Going Rogue (15 page)

Garrett nodded. “It’s one of my favorite things to do. I’d love to have you come along sometime . . . with Ophelia, of course.”

“I should like that
very
much,” she replied.

“Are you sure about that?” Derek asked, loud enough for Garrett to hear.

“Did you say something, Sutherland?” Garrett set his knife and fork down on the table.

“I did indeed.”

“Care to repeat yourself? I’m not quite sure I heard you properly.” Garrett threw the proverbial gauntlet.

Derek arched his brow, accepting the challenge. “I was just questioning Miss Castle’s sudden interest in hunting, that’s all.”

Meredith chuckled uncomfortably. “I’m not quite sure why you would question that.” She smiled and took a bite of fish, doing her best to appear indifferent.

“Because you used to hate hunting. You called it barbaric—don’t you remember?”

Meredith coughed violently, choking on her fish. She quickly set her napkin against her lips, trying not to spray food across the table.

“I didn’t think that the two of you were anything more than acquaintances back in your village?” Garrett remarked.

“We were friendly as children,” Meredith explained after she’d managed to swallow again. “But still, it was a long time ago. So long, that I’m afraid Lord Sutherland may have me confused with someone else.
I
quite enjoy a good hunt.” She reassured Garrett with a smile.

“When did that start?” Derek laughed.

Meredith whipped back around. “Since I came to London,” she answered curtly.

“Oh, well then, I stand mistaken.” Derek took a bite, thankfully turning his attention back to the plate in front of him.

She exhaled deeply, grateful for the reprieve.

“It’s just . . .” he started again, speaking between bites of fish. “There was this time when we were younger—ten, maybe eleven at the most,” he explained for the benefit of the Marshalls. “I went hunting with Father and I killed my first deer. When Miss Castle found out, she kicked me in the shin and called me a monster. She wouldn’t talk to me for a week. Do you remember?”

Meredith fisted her hands under the table, her nails leaving half-moon indentations in each of her palms. “Yes, Lord Sutherland, I remember it now. Thank you so much for reminding me,” she answered through gritted teeth.

Derek smiled, then bit into his roll, as if he’d merely commented on the weather, rather than having just proven her a liar.

“Perhaps,” Garrett started, “Miss Castle has grown to enjoy hunting. She’s no longer a child after all, and tastes have a tendency to change over time. I’m sure her opinion has changed about a great number of things since childhood.”

The long-reaching intention of such a statement was not lost on any of them.

“This is lovely fish,” Ophelia commented quietly.

The four agreed upon the statement and remained quiet through the rest of the course.

Derek watched as Garrett Marshall flirted his way through the third course.

He hated the man. It wasn’t rational—after all, if he succeeded in courting Ophelia, the two would one day be brothers. Yet watching him fawn over Meredith made him want to cause serious damage to that ridiculously pretty face of his.

How he missed his life at sea. Aboard a ship, one always had the opportunity to wallop a man just because he looked at you the wrong way. London was far too civilized and unfortunately, physical altercations were frowned upon . . . especially during dinner.

He stabbed at his meal, an innocent piece of beef steak, taking his frustration out on the innocent piece of meat.

When he’d accepted Lady Marshall’s invitation, he’d done so knowing good and well that Meredith would be there. But the advance knowledge did little to prepare him for what he felt upon actually seeing her.

She was all he’d thought about since leaving Glastonbury’s party, and not by choice. He’d forbidden himself to even say her name, though every time he closed his eyes, visions of her crossed his mind. Clothed, unclothed—in all forms. There were nights he’d drink himself into a stupor, hoping he’d get too drunk to remember. But still he’d wake up, his traitorous dreams evidenced by his arousal.

The only thing saving his sanity was the recollection of his unceremonious dismissal from her life. He’d survived a war and put his life in danger more times than he could count, and still not one of those dark hours could hold a candle to the pain he’d felt that day.

But every time he was near her, that memory grew hazy, more distant. Her beauty had a way of clouding his judgment, it always had. Instead of ignoring her, as he should have done, he found himself goading her—purposefully looking for a fight.

“Lord Sutherland, how is your business doing?” Ophelia was the first to break the silence.

Derek welcomed the distraction from his thoughts. “Quite well, actually. We’ve had a successful couple of months. We’ve sold nearly every passage available through the end of summer.”

“I wasn’t aware your little enterprise
had
more than one ship,” Garrett remarked.

Ophelia glared at her brother. “It sounds like you made a wise choice, moving from the transport of goods to the transport of people. Far less dangerous, I’m sure.”

He rubbed his shoulder, the one that bore the scar marking the last time he’d been aboard a ship. “I suppose so.”

“Suppose so?” Meredith parroted. “Aside from the occasional loss of one’s trunks, what danger is there?”

Derek pressed his lips together. There wasn’t much.

“Won’t you be returning to Scotland soon?” Garret asked, a bit too eagerly.

“Scotland?” he repeated.

“You’re an Earl now, aren’t you? Isn’t your duty to run your estate?” he pressed.

“Ultimately. But I also have several good men in place who help while I’m away. My cousin, especially, has been quite valuable seeing over things during my absence.”

“With the London office doing so well, do you plan on resuming your travels?” Meredith asked, innocently enough.

“I should hope so,” he answered firmly.

Ophelia looked up from her plate. “Lord MacCalistair mentioned you were planning on
staying
in Scotland. He said you were interested in starting a family and settling down as it were.”

Derek’s pulse started to race and he felt a looming sense of doom come over him at the very thought of wasting away on an estate somewhere.

“Would you be travelling with your family then?” Meredith’s brow raised high on her forehead. “It is awfully dangerous work, isn’t it? Weren’t you just shot?”

He cleared his throat. “I have on occasion, been injured while fulfilling my obligations to the company.”

“It’s not really an ideal place for a woman and children. I assume you’d have no choice but to leave them behind in Scotland,
all alone
while you travel the world, risking life and limb.”

That’s when it hit him—the malicious intent behind Meredith’s line of questioning. This was not sparkling dinner conversation, but rather a full-out inquisition, devised to plant doubt in Miss Marshall’s mind and refute his worthiness as a husband.

That little minx
!

Meredith met Ophelia’s stare and bobbed her head, exchanging some sort of silent female warning.

Derek thought quickly of ways to dig himself out of the hole he’d almost buried himself in. “I’m sure I’d find myself in Scotland quite often.”

“Of course you would,” Meredith replied.

Derek glared at a smirking Meredith, who sat grinning like a fool, obviously quite proud of herself.

He hated to think her little plan had worked. But even he could see the prospect of a husband who never slept at home, while constantly putting his life in danger, was a bit lacking as it pertained to the dreams of marital bliss young women often held dear.

He reached over her to pick up a nearby server of venison. “Where are my manners tonight? Miss Castle, would you care for a bit more of this game?”

“It’s quite good, is it not?” she replied brightly. “But I think I’ve had enough for one evening.”

He tore a large chunk from the haunch and plated it for himself. “Are you certain you don’t want more? You seem to really enjoy it.”

She dabbed at the corners of her mouth. “I do find it delightful, but I believe I’ll pass for now. Thank you, though.”

He set the serving plate down with such force it tipped a little on its rim. “Good. But just let me know if you change your mind. I’d be more than happy to oblige you, Miss Castle.”

He looked around, noticing both Garrett and Ophelia staring at the two of them.

“I just love venison,” he growled, taking a bite.

Chapter 19

The moments following dessert were somewhat disorganized. The gentlemen were making their way toward the library to enjoy brandy and cigars. Similarly, the ladies would enjoy conversation before rejoining the men in the drawing room for cards and music.

It was during this mass exodus from the dining room that Derek followed her into an empty corridor.

“Miss Castle, a word?” he called out once they were alone.

She looked around the empty hall before shaking her head. “I don’t think so, Lord Sutherland. I was just on my way to freshen up a bit.”

“I’m afraid it wasn’t really a request.”

“But someone will see us.”

“Fine,” he barked, taking her by the elbow and pulled her inside the first room they came across. The space appeared to be in a state of redecorating, furniture was covered with sheets and the walls had been stripped of their wallpaper. It was dark, except for the moonlight pouring in through a pair of undressed windows.

“This isn’t much better,” she grumbled, trying to pull her arm free.

He tightened his grasp. “It’ll do. What I have to say won’t take long.”

She looked up at him, her green eyes flashing. “What is it then?”

“Give up. You’re not going to win this,” he said bluntly.

“Win what? I’m not trying to
win
anything.”

“You’re not?” he balked. “What do you call that little stunt you pulled during dinner?”

She took a step back. “I was simply inquiring as to your future plans. I hardly think that qualifies as something nearly as diabolical as you’re insinuating.”

He took a step forward. She tried to retreat, but found herself up against a wall. “Don’t play innocent with me, Meredith. You forget—I know you better than that.”

She jutted her chin. “Then you should already know that I have no intention of backing down from this. I told you, I plan on looking after Ophelia and seeing that she makes the best possible decision for her future.”

“Are you sure it’s
her
future you’re concerned with, and not your own? I can’t help but wonder if you’d be nearly this concerned over her matrimonial happiness if she didn’t have an older brother.”

Her lips tightened into a thin line. “My friendship with Ophelia has nothing to do with the relationship I share with Mr. Marshall.”

“So, it’s a relationship you’re sharing with Marshall? I thought perhaps it was just his bed.”

She slapped him.

His head whipped to the side, his face burning from the assault. He slowly turned back to her, shocked by just how much his cheek stung. All these years and she could still hit like a man.

She stared at him, her eyes narrowed into slits, shaking out the hand she’d smacked him with.

“You bastard,” she hissed. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing?”

He rubbed his cheek, still a bit surprised by the force of the impact. No wonder her hand hurt. “Perhaps if you hadn’t made such a scene, throwing yourself at him during dinner, then I wouldn’t have come to such a conclusion.”

“You’re one to talk. If only you could see what a fool you are with Ophelia.” Her voice was shaking. “She doesn’t even like you.”

Despite the darkness, he could see her eyes were wet, glossed over with unshed tears.

She was going to cry.

“Does your hand hurt?” he asked, annoyed by his concern. He didn’t want to care, but God help him, he did.

“What do you think?” she bit back, cradling it close to her body.

He reached out with an open hand. “Let me see it.”

“No.” She sounded more like a petulant child than the strong-willed woman he was just arguing with.

He pried her hand away from her in order to get a better look. The touch sent a tidal wave of feeling over him, crushing his anger and replacing it with worry. Her delicate, pale hand looked so tiny in his. It was soft and perfect, a stark contrast to his dark hands, calluses marring the tough palms and fingertips.

“Perhaps you’ve broken something,” he remarked quietly.

“I’m not crying because of my hand,” she admitted, her voice barely audible.

It was a small confession, but the words resonated through him with tremendous force. He shouldn’t have said what he did. The words were too harsh by half, but he’d been jealous. He’d succeeded in hurting her, and instead of feeling redeemed at having done so, he felt sad.

Meredith was staring down at their joined hands, nervously biting at her lower lip. He knew she felt it too—the sudden shift in the air around them. It was undeniably charged with something he couldn’t explain, but that he only ever felt when in her presence.

He turned her hand over to examine the palm; ran his fingers over each of the lines, tracing each of the curves and breaks as if they were a map, leading him back to their past. He tested her fingers, slowly tugging on each one. He couldn’t believe how such an innocent touch could feel so sensual, his body responding more intensely than he would have ever thought possible. Finally, he took the hand and pressed a kiss to the center.

She was breathing harder now, her breasts rising and falling more quickly. Meredith looked up at him with those wide green eyes, the two standing closely now, their breath mingling together between them.

Meredith had hated Derek for making her feel so unwanted after their kiss in the garden, and the idea of experiencing that rejection again almost overcame her desire.

Almost
.