s every movement, Rob felt him watching her from across the distance he’d placed between them; yet whenever she summoned the courage to steal a peek in his direction, his attention lay elsewhere. Still, shaking the uncanny feeling of being watched proved impossible.

Each morning when she dressed, Rob donned her beggar bead necklace to warn her of impending danger and her last resort in order to resist Gordon if he decided to haul her north. Her star ruby never darkened, and her last resort remained in its sheath strapped to her leg. However, her frazzled nerves had stretched to the breaking point by the end of that one week of silence.

In the end, Smooches brought them together again.

The eighth day of their cold war of silence dawned depressingly rainy and raw. Rob lingered in her chamber all morning but decided to venture downstairs during the afternoon. On impulse, she wore a pair of the fingerless gloves that Gordon had given her and hoped that would elicit a reaction from him. She was beginning to think that arguing was better than watching and being watched in return.

Sitting in one of the chairs in front of the hearth, Rob reached inside her tapestry bag for her knitting needles and the sweater she’d begun two days earlier. From behind her in the center of the hall came the sounds of Gordon practicing his golf putting. One of her aunt’s crystal goblets turned on its side played the role of the hole on the green. Rob’s lips twitched with the urge to laugh as she listened to her six-year-old cousin tormenting the marquess.

“You missed it,” Aurora was saying.

“I know, lass.”

“The ball looked like it would go in, but then swerved away,” the little girl said.

“’Tis exactly what I’m tryin’ to do,” Gordon told her.

“You’re practicing to lose?” There was no mistaking the surprise in her cousin’s voice.

“Aye, but without seemin’ to do so.”

“Why?”

“Because, lass, losin’ to the king is good politics,” Gordon explained.

“Why?”

“Because the king favors good golfers who lose to him.”

“Why?”

There was no mistaking the frustration that crept into the marquess’s voice when he answered, “Because the king likes to win.”

“Don’t you like to win?” Aurora asked.

“Aye, but I prefer pleasin’ the king.”

“Why?”

“Because —”

“Aurora, stop pestering Lord Campbell,” Rob heard her aunt calling from the high table.

“Am I pestering you?” Aurora asked.

“No, lass,” he answered. “But ’tis time we took a break from all of this practicin’.”

Resuming her knitting, Rob wondered what the silence behind her meant, and then she saw the pair of black boots planted on the floor in front of her. Slowly, she lifted her gaze and stared into her husband’s piercing gray eyes.

“Yer wearin’ the gloves I gave ye,” Gordon said, as if their week of silence had never occurred.

His casual remark caught Rob by surprise. Of all the things she’d imagined him saying, his innocuous observation was not one of them. She glanced at her hands, as if to verify the truth of his words, and then looked up at him again.

“Yes, I am,” she said simply.

“What are ye knittin’?” he asked.

“A sweater for Smooches,” she answered.

Gordon smiled at that. Rob relaxed and returned his smile.

In the next instant, their serenity shattered. Barking his shrill puppy yelp. Smooches dashed full speed into the great hall; and chasing him, Blythe and Bliss ran into the room and shouted for someone to catch him. All three were soaking wet and mud splattered.

“Great Bruce’s ghost,” Rob cried, leaping from her chair to see what the commotion was about.

Gordon reached down as Smooches tried to scoot by him and scooped the dirty pup into his arms. Without regard, for his wife’s gown, he dumped the mud-covered pup into her arms and said, “He’s yer dog.”

“We took Smooches outside,” Blythe explained, “but he rolled in the mud.”

“Then he made us chase him all around the garden,” Bliss added.

“All three of them will need a bath,” Lady Keely said, crossing the hall toward them. Over her shoulder, she called, “Jennings, have a bath set in the girls’ chamber and a smaller one here for Smooches. Come along, daughters.”

When a large stewing pot had been placed in front of the hearth and filled with warmed water, Gordon rolled his sleeves up and held his hands out for the pup. “I’ll take care of this,” he said. “Or ye’ll both end up in the pot.”

Gordon placed a struggling Smooches into the pot and held him steady by the scruff of his neck. Then he washed the mud from the pup. When Smooches had been rinsed, Gordon passed him to his wife.

Rob toweled Smooches briskly and folded him like an infant within a dry linen. When the pup sneezed, she turned a worried gaze on her husband and asked, “D’ye think he’s warm enough? I dinna want him to catch a chill.”

“Then come with me,” Gordon said, and started for the hall’s entrance.

With Smooches cradled in her arms, Rob followed Gordon out of the hall and up the stairs. She hesitated for a moment when he opened his chamber door and walked inside.

“I’ve somethin’ here that will chase the chill out of Smooches,” Gordon called.

Rob glanced at her beggar bead necklace; the star ruby remained placid. She stepped five paces inside the room and saw her husband rummaging through his belongings. A smile of relief lit her whole expression when he turned around and showed her the black and green woolen Campbell plaid.

Gordon held the plaid open, and when Rob passed him Smooches, wrapped the pup in it. “Good boy,” he said, stroking the underside of the pup’s chin.

Rob reached for Smooches, but in the movement, their hands touched. She looked up at him quickly. The intensity in his gray gaze mesmerized her, held her captive.

Inching closer, so close only their garments and the pup separated them, Gordon lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers in a lingering kiss. And Rob responded. She closed her eyes and returned his kiss in kind, savoring the incredible sensation of his warm mouth on hers.

In the end, Smooches forced them to part. Crushed between their bodies, the pup struggled wildly in her arms.

Rob stepped back a pace. Much to her embarrassment, she could feel the heated blush rising on her cheeks.

With tender emotion gleaming at her from his disarming gaze, Gordon pressed the palm of his right hand against her flaming cheek. Then he showed her his hand and teased, “Is it burnt?”

Mortified, Rob reddened to a vibrant scarlet.

“I’m verra sorry for losin’ control of my temper that day in the study,” Gordon apologized, surprising her. “’Twas wrong of me to break my solemn word. Can ye forgive me, angel?”

“I forgive ye,” Rob said, a smile flirting with her lips. “Do ye realize ye just admitted to bein’ wrong aboot somethin’?”

Gordon grinned. “Ye bring out the verra best in me, lass.”

“I was wrong too,” Rob told him. “My parents instilled honor in me, and I’d never let another man kiss me whilst I was forsworn to ye. Henry never kissed me before that day in the study.”

Gordon gave her a wry smile. “I knew that already.”

His reply puzzled her. “But how could ye have known?” she asked.

“A man can always tell when he’s given his lady her verra first kiss,” Gordon told her.

Rob moaned inwardly. She must be an incompetent kisser, and kissing wasn’t a thing that a virtuous maiden could practice.

“But how can the man tell?” she forced herself to ask.

“Well, now, every circumstance is different,” he answered. “Ye asked me what ye’d done with yer hands. Remember?”

Rob smiled with relief. Perhaps she wasn’t such an incompetent kisser after all.

“Shall we go downstairs and sit with Smooches in front of the hearth?” Gordon suggested. When she nodded, he added, “Perhaps ye’d care to kill a few hours with a game of chess.”

“Aye, my lord. I’d like that verra much . . .”

Gordon and Rob resumed the daily routine they’d followed the previous month. She accompanied him on his morning rides, practiced the skill of golfing during the afternoon, and played chess with him each evening. Neither mentioned Henry Talbot nor the fact that on the first day of spring Gordon expected her to ride north with him to Scotland.

The winter cooled as Gordon and Rob warmed to each other. With frosted trees and sparkling icicles, January turned bitterly cold. Angry flocks of starlings gathered in the trees within the earl’s garden and complained loudly about the dearth of berries. Ever so gradually, those melancholy days lengthened and warmed into February with its receding blanket of snow. Candlemas came and went, as did the full storm moon.