Scotsman of My Dreams (28 page)

 

Chapter 32

T
hankfully, the journey home didn't take long. Long enough, however, that Minerva managed to thoroughly berate herself for her stupidity and was beginning to turn her anger on others.

How dare Dalton stop her from traveling to Scotland?

How dare the Covington sisters involve themselves in her business?

How dare Hugh take on a sanctimonious tone?

How dare Dalton ask her to marry him when it was all only a tactic to trap Lewis? That was unkind as well as unfair. Thank heavens she hadn't revealed what she was feeling.

She'd taken Hugh as her lover because of curiosity. She had discontinued their association the instant she realized he cared more for her than she did for him. It seemed to her that any relationship should be evenly matched, neither caring more than the other.

Yet here she was, in the exact same circumstance. She was longing for the Rake of London, Dalton MacIain. She was a lovesick fool, someone staring out the window and wondering what to do.

She loved him.

How very odd to find herself in love with someone she hadn't liked for a long while.

Of course, she hadn't known him then. Now she wondered if many ­people knew Dalton at all. He might well be known as reclusive, but he was also very protective of himself, guarding his emotions with such care that it had taken her a while to realize he wasn't the debauched soul she thought him.

He cared for those in his employ. He had a streak of altruism. He was kind when there was no reason to be kind, with no one looking on to judge and no one to impress.

He had a sense of humor that revealed itself slowly.

He wasn't unaware of his own sins. She suspected he judged himself too harshly, as severely as he judged Neville. Yet, even so, he was honest and fair to her. He'd kept his word and revealed everything he'd found out about her brother.

Now, somehow, she had to save Neville from the prison camp in America.

But, first, she had to face the facts. She was in love with the Earl of Rathsmere. What an utter fool she was.

Could you kill love? She was going to attempt to do so.

When he'd uttered those two words, she'd been speechless. She'd been incapable of saying a word, suffused as she was by disbelief. The most handsome man she'd ever seen, a man who'd just loved her and brought her exquisite pleasure, asked her to marry him.

Marry me.

He hadn't intended for her to be his bride. All he'd wanted was to fool his brother into thinking he was getting married.

Marry me.
The words had been a game, a subterfuge, nothing more than that.

From this point on she would ignore the Earl of Rathsmere, wish him well, but have nothing further to do with him. She pressed her hands to her stomach. Please God, don't let her suffer the consequences of her actions with Dalton. She'd used a vinegar-­soaked sponge in all her previous episodes, but not today. She'd never thought to be suffused with grief and worry, then cozened out of it by passion.

She should have told him no, but that word had been as far from her vocabulary this afternoon as
marriage
was now. She was going to have to practice using it. No, she would not see Dalton again. No, she would not participate in his ruse. No, she wouldn't welcome his help in rescuing Neville. No, she never wanted to see him again. No, she wouldn't welcome his touch. Ever.

She ignored the yawning chasm in her chest, the one where tears were rising. She ached with sadness.

Because of the rain the night seemed even darker when Daniels pulled into the wide alley that separated the stables from her house. Nor had any streetlamps been erected here, no doubt on the theory that no self-­respecting homeowner would be traveling through the alley after dark.

Normally, a lantern was lit and hung from the outside of the stable, but tonight it was extinguished. Had Hugh returned and just as quickly left?

She would have to draft a letter of recommendation for him. There, she should concentrate on her tasks rather than how she felt. She was still too close to tears. A strange sensation to want to weep and kick something at the same time.

There weren't any lights on in the rear of the Covington house, but that didn't mean the sisters retired early. They might be keeping watch at the front, eyeing the square.

The carriage slowed, then stopped.

Before she could open the door, Daniels had dismounted and was opening it for her.

“If you don't mind, Miss Todd, I'll see you to your house.”

“That's not necessary, Daniels.”

“Still and all, I'd feel better about it.”

He'd always been kind to her, and exceedingly polite. She wasn't angry at the driver, but at his employer.

“Thank you, Daniels.”

There, if the Covington sisters saw her, they'd witness her being properly escorted to the door.

She dismounted, holding onto the frame of the carriage for balance until her foot touched the street. She fluffed her skirts, straightened her shoulders, and pasted a smile on her face for Daniels's benefit.

The rain had stopped for the moment, but the riffling clouds overhead, gray against the black night, were a future promise of it. She was in the mood for a storm, a thunderous ovation from nature itself. Rain washed the world clean, gave the air clarity and swept away the old odors.

Suddenly, she wanted winter. Not the crisp weather of autumn, but ice and snow, dreary days and chilled nights. That would match her mood.

As she rounded the back of the carriage, Daniels followed her. A moment later she heard an oath, then nothing.

Suddenly, a man's arm tightened around her waist while his hand clamped over her mouth. She screamed, but the sound was muffled as he dragged her backward.

She was being attacked. Lurid stories she'd read in the newspaper filled her mind as she kicked out. She struggled in the man's grip, reached up with both hands behind her and pinched what she could find.

“Bitch!”

She kicked at him again. His arm reached around her neck and tightened, cutting off her air. She bit at his hand and tasted blood.

“Damn bitch!”

“Shut up! Somebody'll hear you.”

“Like I bloody care,” the first voice said. “She bit me!”

“Take her to the carriage.”

She knew that voice. Howington? What was Howington doing here?

“You sure he'll come for her?”

“I'm sure,” Howington said. “For some reason he's taken a fancy to the bitch.”

She bit at the hand covering her mouth again. Her attacker swore, loosening his grip long enough for her to scream. She didn't see the blow before he struck her. The side of her face was suddenly on fire. Even her teeth felt loose. She stumbled several steps before she was grabbed again and a cloth stuffed into her mouth.

She could hardly breathe. Tears welled in her eyes.

“Get her to the carriage.”

She knew that if they put her in a carriage, she'd never live through it. She kicked out again, managed to get one arm free and turned to face her attacker. Fear gave her strength as she slammed her fist into his face. He retaliated by punching her again, the blow coming hard and fast. Blood spurted from her nose as he grabbed her by one arm, dragging her to another carriage.

“What the hell?”

Minerva blinked her eyes open, tried to focus, then wondered if she was hallucinating.

Abigail Covington was standing there holding a lantern and a fireplace poker. Her sister, Gladys, the cook in the group, was pressing a long handled fork to Howington's throat. Helen was, surprisingly, pointing a rifle at the head of the man who was dragging her.

“Let her go,” Helen said. “I'm quite a good shot. I haven't had any target practice in a while and I'm looking forward to it.”

She was abruptly released and fell to the street.

“Get over there with your friend,” Helen said, pointing to Howington.

Abigail came to Minerva's side, stretched out a hand and helped her to stand. Pulling the cloth from her mouth, she used it to stem the blood from Minerva's nose.

To her shock, Helen raised the rifle, pointed it skyward and shot. The explosion deafened her for a moment.

“There, that should summon help, I think,” Helen said, then whipped out a pistol from the pocket of her skirt and kept it leveled on the two men.

Every window on the street was lighting up. Soon the alley would be filled with neighbors, all wondering at the commotion and hungry for scandal.

A man came running down the street, attired in a dark blue suit and looking as proper as a banker except for his mussed hair and sweaty face. A carriage entered the alley, blocked from pulling closer by the other vehicle. As she watched, Dalton and James emerged, each man looking capable of pummeling Howington and his companion. In fact, she didn't doubt that those men were in grave danger right at the moment.

She hugged Abigail, said a little prayer of thanks, and wished she could just slip away.

 

Chapter 33

T
he parlor was filled with ­people.

The three Covington sisters sat on the settee. Mrs. Beauchamp had already served tea and refreshments to the women. She'd been startled when Helen Covington requested a shot of whiskey. Mrs. Beauchamp didn't look the least perturbed, however, as she poured a measure into the woman's cup.

George, the man who had been assigned the duty of watching out for her by James Wilson, was seated on the chair at one end of the settee. He, too, was enjoying a bit of tea and a jot of whiskey.

Minerva was sitting on the chair at the other end of the settee drinking tea. She could have done without the tea and taken the whiskey straight up.

Mrs. Beauchamp had tsked over her in the kitchen while she placed a salve on her face and a plaster on her nose.

“You'll have black eyes in the morning,” Helen Covington announced, looking enormously pleased at the idea. “You acquitted yourself well, though, Minerva. He'll need that hand of his looked after.”

Her nose still hurt and her face felt like it was swelling, and she wanted to escape to her room. Her visitors, however, didn't look like they were going anywhere without answers.

Dalton was standing beside the fireplace, staring in her direction as if he could see her. James was beside him. She had the feeling that Dalton was angry at James, but he didn't bother to convey that to her. In fact, he hadn't said a word.

Dalton and James had conferred for a few moments with the authorities before they'd taken Howington and his accomplice away. They hadn't deigned to tell her what that was about, either, a fact that annoyed her the longer time passed.

All she knew for certain was that the entire neighborhood was awake, the Covington sisters looked delighted to be in her mother's parlor, and she was hurting, still wanting a good cry and then an opportunity to pummel something.

“Why did you set a guard on me?” she asked, glancing from George to James.

All three sisters looked at James.

“He was quite noticeable,” Helen said. “We saw him right away.”

It would have been nice if they had told her about George.

James looked down at the floor. Dalton looked as if he wanted to hit something.

Very well, she'd try another question.

“Why did Howington want to kidnap me?”

Helen and her two sisters nodded in approval.

“To lure Dalton somewhere,” James said. “That's only a guess, but an educated one.”

“Why?”

“To kill him,” James said. “Just like Arthur was killed. I expected him to act against Dalton directly. I didn't think he would involve you.”

“You let him know we were going to be married,” she said, speaking to Dalton.

“The notice is in tonight's paper, my dear, which is why we were awake, waiting to celebrate with you.”

She glanced at Helen, Abigail, and Gladys. They looked so happy, their eyes sparkling, their cheeks pink with excitement.

“I hate to disappoint you,” she said, “but it was all a ruse. He only pretended to want to marry me to set a trap.”

“Is that what you think?” Dalton asked.

“It's what happened, isn't it?”

“It wasn't,” Dalton said. “James thought it would be a good way to force Lewis to act. If I announced I was getting married, possibly fathering a brood of children, there went the possibility of Lewis inheriting the earldom. I didn't know that James had placed the announcement for tonight's paper when I asked you to marry me.”

She was not going to believe a word he said.

“When I asked you to marry me it was because I wanted you to be my wife.”

She could have slapped him silly. Didn't he know the Covington sisters were sitting right there listening to every word? Didn't he know that tomorrow the story would be all over London?

“Will you marry me, Minerva?”

She glared at him, but since he couldn't see her, the expression was wasted.

“I don't really want to talk to you right now, Dalton.”

“It's the only thing to do,” he said. “Besides, there's a possibility you may be with child.”

All three Covington sisters opened their eyes wider. The pink of their cheeks deepened. James's eyes were twinkling. George turned his head a little as if he wanted to escape the room as quickly as possible. Mrs. Beauchamp, bless her heart, turned bright red, said something about cinnamon scones and retreated in a flurry of petticoats.

Minerva closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, exhaled, and finally opened her eyes again and looked at Dalton.

“You think my brother is a would-­be murderer. What kind of family would that create?”

“I know my brother is a murderer, so I would say a slightly abnormal one. I apologize for that. But I wouldn't be a normal husband, either. You would have to be my guide from time to time, tell me if I'm presentable, and if I've cut myself shaving.”

She was not going to allow her heart to melt. He hadn't mentioned anything about affection. He wanted a friend and she wanted so much more. Granted, they were physically compatible, but they couldn't spend their lives in a bed.

Although it might be fun to try.

“We aren't suited,” she said, wishing it didn't hurt to speak. “I don't care a whit about being a countess.”

“That just shows how well we're suited,” he countered. “I don't care a whit about being an earl.”

She frowned at him.

He still hadn't said anything about his feelings. Was she supposed to marry the man just because he asked?

“No,” she said.

All three Covington sisters gasped.

She glanced at them. Each woman had a look of incredulity on her face. She could read their thoughts well enough. Who was she, Minerva Todd, to deny the Earl of Rathsmere?

“I don't want a friend,” she said. “Yes, I wouldn't mind being your friend, but I want more. Not in being an earl more, Dalton. But in emotions. Besides, I know quite well why you want to marry me.”

“Why is that?”

The sisters turned their heads in an identical motion to stare at Dalton while she looked in the other direction.

“You're lonely and you think yourself ugly, and I'm the only woman you've been around for nearly a year.”

“Are you insane, Minerva?”

As a declaration of love, it was lacking something.

“
N
OT INSANE,
Dalton, merely truthful.”

He advanced on her, hoping like hell there weren't any cute footstools or ornamental ottomans in the way. Her parlor didn't seem to be overly stuffed with furniture, as was the fashion.

He heard something being moved.

“There you go, Your Lordship,” Helen said.

He smiled his thanks.

“You're not being truthful,” he said to Minerva. “You're just being disparaging. It's a common trait of yours when you're feeling out of place.”

“How did you come up with that idea?”

“I've observed you, Minerva, in a manner of speaking.”

He'd almost reached her. He could tell by the sound of her sigh. He stopped.

“Am I in front of you?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Close enough to shake you?”

“Well, yes, if you want to. I must confess that I wouldn't like being shaken.”

“Then listen to me, Minerva Todd. I've never talked to another woman like I have you. I've never been amused by anyone as much or been skewered so well and so ably. I've never thought a woman's intellect was fascinating. I've never damn well chased across London after a woman. I've never spent hours and hours remembering everything a woman said, or hearing the sound of her laughter in my head. I've never thought to myself, ‘What would Minerva say to this?' I've not once, in all my days of drunken celebration, ever wanted to take a woman home to Gledfield and wish I could see her expression when she sees it for the first time. I hate my blindness because I can't see you laugh, Minerva. Or your face after we've made love.”

When she didn't speak, he shook his head. “Say something.”

“You really mean all those things?” she asked.

Her voice didn't sound normal, almost as if she were trying not to weep. Hell, he hadn't meant to upset her.

“I really mean all those things. Will you marry me?”

“What happens when Neville comes home? What will you do, Dalton?”

Because of her, because she was so certain that Neville would never have done what he'd witnessed Neville doing, he was willing to suspend his disbelief.

“I won't make any judgments until I talk to your brother.”

“That's fair enough, Dalton.” She sighed. “Once you hear Neville's explanation, it will make sense, I know it.”

Had he ever had anyone believe in him the way Minerva believed in Neville? His mother, perhaps. And Arthur, a point at the root of all the arguments between them. His older brother wanted more from him than the dissolute life he'd led. An irony, that Arthur's death had been one of the components of his change.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You don't want my wealth. I doubt you want jewelry. You ignore my praise or appreciation. What can convince you to marry me?”

“I need to go to Scotland,” she said.

“Now?”

“If not now, then quickly. Will we be married soon?”

“Does that mean yes, you'll marry me?” He didn't give her a chance to decline. “As soon as I can arrange it, if that's what you wish.” He spoke to the room. “I think Minerva means that it will be a small affair, but would you be our guests?”

Helen spoke for the sisters. “We would be honored, Your Lordship. But that means you won't be our neighbor, won't it, Minerva?”

“Unless there's a nice house near where you live, Your Lordship.”

He felt a frisson of panic. “We might be living in Scotland a good portion of the year,” he said.

Suddenly, arms wrapped around his waist and Minerva kissed him softly. He cupped her face and felt her wince, wishing he'd been able to punch Howington before the man had been led away.

He'd set the authorities on Lewis, and that situation would have to be addressed in a matter of hours. Minerva, however, was his first priority.

“I realize I'm not that great a catch. I've gotten some of the sight back in my left eye, but I've no guarantee that it will get better.”

“Oh, piffle, Dalton. I don't care. You're still the most astounding man I've ever met.”

He felt something open up in his chest.

“I adore you, Minerva.”

“Oh, Dalton, I feel the same. I think I have from the very beginning.”

He began to smile, remembering how she'd angrily skewered him to the spot in the garden.

“Very well,” she said, rightly interpreting his smile, “maybe not from the beginning, but certainly now.”

He would take
now
.
Now
was a very good place to start.

He didn't have any trouble finding her mouth. She was still talking when he kissed her.