Elise (8 page)

Colin’s arm tightened about her waist, and Elise fought the urge to struggle as his interlocked hands made certain she couldn’t move.

‘‘You agree you are wed?”

“How many times must I say it?” Elise replied.

“Well, that would seem to sum up everything, for certain, my lady... I mean, Your Grace. There is one last thought, though, almost not worth the mention. Would it be impertinent of me to ask when it was that you and His Grace wed, and perchance what church? For the record, you understand.”

Her heart sank. She lost her color. She gulped on the excess spittle choking her. She looked down, although the floor didn’t have any answers. Elise shut her eyes.

“Surely that is inconsequential, May,” Colin replied. His voice was louder and had more of a brogue than usual. “For is it na’ Scottish law that to claim to be man and wife before a magistrate of the law makes it legal and binding? And you did all hear us, didn’t you?”

There was a gruff, snort-like sound from Barrigan that drowned out Elise’s gasp. Colin spoke again, interrupting her from what she was certain was going to be a bout of hysteria, followed by screaming.

“And you are a magistrate of the law, are you na’?”

She didn’t hear the reply. She should have simply fainted, she told herself, and wondered how women went about it.

“That should be proof enough for any man.”

The duke was still talking, for the rumble of sound accompanied it, and she was still conscious as she heard the announcement that damned her.

“By Scot’s law, the Lady Elise Wyndham is now my wife, the Duchess of MacGowan. Congratulations are in order. As is some privacy due my wife and I. Gentlemen?”

Chapter 8

Elise woke to bright, midmorning sunlight as Daisy pulled the drapes wide.

“Well ...for an adventure-free night, you are a wonder.”

Elise was struggling with leaden eyes. The bedchamber looked vaguely familiar, as did the embroidered crest on her pillow. She felt, rather than saw, her maid’s amusement.

“Daisy—?”

“No, let me ramble while I puzzle this out. My lady settles into her own bed to sleep. Sir Roald Easton, the poet-snake fellow”—she stopped and wagged a finger at Elise— “why, that gent ends up with a nice scratch to his noggin’ and is found in my lady’s messed bed.”

“Daisy—”

Elise tried again but didn’t sound authoritative even to herself. The motion to rub the sleep from her eyes wasn’t helping her, either. She neither resembled a powerful lady of the realm nor an employer. She probably looked like a child.

“But does my lady lie ravished in her chambers? Oh nay, not her. She is declared wed to the richest Scot on record and found in said duke’s bed, instead!”

She stopped for a bit, as if for dramatic effect. Elise couldn’t meet her eyes.

“However did you manage such a restful night?”

“Could you offer me a little water? My head aches.”

“Well, that I wouldn’t doubt for a moment. Why, I swear when I was first told the story, I denied it could have happened. I know how you feel about men. I thought they frightened the daylights out of you. I thought... well, I thought I knew you. I will admit, though, that His Grace does seem to be a fine specimen, now doesn’t he?”

Elise caught Daisy’s glance in the chamber mirror.

“Why, it’s fairly easy to see why my lady would melt in that man’s arms.”

“Wrong story,” Elise informed her, in a nondescript tone. She busied herself with patting the pillows into a mound for support behind her back while she waited.

“Then where is your clothing? Answer me that. Why would your cotton skivvies be missing while you’re wearing nothing more than His Grace’s robe? Did he pull them from you with much passion? That might explain your actions.”

“Burnt.”

Elise watched as Daisy assimilated that.

“Burnt?” she asked.

“Probably tossed to the winds by now.”

“What man burns his wife’s clothing?”

“One who’s hiding blood stains.”

“So . . . that’s what happened,” the maid said.

Elise turned her face away.

“I should have stayed and beaned the rascal for you! Why, he’d be out cold for a week, instead of suffering a mild concussion as Lord Barrigan’s physician man says he has. How dare he?”

“Sir Roald . . . has a mild concussion?” Elise was choking on the words.

“He soaked up the housemaid’s attentions with it, he did. Foul-tempered he was, too, so I was informed.”

“A ... mild concussion?” she repeated.

“As I’ve already said. Are you all right, my lady?”

“I must speak with MacGowan. I’ve got to stop this nonsense. This instant. No, I’ll need something to wear first.”

“Already been seen to, my lady. I suppose it’s to be Your Grace again, isn’t it?”

“Oh no, not if I can help it. My clothes?”

“I’d certainly choose the blue daygown if I were you. It’s the best choice of what we brought. I didn’t pack enough, but that can’t be changed at this late date.”

“You packed sufficiently as always. I already complimented you on it,” Elise replied, lifting the covers to step out.

“You’re going to need more than we brought in these four trunks.”

“What? Why?”

“Your new husband has sent word to close your townhouse. All of your immediate belongings are to be packed and transported without delay.”

“He—what? When? On whose orders?”

“This man is efficient and expects orders obeyed. He doesn’t wait for you to catch your breath. He has so many servants, I quite lost count. They’ve been preparing all day... since just after four this morn, anyway.”

“Preparing for what?” Elise asked, almost against her will. She didn’t want to know. She really didn’t.

“He’s ordered his traveling carriages prepared. He’s readying for the journey to his home. Seems he’s got to be in Scotland as soon as possible. And if you think I’d drop everything and go to the Highlands in a moment’s notice for anyone else, you’re sadly mistaken.”

“Oh no, he didn’t. He couldn’t.”

“Not only could he, but he did.”

“But he knows nothing of the particulars! Nothing.”

“I don’t think he quibbles particulars.”

Elise smacked the pillows. “I haven’t even told him, though!”

“You got him to wed with you, and you never even told him of Evan and Evangeline? Or Rory? You are a wonder. I’m impressed.”

“I didn’t have time!”

“You spent the night in his arms and didn’t have time? Lord bless us!”

The maid lifted her apron over her face. Elise set her jaw to stop the sound of vexation. It was a wasted effort. Her voice sounded it. “I wasn’t in his arms! Well, maybe I was, but it wasn’t what you think. None of this is.”

Daisy dropped her apron. She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. Her look said enough.

“Oh, Daisy, this is ridiculous,” Elise said, with a nervous giggle.

“Just as I told that Barton woman when I was informed of His Grace’s plans. According to Barton, who got her information straight from your husband’s man, Mick, His Grace isn’t staying another moment longer than necessary. He’s delayed long enough already. Seems he was only staying in London long enough to choose himself a bride. Now, thanks to the poet-snake fellow, he’s gone and got himself one.”

“I must speak with him. I must stop this! At once! Hurry!”

“The blue?”

“Anything, and quickly!”

Elise was more in Daisy’s way than helpful. The entire episode had gotten out of hand. That’s what she got for her bout of feminine squeamishness last night. Sir Roald was suffering a mild concussion. She’d joined her name with Colin MacGowan’s for absolutely nothing. She should have lit the lamp after she’d hit Sir Roald with it. That would have been the smart thing to do.

Elise had purchased the blue satin daygown because the color made her eyes stand out. It was trimmed with small pearl buttons that gave the dress an elegant air. She cursed those same buttons under her breath as she fumbled with those at her wrists, while Daisy fastened those up her back. She should have used hooks; they would have been faster.

Daisy refused to let her from the chamber until her hair was pinned up, too. Elise couldn’t keep still long enough, and the result wasn’t as artistic as she usually prided herself. Still, it was off her shoulders and atop her head in some semblance of order, which was proper enough.

She met Sophie and Lady Beth in a sitting room. They were sitting beside each other and sipping tea.

“Have you seen the duke?” Elise rushed to Sophie, ignoring all the social pleasantries as she did so. She didn’t have time to exchange polite chitchat. She had to stop this madness.

“Your gown is stunning, Elise. How much did it cost you?”

“You can have it, Sophie. Only tell me where the Duke of MacGowan is!”

Lady Beth looked shocked for a moment, and then giggled behind one gloved hand. Sophie allowed her eyebrows to raise slightly at Elise’s outburst. “Your new husband has been directing orders from the library like he was still in the military.”

“My new hus—?” Elise bit off the word. Colin MacGowan was not her husband, but she wasn’t about to unburden it to anyone. Just a hint of what had happened would be more than either woman would keep secret. Elise was determined to prevent any further scandal until she could start her own propaganda.

“Thank you,” she said calmly, and then she smiled her society smile at both ladies.

“Oh, your dress will be payment enough, I’m sure.”

Sophie burst into laughter at the end of her words. It was ringing in Elise’s ears as she hailed a footman to show her to the library. She’d never been in Barrigan’s library. She was rarely in anyone’s library. The Dowager Duchess of Wynd had little use for books.

“Her Grace, the Duchess of MacGowan.”

The footman announced it loudly as he opened the door. Elise made a fist. She listened for the door closing.

“Elise, my dear, take a seat.”

The duke had glanced up from a desk before looking back down again. Elise watched him as she waited what seemed an interminable amount of time for his attention. The drapes had been opened behind him, and sunlight highlighted Barrigan’s grounds, where she could swear she saw the top of an Oriental gazebo. She swallowed in reaction to the sight.

Colin was dressed in a rich, brown tweed jacket, white shirt, and brown leather pants, which were tucked into his boots. He wasn’t sitting at the desk, either. He was perched on his haunches while he wrote. That maneuver was spreading his arms wide and easily showing the size of him. He had leather epaulets sewn onto his jacket shoulders. They perfectly matched his trousers. His hair really was the color of roasted chestnuts, and it was curling upon his collar. She knew exactly how it felt between her fingers, and for some reason her fingertips tingled at the thought.

She cleared her throat. “Was that a request; or an order, Your Grace?”

“That’s too formal, Elise. You have to start calling me Colin. And it was a request.”

He still wasn’t looking up at her. She dropped her eyes to the list he was looking over. His penmanship wasn’t the best, and she couldn’t decipher it upside down.

“Your—Colin, I need to speak with you.”

“I’m listening.”

She took a deep breath. “I can’t go to Scotland,” she said.

“It’s na’ open for discussion.”

Elise’s eyes widened at the same angle as her mouth did. He scribbled some more, as if she’d disappeared. She took several calming breaths before trying again. She guessed he was treating her like he would a member of his regiment. She didn’t like the feeling.

“You don’t understand,” she said.

“No, you doona’ understand, Elise.” He looked up then and frowned, putting two furrows into existence in his brow. “You should take more time with your attire, my dear. You’re barely proper.”

“I beg your pardon?” she responded.

“Unless you wished to look like you’d just come from a good tumble. That should certainly put some truth to what they’re saying about us. I believe I stand corrected. You did well. I applaud you.”

Elise felt the blush clear to the roots of her hair. She glared at him and couldn’t think of one witty, demeaning, or biting thing to say. He went back to his paper. She watched as he dipped his quill into the ink pot and began writing again. She knew what he was doing. He was listing necessities for his journey. Elise choked on the angry words she longed to screech at him, swallowed, took another breath, and tried again.

“You’re wasting your time and mine, Colin. I don’t like you. You don’t like me. Remember? Stop this farce before it goes any further. I’m not going to Scotland. I refuse.” Her voice wasn’t as calm and cool as she was trying for, but it wasn’t full of anger, either. She was proud of that.

“You have nae choice, Elise. You’re mine now. Mine.”

“I am not!”

“Oh, but you are. You said so yourself. A magistrate heard you. Your feelings doona’ matter with it, although it would be nice if you felt something besides dislike for me, I think. Perhaps na’. It might actually be better this way.”

She was choking and couldn’t blame it on anything but the shock of what he said and the way he said it.

He ignored her reaction. “Either way, it does na’ matter. You are my wife. I’m leaving for my home. So are you.”

“You can’t just abscond with me. You can’t.”

He sighed, those shoulders moved with it, and Elise’s mouth was failing her as it dropped open. Then he carefully put down his quill and stood, making the library look very small and cramped. She watched as he smoothed out the wrinkles in his leather pants where they were molded to his thighs, before looking back toward her.

“Very well. I’ll try this your way. Doona’ push it.”

“My way?”

“The English way,” he replied snidely.

“And what way would that be?”

“With words.”

She frowned, but at least her mouth closed.

“You expect an explanation. Very well. I’ll do a bit of them. I’m needed at my home as the Laird of the MacGowans. That’s quite a responsibility and goes back centuries in tradition, in case you missed your history lessons. Everything with a Scot’s clan hinges on the laird. Everything. I’ve been shirking returning to it for a reason ... a very good one. I dinna’ wish to wed the MacKennah lass. Now that I’ve been freed of the obligation, I’m ready to return.”

“Your ... obligation? The MacKennah lass?”

Her voice was starting to crack. Colin smiled. She was afraid it was because he’d spotted the emotion she was hiding.

“The eldest MacGowan was betrothed to Mistress Mary MacKennah at a ceremony nearly a score ago. You, Elise, are my salvation. You have my eternal gratitude, too.”