Kathryn Caskie (3 page)

Nay, this was no refined gentleman who stood before her. There was a ruggedness about this man, a maleness she could very nearly taste.

“I beg yer pardon, miss. Are ye all right?”

The low burr of his voice, hinting of highland heather and distant moonlit moors, hummed through the whole of Eliza’s being, thrilling her so fully that she was rendered mute.

He eased his palms from her shoulders, trailing them down the length of her arms to her gloved hands, where his fingers entwined her own for a scant moment before releasing them.

A pleasurable tingling swept up her fingertips, heightening her senses to the very roots of her hair.

“Eliza?” A light hand touched her elbow, causing her to start.

She turned her head and found Grace at her side. The thick scent of lavender assailed her senses, and Eliza realized her aunts had also returned and now stood at her right.

“We lost you in the crowd at the door. Are you well, gel?” Aunt Letitia asked.

Aunt Viola’s bony elbow nudged her sister’s plump side, drawing Letitia’s attention to the handsome gentleman.

“Oh, my,” chuckled Aunt Letitia. “I’d say so.”

Heat rushed into Eliza’s cheeks, but somehow, through her embarrassment, she found her voice. “I am fine.”

The gentleman smiled. “Glad to hear it.”

Eliza’s heart throbbed in her ears. “I…” Dash it all.
Compose yourself, Eliza.
Suddenly, her hand seemed to lift of its own accord and, with her aunt’s handkerchief, she polished the gentleman’s waistcoat button.
Say something.
“I do apologize. I hope I haven’t tarnished your button.”

Oh, that was witty.

He reached out and stilled her hand, sending a wild jolt racing up her arm.

” ‘Tis just a wee scrap of metal, miss.”

An uncharacteristic flutter of nervousness took hold of Eliza. She lowered the handkerchief and looked up at him through her lashes, offering a shy smile.

“Please excuse my niece, kind sir.” Aunt Letitia leaned close to the gentleman, dropping her voice to a confidential tone. “You see, she has only just been presented and I fear she is still somewhat shaken by the experience.”

The gentleman arched a brow. “Aye, I seem to recall her rather
memorable
entrée. Miss Elizabeth Merriweather, I believe.”

Eliza’s cheeks flamed hotter still. Without knowing what else to do, she dipped into a deep curtsey.
Egads,
she was acting like … well, like one of those plumed jingle-brains milling around the palace! What was wrong with her?

“Please forgive my impertinence,” the gentleman said. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Magnus MacKinnon.” Then he winced and struggled to correct himself in the next breath. “Or rather … Lord Somerton.” He bowed low before them.

“Of course you are. The
fifth
Earl of Somerton, to be exact,” Aunt Viola chimed in.

Aunt Letitia sidled closer. “What Sister meant to say, Lord Somerton, is that we were briefly introduced at Harper musicale last week.”

The earl smiled. “I am honored ye remembered me.”

Aunt Letitia snapped open her fan and swished it through the air. “How could we ever fail to remember
you,
my lord.” She glanced around him with a hawkish eye and, likely seeing no female relation nearby, promptly introduced Eliza and Grace.

Eliza winced inwardly. A titled nobleman. He might as well have dangled a sparkling betrothal ring before her matchmaking aunts. Her only hope now was that he was already attached to another, else there would be no restraining Letitia and Viola.

The thought had just broached Eliza’s mind when Grace shoved a flaxen curl behind her ear and charged forward. “My lord, is your wife also at court this day?”

The earl lifted his brows at Grace’s none too subtle inquiry. “I am
not
married.”

“Then you are here with your betrothed?” Eliza blurted before she could stop herself.

One corner of Lord Somerton’s mouth lifted in amusement. “I am quite unattached, if that is what ye are seeking to ascertain, Miss Merriweather.”

Humiliated at her gaff, Eliza averted her gaze.

Wasting not a moment, Grace lifted her hem from the floor and inserted herself between them. “Unfortunately, your marital status matters not a bit to my sister. For you see, Eliza has no interest in marriage,” her sister confided. “I, on the other hand …”

At her sister’s brazen remark, Eliza choked. Her gaze sought out the palace doors, and if Aunt Letitia had not snared her arm at the very instant, she would have bolted for the carriage.

Eliza unobtrusively wrenched her arm from Aunt Letitia’s grip, but she was hardly free. Her aunts’ fervent whispers told her they were already hard at work plotting to ring her finger.

"A debutante uninterested in marriage?” Lord Somerton’s light eyes fixed on Eliza’s.

“My sister has grander plans for life, you see,” Grace said, not bothering to veil her sarcasm. “She plans to become a great artist.”

“Pay no attention, Lord Somerton. Eliza’s painting is merely a silly diversion,” Aunt Letitia said hastily.

“Much more than a diversion.” Aunt Viola’s thin brows shirred at her sister’s statement. “Our Eliza is quite a skilled portraiturist.”

“An artist not interested in marriage.” The earl shook his head slowly. “I am greatly saddened by this news, Miss Merriweather.”

“Saddened?” Eliza asked.

“Most certainly. For ye see, ‘tis my firm hope to find a wife this season.” An all-too-apparent twinkle appeared in his eyes.

“Indeed?”
Having a bit of fun are we ?

“And, I must confess, from the moment I first saw ye, my heart was sworn to yer service.” His grin broadened as he lifted Eliza’s hand and pressed it to his broad chest.

One corner of Eliza’s lips pulled upward. “Is that so?”

“Och, aye.” The earl turned to her aunts as if to await their reaction to his game.

Aunt Viola and Aunt Letitia’s gazes locked and their eyebrows waggled mischievously as their over-rouged cheeks rounded with perceptive smiles.
Prime quarry.

Oh, dear, Eliza thought. He’s gone too far with his folly. And now the matchmakers were at the ready. She had to say something, do something, find some way to shift the conversation.

“Lord Somerton.” Like a sugar sweet, Eliza savored his name on her tongue. “We have not met before, I am sure of it, though your title is not altogether unfamiliar to me.”

At her words, the earl dropped her hand. For a scant second, his eyes darkened. It was unlikely anyone else had noticed, but she’d seen the subtle change.

“My brother bore the title before me,” he said. All warmth had retreated from his voice, despite his attempt to even his tone. “He oft visited London. Perhaps ye made
his
acquaintance.”

Unnerved by his curt reply, Eliza fabricated a soothing smile hoping to mollify him. “I am sorry, my lord. I… cannot say. But then, I have met so many people during my short time in London.”

“I see,” Lord Somerton replied, his voice softening in the span of a breath.

A sudden commotion outside, followed by howls of complaint about the position of the Featherton town carriage, cut the uneasy conversation short.

“Lord Somerton,” Aunt Letitia twittered. “We are ever so pleased to have met once more.” She extended her hand to the earl, and he politely took it.

“The pleasure has been all mine,” he said, bending low.

Aunt Letitia colored profusely, and a petite giggle fluttered from between her vibrant, painted-on red lips.

Urged forward by her sister, Aunt Viola slipped her fragile hand before the earl as well. “Mayhap we shall see you again,” she giggled.

“I would say ‘tis almost a certainty,” Lord Somerton replied. He nodded to Grace, then, turning away from the others, took Eliza’s hand in his.

The earl bowed low over her glove, then, as he rose up, shot her a wink. A wink! And at court, no less.

Eliza arched a chastising brow, but he only grinned, then turned back to her elderly aunts.

“Good day, ladies,” he said, ever so politely, as if nothing had happened. But, of course, as far as her sister or aunts knew, nothing had.

“Good day, Lord Somerton,” her aunts chirped merrily, a sentiment echoed by Grace as they departed for their carriage.

After boarding their conveyance, Eliza leaned toward the cab window and idly watched as Lord Somerton climbed into his own town carriage and disappeared from sight.

But as she settled back in her seat, Eliza realized her mistake. Her aunts had been watching her, and now sat, pleased as can be, with amused, knowing grins curving their lips.

“I am
not
interested in Lord Somerton,” she told them.

“Whatever you say, Eliza,” Aunt Letitia replied. Then both her aunts cupped gloved hands over their mouths and giggled.

Eliza rolled her eyes.
Oh, dash it all.
It was all too clear. Her aunts’ matchmaking campaign had begun, and Lord Somerton, heaven help him, had been marked their primary target.

Rule Three

Use local guides to gain the advantage of ground.

Dozens of beeswax candles flickered before gleaming giltframed mirrors, imbuing the Greymont ballroom with a magical golden glow.

Though several routs and musicales had christened the new season, tonight’s event was special. It was the first society ball, a crowning affair, attended by every member of the ton, including the new Earl of Somerton, whose name, much to his chagrin, seemed to linger on every debutante’s lips.

“I do say, Somerton,” his uncle, William Pender, nodded his bald head toward the glittering crowd, “you’re making quite an impression on the ladies this eve.”

With a sigh of disinterest, Magnus eyed the giggling misses prowling ever closer. “Dash it all, I am about to be pounced upon. That’s all I require.”

His uncle cleared his throat. “Actually, ‘tis
exactly
what you require—and the very reason I urged you come to London. You must snare a rich bride before the season ends, and the city is dripping with candidates.” Pender tipped his mottled red nose toward a gathering of ladies nearby. “Look there, for instance.”

Reluctantly, Magnus turned his gaze. Eight young women, bracketed by a clutch of eagle-eyed matrons, stared eagerly back.

Pender leaned close. “They’re all but salivating. I’d wager two thirds of them would wrestle on this very dance floor for the chance to marry an earl. You need do nothing but choose one and your financial problems are solved.”

Magnus’s lips went taut, but somehow he managed an uncomfortable smile. “As much as the sight of wrestling debutantes would amuse me, sir, my need to marry may no longer be so … pressing, shall we say?”

Pender had no more than moistened his lips with his cordial, when he abruptly lowered the glass. “What say you? I thought the fate of Somerton lay poised beneath an auctioneer’s gavel.”

“Ye are correct, sir. But I am not without resources. Some months ago, I used what funds were left at my disposal to purchase the majority share in a shipping venture. Lambeth orchestrated the whole thing. Shipping’s in his blood. His father owned a fine ship in his day, did ye know?”

Disappointment hardened his uncle’s features and his voice quavered. “I should have known,” he managed. “Gambling away what little you have, just like your brother.”

Magnus drew his brows close and ground out his reply. “I am not speaking of gambling. I have made an
investment.”

“’Tis gambling just the same,” the old man said. “And here I thought you better than that. But no, it seems you are cut from the same plaid as your father and your brother before you.”

When Magnus looked away to quell his rising ire, Pender caught his shoulder and brought them face to face once more.

“And yes, I did know that Lambeth’s father owned a few ships. Hell, a few years ago, all of London knew—that he sunk his own ship to claim the insurance money. You’ve done it now, lad. You’re in league with a cheat.”

“Lambeth is a good man, Uncle. I’ve entrusted my very life to him and he’s never failed me,” Magnus replied evenly, tamping down the flaring embers of his anger.

Pender disgustedly shook his head. “Do you not understand that I rely upon you for my very existence? And I’m not the only one. Hear me, boy, you cannot lose the Somerton fortune. You have a responsibility to the family. ‘Tis time you realize it and do what’s necessary to preserve our livelihood —
marry.”

“Dinna ye understand, Uncle? ‘Tisna about the money, or that pile of stone the MacKinnons call home. ‘Tis the land. The land that three hundred souls depend upon for their livelihood,” Magnus said.
“They
are the reason I am here. The reason Somerton must not be lost.”

Pender exhaled a long, slow breath. “Damned fool thing your father and brother did, breaking the entail just so they could sell bits and pieces of Somerton whenever it suited their empty pockets.”

“I agree, ‘twas foolish and self-serving. But ‘tis done, and I am the poor soul charged with trying to save what my kin worked so hard to tear apart.”

“Don’t envy you, Somerton. Not one bit.” Pender’s jaw muscles rippled and tensed, but he remained silent for several moments. At last, he turned his sharp nose to Magnus. “But if you are intent on playing this ill-advised hand at least be smart about it.” Positioning his elbow against his side, he waved a gaunt hand across the debutante-filled ballroom. “Cover your bet.”

Magnus’s face felt hot. This was his life, damn it. His predicament. He would handle it in his own way. “Be assured, Uncle, I am not above marrying a dowry to save Somerton,” Magnus finally said. “But, I will do so only as a
last
resort.”

Pender’s brows met and fluttered upward. “I have given you my advice, boy. I expect you to take it.”

Or not.
Magnus gave his head an evasive nod. It was sage advice, marrying for money. Certainly less risky. But he’d wagered nearly everything he had on
The Promise
and would see his shipping investment through.

Marking an end to their conversation, Magnus turned to watch the dancers circle and weave, then fall into two perfect lines as the orchestra’s last note played out.