Kathryn Caskie - [Royle Sisters 02] (11 page)

Laird grinned. More like to sleep off the brandy-induced pain in his head.

“Laird? What say you?” The countess smiled expectantly at him.

He pushed his chair back from the table and stood. “Actually, I had thought I might continue my search for something interesting to read, and
then take a walk along the lake.” He crossed to his mother and kissed her cheek. “Besides, I am sure you ladies will be shopping for ribbons and notions, and I have no talent for choosing such things. I will therefore leave you to enjoy each other’s company. No doubt you have much to talk about.”

He walked around the table to Anne and lowered his mouth to her ear. “Just not
too much
, darling, agreed?” he whispered.

Anne nodded her head, and then, for the notice of the others, she covered her mouth and giggled. “Oh, Laird,
behave
.”

He lifted an eyebrow and winked. “Always, my dear.”

The village of St. Albans

A
nne had always been the least patient of the three Royle sisters. Her father, who had to have been the most patient physician in all of England, had oft told her so. “Patience is a virtue,” he counseled her whenever she was called upon to sit up all night with a feverish farmer or sick child.

So she silently reminded herself of the dictum during the minutes her sister Elizabeth stared down at the serving plate, trying to decide which bit of mutton she should choose for her supper.

And again she reminded herself while waiting three-quarters of an hour while her older sister,
Mary, dickered with a merchant over a penny she could save if she simply bought the tea from another shopkeeper.

So she waited, patiently, inside Laird’s town carriage as Lady MacLaren had instructed. Truly, ever so patiently…until the bell in the town clock tower heralded the next hour.

It was then that Anne decided that something could be wrong. She really ought to check the health of Lady MacLaren, just to be certain she fared well.

Abruptly she flung open the carriage door, striking something.
Hard.

A woman shrieked with pain.

“Oh, dear heavens, what have I done?” Anne leapt out of the carriage and slammed the door shut. There, a woman was sitting on the pavement, stunned. Blood gushed in streams from her pert little nose, staining her silk rose-striped walking ensemble.

“Oh, this is such a dreadful accident!” Anne rushed to her and dropped down at her side. “I am so sorry—I didn’t see you coming.” Anne tilted the woman’s head back and pinched the bridge of her nose to slow the bleeding. Oh no. It moved. “I fear you have broken it, madam.”

The woman whimpered. “You mean,
you
broke it.”

“Yes, well, again, I do apologize. You cannot imagine how sorry I am for this.”

“I saw the carriage…the MacLaren coat of arms on the door.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“But…what were you doing inside?” the woman managed between bloody snorts.

“I am Lord MacLaren’s fiancée. Please, try not to speak. Do let me help you inside the apothecary until a physician can be summoned.” Without awaiting a reply, Anne hoisted the woman to her feet.

The woman would not be led. “You are his betrothed? Laird Allan’s?” At least, that was what Anne thought the woman was asking. It was hard to tell.

“Yes, I am. Please, madam, if you just come with me inside the shop, I know I can stop the bleeding.”

“That is impossible.” The woman suddenly became strangely calm.

“I assisted my father, a physician, my entire life. Truly, I can pack your nose and stop the bleeding.” Anne tugged the woman toward the door.

“No, I mean it is impossible. Lord MacLaren becoming engaged again—so soon.”

Anne was beginning to grow quite irritated with her patient. “Very well. Why is that?”

“Because he is just out of mourning.”

“And how would you know that? Are you acquainted with the family?” Anne pushed the door ajar and held it open with the side of her slippered foot.

“Indeed, I am,” the woman replied.

Lady MacLaren turned when the bell over the shop door sounded, as Anne yanked the woman inside the apothecary. Her bright smile trickled from her face. “Lady Henceforth!”

Lady Henceforth? A wave of sudden nausea shook Anne.

Please, someone tell me I did not just break the nose…of the woman who left Laird at the altar.

The sun had set by time the physician quit Lady Henceforth’s bedchamber, only after securing a promise from Anne to watch over his patient until morning and to tend to her needs.

Lady MacLaren, who could not seem to abide the sight of the woman who had caused her son
such disgrace, left the Henceforth house just as soon as she could return to MacLaren Hall.

Lady Henceforth swallowed deeply, sending a hail of blood-tinged coughs into her handkerchief and an abundance of tears into her eyes.

“There, there.” Anne poured a glass of cool water and brought it to the woman’s lips. “There is nothing to fear; you are not ill. You swallowed a goodly amount of the blood from your nose. Drink this down and help wash it from your throat.”

“You…you are being so kind to me. Why, Miss Royle?”

“Please, call me Anne. Why wouldn’t I help you? I did break your nose, Lady Henceforth.” Anne smiled back at her.

“You may call me Constance.” Then Lady Henceforth cast her teary brown eyes downward. “Because of what I did to Laird. Though I tell you in all truthfulness that I had to cry off. I had to. Once I learned what sort of man he was—a rake, a cad—I knew I could not spend my life with him.”

“No need to explain yourself.” Anne settled the glass on the table and patted Lady Henceforth’s hand. “I do not judge you, dear lady.”

“You are good, Anne.” The words came almost as if Lady Henceforth was surprised to come to that conclusion. “How is it that you agreed to marry him? For his fortune? I cannot fathom any other reason why a woman such as yourself would bind herself to a man who will dishonor her as soon as the opportunity presents itself.” A flat, oddly satisfied smile appeared on her lips.

“Dear lady!” Anne blinked with astonishment, and to her surprise, anger flared within her.

“I do apologize for being so blunt, but I could not bear it if I did not tell you.” Lady Henceforth pulled Anne’s hand toward her and clasped her other hand around it as well. “Perhaps you were not aware of his black reputation.”

Anne steadied her breathing.
Do not react emotionally, no matter what Lady Henceforth says.

After all, here was her first chance to fulfill her promise to Laird, and she had to take full advantage of it. “Constance, I live in London, and I am fully aware of Laird’s history as the most wicked of rakes. But I assure you, Lord MacLaren is no longer that horrid man.”

Lady Henceforth huffed at that. “A tiger cannot change its stripes.”

“Nevertheless, after his father and brother died, Laird
did
change. He has reformed. He is a good and true man.”

“So much in so short a time? I find that difficult to swallow.”

Anne pulled her hand away and reached for the glass on the bedside table. “Perhaps some more water will help.” She raised her eyebrows playfully, hoping to enliven Lady Henceforth’s disposition.

She smiled and nestled against the pillows Anne had propped behind her back. “How did you meet? He is just out of mourning both his brother and his father.”

Perdition
. Why hadn’t she and Laird discussed their meeting? It was wholly amazing no one had asked that question before! They always seemed too interested in the betrothal itself.

“Well, it is all quite unbelievable really.” Anne took a sip of the water herself, hoping to purchase a bit more time. There was no possible way she could tell the truth; that was a given. “Well, I was walking along the banks of the Serpentine…”

And so began the second grandest lie of Anne’s life.

The countess was quite calm and polite when she called upon Lady Henceforth the next morning. But once she had retrieved Anne and passed through the doors of MacLaren Hall, she grabbed Anne’s hand and hustled her into the library without delay.

Laird looked up from his seat before the desk, then came directly to his feet. Anne was wearing the same cambric morning gown she had been wearing yesterday. Only now, blooms of dried blood marred the bodice and permanently streaked her skirt. “Are you all right? I was worried when you did not come home…I mean back.”

Lady MacLaren could not contain herself. “How could you fail to tell me, Laird? I am your mother! Must I hear such important news from
her
—despicable Lady Henceforth?”

“I am sure I don’t know what you mean.” Laird’s startled gaze sought out Anne.

Anne shook her head, ever so slightly, hoping he took her meaning that she and his mother had not discussed the real reason she had entered Laird’s bedchamber that fateful night.

“My son is a
hero
, and a bashful hero, it seems,
for he did not even think to tell his own mother.” Lady MacLaren wrung her hands. “Everyone must know. Oh, they will in St. Albans soon enough. I have seen to that. But, la, we must return to London—
unless
…No, I have a better idea!” She turned and without a thought to Anne and Laird, stalked from the library.

Laird dropped back into his seat and rested his head in his hand. “I am a hero now?”

Anne scurried over to the desk and leaned over it toward him. “Well, yes, it seems so. And Laird, you were ever so brave.”

“Tell me, Anne, how has our predicament worsened so much in the span of a day?”

Anne slapped her hand upon the polished desktop in excitement. “Actually, it has gotten better! I have made great strides in redeeming you.”

“Breaking Lady Henceforth’s nose strengthens our position?” he said, lifting his head to look at her. There was no way this was possible. “Tell me one thing, Anne. Breaking her nose with the door of my carriage
was
an accident, wasn’t it?”

“Oh, absolutely. A complete accident. I didn’t even know whose nose I’d broken until your
mother addressed her as Lady Henceforth in the apothecary shop.”

“Thank God for small blessings.” Even he could hear suppressed laughter edging his words. He turned more fully in his chair and absently rested his large hand over her slender fingers. “So tell me how we benefit from her broken nose.”

“Because she likes me. She believes somehow that, through our association with you, we are kindred souls.” Anne’s eyes brightened, and she waited as he tried to decipher her meaning.

“I am sorry, Anne, but I do not know what you mean.”

“She told me that she could not marry you once she learned of your behavior in London. She shared more sordid details than I cared to hear, that is for certain.”

“Anne, I told you why she cried off.” Laird felt a twinge of worry. It bothered him somehow that Anne could come to think of him as the rotten rogue he had been, rather than the man he was today.

“She asked why I would marry a man with such a black reputation.”

Suddenly Laird understood. “And you told her I was no longer that man.”

“Yes, I did.” Anne lifted her chin proudly.

“You beauty!” Laird leapt from his chair, grabbed Anne’s face between his palms, pulled her against him, and kissed her fully on the lips. The moment he’d done it, he knew it was wrong. Impulsive.

But Anne didn’t resist. Instead she sighed suddenly, and to his surprise, he felt her body soften gently against his. Her unexpected response made him astonishingly hard.

Laird hadn’t anticipated the carnal stirrings and released her at once, fumbling unsuccessfully for a reasonable explanation. “I apologize, Anne. I-I didn’t mean…I shouldn’t have.” He met her gaze. “I-I was only so happy that you were able to talk to her.”

“Oh, I know. No need for any sort of apology.” As if she was confused by her own response to his kiss, Anne’s eyebrows migrated toward her nose. “I was…happy, too.” She took an unsteady step backward. Then a grin appeared upon her lips. “Though you do realize that while you claim that you are no longer the heartless man you once were, you do still have a definite rakish streak.”

“’Tis true; it is part of who I am.” He crossed
his hands over his heart. “But this rake has a heart and a conscience.” He cast his eyes piously downward.

“Yes, you do, which is fortunate, because it is very important that we remain honest with each other if we are going to convince the world that we are happily engaged.” The tone of her words was unusual, almost a warning.

“I agree.” There was an underlying meaning to her words. Laird knew this, though he could not discern what it might be.

Anne looked him over for a long minute, allowing her gaze to linger upon his eyes as if she looked for something there. Then she smiled, as if pleased by what she saw. “But I know you already know this.”

Laird paused. The tone of her statement sounded more like a question. “You needn’t worry, Anne, I agree completely. It is imperative that we both be forthcoming with each other.” He met her smile with his own. “But I know
you
already know this as well.”

Anne laughed richly, tempting Laird’s smile to broaden. When her smile dissolved, she tapped a finger to her lower lip. Thrice she started to say something more, but stopped short of speaking.

Oh no
. “You might as well say whatever you must, Anne.” Laird squinted his eyes and bared his teeth as if preparing for the worst.

Anne chuckled beneath her breath. “Um…since we are being forthcoming, I really ought to tell you the story of how we met…before your mother returns.”

Laird groaned. “That bad, is it?”

MacLaren Hall
One week later

T
he ring of distinguished guests surrounding the dance floor heaved and contracted as more ladies and gentlemen, many from as far away as London, funneled into MacLaren Hall.

Laird bent at his knees, careful not to crease his ivory and gold-shot waistcoat, so that Lady MacLaren might hear him over the din of the crowd. “Mother, did you invite everyone who might have ever heard of our family to the betrothal ball?”

“It would seem that way, would it not?” Lady MacLaren chuckled merrily. “Oh, do not be cross
with me. I wanted everyone of consequence to learn of my newly engaged son’s heroic deed…and to meet his lovely betrothed, Anne.”

“But, Mother, the heroic deed never—”

“Ah, here she comes now.” The countess elbowed Laird in his side. “Isn’t she lovely this eve? Sir Lumley had the gown sent directly from London especially for the occasion. Generous one, that gentleman.” Lady MacLaren smiled brightly as Anne approached them at the perimeter of the floor. “Oh, your gown is perfect, dear.”

Anne smiled meekly and dropped the countess a curtsy.

Laird’s breath hitched in his throat as Anne drew alongside him and accepted his belatedly proffered arm.

Her gold satin gown reflected the candlelight shining down from the crystal chandeliers, making her shimmer and glow like the sun itself.

“You are lovely this evening, Anne,” Laird told her without hesitation.

She glanced up at him through her thick lashes, meeting his appreciative gaze with her astonishing golden eyes. “Thank you, Lord MacLaren. You are looking quite
heroic
yourself.”

Laird nodded politely. He had convinced himself that he wore the midnight-blue cutaway coat and ivory waistcoat so that he might look his best in the event Lady Henceforth attended, despite her injury. Now, after hearing Anne’s generous comment about his appearance, he knew he had been fooling himself. He had wanted to look his best for Anne.

Lady MacLaren stood on her toes surveying the ocean of guests, then, as if she’d spotted land, leveled her hand at her brow. “Aha! There they are. The prattle mouths I’ve been waiting for: Lady Kentchurch and Mrs. Devonport. Remain here, son. I will bring them to you and Miss Anne. They must meet you both.”

“Oh, jolly good.” Laird turned and looked down at Anne standing at his side.

He could see in her face, her stance, her sudden stillness, that she was utterly petrified. Her golden eyes were wide and blank, and her delicately tinted lips—no doubt the handiwork of Solange, the lady’s maid’s—was fixed in a perpetual rose-hued smile, the sort one usually sees on dolls.

“Don’t worry, lass. The crowd is large and the room so filled with noise that you need do noth
ing but smile. And it seems you have mastered that quite well.”

At his teasing, she broke her stunned gaze and playfully narrowed her eyes at him. “Promise me that you will not leave my side, Laird, and we shall manage admirably. You will see.”

Lady MacLaren bustled forward with the two stout matrons in tow. “Just then, the horse reared up, flinging her over the railing. As she fell, she struck her head on the edge of the bridge, rendering her quite senseless, before she plunged straight into the Serpentine.”

The two older ladies gasped and turned their gazes to Anne for confirmation. Anne nodded her head forlornly, then tucked her arm around Laird’s and smiled adoringly up at him.

“My son, the Earl of MacLaren, leapt atop the bridge railing and dove in after the poor, drowning gel—and saved her life.” Lady MacLaren sucked in a deep breath and slapped her hands to her chest. “He might have been killed himself, but his thoughts were only with rescuing the Miss Anne Royle, who is now his betrothed.”

Mrs. Devonport’s eyes welled with tears, and she dabbed their corners with a lacy handker
chief. “So romantic. Fate brought the two of you together.” She sighed dreamily.

“You are a true hero, Lord MacLaren,” Lady Kentchurch added. “Why did I not know of this? Surely one would think that the
Times
, at least, would have reported such a heroic deed.”

Anne drew a staggered breath, and the muscles of Laird’s back tightened. What story would she concoct this time?

“You are correct, Lady Kentchurch. But unfortunately the newspapers could not report the details, because no one knew the identities of the drowning woman and her hero,” Anne said. “Once Lord MacLaren urged the water from my lungs and I was breathing again, he brought me immediately to my family in Berkeley Square. Of course, he sought not thanks nor reward for his act of heroism. Instead, being the good gentleman he is, he called the next day to ascertain that I had recovered. Then he called the next day, too. And the next. And now…we are
betrothed
!”

Laird looked upon Anne in amazement. How could she possibly claim shyness as a fault? There was nothing the least bit reserved about the spitfire. Vivacious, imaginative, and enter
taining were the words he would use to describe her. She was a complete delight.

But, sadly, a horrible liar.

Laird chuckled to himself. With each retelling, Anne’s story seemed to grow grander.

Anne felt Laird gently draw her closer to his side. “My dear ladies,” he said to the countess and the two “prattle mouths,” “would you please excuse us. I promised to introduce Anne to our neighbors the Middletons, and I just spied them entering.”

The three older women bobbed their heads as Laird whisked Anne from their fold and led her toward the outer band of guests.

“The Middletons?” Anne asked, turning to look up at Laird. “Your mother introduced me to the family. You were there.” She looked quizzically at him.

“Did she? I must have forgotten.” Laird glanced down at her and grinned. “Well, so much the better. I shan’t have to track the pair down in this melee of satin and lace. Mayhap we should concentrate on locating the refreshment table instead. What say you,
darling
?”

“I agree. I must admit, recounting your heroics
has already left my lips quite parched.” Anne’s step lightened as Laird wrapped his arm around her like a shawl, holding her close as he wove a pathway toward the doors.

“No doubt.” His dark eyebrow flicked upward as they entered the passage and neared the long tables topped with trays of sugary morsels and savories.

Two footmen ladled arrack punch into waiting cups, while others filled glistening goblets with lemonade.

Laird snatched two goblets from the tray of a footman heading for the ballroom and handed one to Anne. “And might I say, the touch about my being too noble to seek credit for my deed…inspired.”

“Why, thank you, Lord MacLaren.” Anne barely had finished her words before Laird turned and plucked a strawberry from a bowl on the table and rolled it across her lower lip. “Care for something sweet?”

She met his gaze and nodded her head slowly. She opened her mouth and allowed Laird to hold its tip just inside. She bit into the berry, allowing the sweet juice to spread over her tongue before closing her mouth upon the fruit.

Laird raised the remaining half of the berry and sucked it through his lips into the warmth of his mouth, then licked the tip of his thumb and finger with his tongue. “Sweet. But not half so delicious as you, Anne.”

She knew what he was doing. He played a lovers’ game, transforming the simplest gesture into seduction. But when she played along, she meant it.

Anne searched Laird’s eyes, peering deep, wondering if he felt something for her…or if he only engaged in some rakish amusement. She did not relent in her gaze. She had to know, and if she just looked hard enough, long enough, she would see his heart revealed on his face.

A muscle near his jaw twitched and Laird flinched, as if unnerved by the intensity of her probing gaze.

Anne tore her unsettling gaze from him and redirected it to the punch glistening inside her goblet. She was about to drink when a loud voice broke free of the chatter filling the passage, drawing the attention of nearly everyone partaking of refreshment.

“The second set is about to begin!”

Anne turned to see a woman gesturing to a
gentleman standing beside Laird. The heavyset man tipped back his head and drained his goblet. “God, I hate dancing,” he grumbled, but still he obediently headed for the ballroom doorway. The woman snatched his arm and relentlessly dragged him toward the dance floor.

“Second set.” Laird gestured for Anne to sip from her goblet, then he lifted it away and set the glasses on the table. “Shall we, Anne?”

Excitedly she looped her arm around his.

Inside Anne, a bloom of hope unfolded, coaxed forth by the warmth of his smile. Could it be that Laird felt, at least in small part, as she did? That their relationship was more than a ruse—that it was becoming something deeper—
something real
?

Laird led her straight to the center of the floor, urging other dancers to make room for them in the heart of the column.

Other women in her line leaned forward and turned their heads to peek at Anne. As the dancers waited for the music to begin, Anne could hear bits of the other women’s whispers about her. They all seemed to wish to know her, Anne Royle, the woman who had tamed the rakish Lord MacLaren. The gel from Cornwall who had claimed his heart.

Prickly heat rose up from beneath her bodice and colored her décolletage, her throat, and her cheeks. The attention was nearly overwhelming to her senses, but Anne held her head high. She lifted her eyes to gaze at Laird, and found him already looking at her. His back was straight and his shoulders broad and elegant. He looked to each side, silently addressing the other dancers, tipping his head to Anne between each acknowledgment.

Anne bashfully looked down at her slippers. It was as though Laird was proudly indicating to the other gentlemen that she belonged to him.

She raised her eyes and met Laird’s gaze as the music began. Anne reached out her right hand and clasped Laird’s as they and another couple crossed the column of dancers. Then they joined their left hands as they circled back to their start positions. Their gazes never wavered.

With a firm, possessive grasp, Laird cupped her fingers in his, and together they chasséd to the center and back again, before casting to second place.

Anne felt breathless, though hardly from exertion. She’d danced this very step dozens of times before, but this time she was acutely aware of her handsome partner. The heat from his hand,
from his body near hers, seemed to trail down her arm like a caress.

He placed his other hand at the small of her back, and Anne nearly gasped from the sensation. He touched her precisely in the way that every other gentleman dancer did when guiding his partner, she knew that. But somehow, the gentle pressure of Laird’s warm fingers moving slightly over her body felt far more intimate.

Made her think of things a maiden should not consider.

And yet she did.

Thoughts of him plagued her mind nearly every minute of every day—since the moment he found her in his bedchamber…and kissed her. What was it about this man that intrigued her so?

Anne abandoned the hopeless question. It really didn’t matter. It was a cruel fact that her time with Laird would end on the last day of the season, if not before.

Whether her heart wished it or not.

From Laird’s height and angle, the candlelight from the sparkling chandeliers above cast a magical golden aura around Anne. Perhaps it was a trick of the eye, but the glow from the ta
pers’ flames did not seem to flatter anyone else so much as it did his betrothed.

His betrothed
. Not his false fiancée. Not his partner in this scheme.

Sod it
. For a moment, he had fooled himself into believing their concocted story—that they were betrothed and would soon be wed.

Anne turned her delicate porcelain face toward him and smiled serenely. Her eyes were alight with happiness, and she laughed as they grasped right hands overhead and she crossed the set allemande and returned again.

The sound of her laughter made him laugh as well, but it also made him consider her in a way he consciously hadn’t before.

Anne appealed to his every sense in a way he could not describe. Could not even begin to explain. All he knew was that no other woman in the ballroom, no woman he had ever met, possessed an allure to match hers.

Certainly he had chanced upon greater beauties. More clever conversationalists. Quicker wits. Only he could not recall a single woman who drew him like Anne. There never had been a woman who made him yearn to be with her, every moment of every day…and night. Made
him realize that, until she stole into his life, he had not truly been living—he’d simply been existing. Passing the days, the weeks, the years.

What was it about her that made her so irresistible to him?

A fullness expanded inside his chest as he realized what he had been denying. He was beginning to feel things for her that he’d never allowed himself to feel for anyone before.

She was chipping away at the stone that had hardened around his heart.

She
was making him
feel
.

He was happy when he was with Anne, this beautiful, unique, young woman from the depths of Cornwall.

He laughed softly to himself.
Gorblimey
. Who would have ever guessed it? Perhaps for the first time in his life, he was truly happy.

And the reason was Miss Anne Royle.

He needed to tell her. He had no idea what he would say, or even how she would respond. All he knew was that she had changed his life, somehow, and he had to let her know. Had to tell her how she made him feel.

Tonight.

The last of the guests left the ball by four of the clock, allowing Lady MacLaren and her staff to totter off to their beds.

Laird and Apsley were sharing a final draught of brandy in the library.

“A bloody hero. Fancy that.” Apsley grinned. “Do you think I could borrow your Anne to boost up my reputation tomorrow? Lord knows I could use a few heroic deeds to keep my family out of my private life.”