by Tarah Scott
The marquess looked sharply at him. “Is the footman dead?”
Brendan shook his head. “Nae. But I’ll wager he has a devil of a headache tomorrow.”
“What are you doing here?” Grey actually sounded peeved.
“We had a meeting,” the baron said.
Grey grunted. “I sent a note, cancelling.”
“Anthony insisted on ignoring that,” Rosemund said. “You should be grateful he did.”
“What the devil is all this about?” the other man demanded.
Jeanine gingerly fingered Grey’s wound. “You are bleeding.” She dropped onto her backside and pinned him with a hard stare. “I specifically instructed you not to be hurt on my account.”
His brows rose. “The bullet barely grazed me.” He looked up at the baron. “Brendan, if you would.” He extended a hand.
The baron clasped his hand and hauled him to his feet. Grey reached for Jeanine, but she scrambled to her feet and grabbed his arm.
“You must sit down.” Jeanine looked over her shoulder. “Miss Stone, please wake Mr. Baldwin and have him call for a doctor.”
Lady Guilford burst into the room with Mr. Baldwin and Mrs. McPhee close behind.
Lady Guilford skidded to a halt, her sleeping cap askew on her head. Her eyes widened and her hand flew to her heart. “What happened? Valan, you’re bleeding.”
“A mere flesh wound,” he said with exasperation.
“Mr. Baldwin,” Jeanine said, “please call for a doctor.”
Mr. Baldwin glanced at Grey, who sighed and said, “She will not be satisfied until a doctor confirms that I am not dying.”
The steward disappeared.
“Mrs. McPhee, will you bring tea for everyone?” Jeanine asked.
The housekeeper looked at Grey. He nodded, and she hurried from the room.
“Very clever of you, my dear,” Grey said to Jeanine. “They will stay busy for some time.”
“Will someone tell me what is going on?” Lady Guilford demanded. Lord Gordon moaned and she jumped. “Good lord, is that—” Her eyes snapped onto the marquess. “I told you he would go too far.”
“As usual, you were right, Peigi.”
“We should call for a constable,” she said.
“Aye.” Grey looked at Baron Rosemund. “Brendan, I would greatly appreciate—”
The baron held up a hand. “Say no more—well, until we return. I will want to hear this story in full.”
Grey canted his head. “I would prefer to tell the story but once. When the constable comes, you and Anthony may hear everything in full.”
“Come along, Anthony.”
Baron Rosemund grabbed Lord Gordon by his left arm and the other man grabbed his right arm, and they hauled him to his feet. He moaned as they dragged him out the door.
“You must sit down.” Jeanine pulled him to the couch and pushed him onto the cushion. “Miss Stone.” Jeanine whirled. Miss Stone stood near the desk, hair askew. “Are you unharmed?”
“I am perfectly fine.”
“What in the world were you doing in the hall?” Jeanine demanded.
“I feared you weren’t being truthful when you said you would see me in the morning.”
Jeanine flushed, but said, “Well, I am immensely glad you were there. Will you fetch water and some fresh cloths, please?”
She nodded and hurried from the room. Only Lady Guilford remained.
“Peigi, if you are to hear the story, I suggest you dress,” said his lordship. “Brendan and Anthony will no doubt return within an hour accompanied by a constable.”
She nodded and left.
Then Grey looked at Jeanine.
Chapter Fourteen
Valan was loath to admit that even a flesh wound could ache. He was getting too old for such nonsense. Despite the fact he had bled only enough to ruin his crisp white shirt, Jeanine was still applying pressure to the ‘wound.’
Valan regarded her with a stern eye. “That was foolish of you.”
“Me?” She dropped onto the couch beside him, her fingers still pressed against the wound. “You are the one who ran straight into the barrel of a pistol.”
He grunted. “Gordon has always been a bad shot.”
Jeanine’s eyes widened, then she burst into tears and buried her head in his chest.
He grimaced when she squeezed his wound. Valan grasped her hand and held it. “Shh, sweet. All is well. I am not really hurt.”
“You could have been killed,” she wailed.
“I am not so easily killed.”
“You would have been better off to have never known me.”
His life had been far less complicated before her, quieter, colder…without love.
“Now the scandal will ruin you,” she sobbed into his shirt. “You won’t be able to marry Lady Claire.”
He frowned. “I believe I told you that I had no intention of marrying Lady Claire.”
“You just said that to make me feel better.”
“I never say things just to make anyone feel better. I have never had any desire to marry Lady Claire.”
“You wanted to walk with her in the gardens,” Jeanine blubbered.
He laughed. “That is a far cry from wanting to marry someone.”
She drew back and turned her tearstained face up to him. “What is wanting to marry someone?”
With the pad of this thumb, he gently wiped tears from her cheek. “Wanting to marry someone is being unable to imagine a day without them.”
She straightened. “Oh dear.”
He tensed. “What is amiss?”
She looked at her lap and shook her head. With a finger beneath her chin, he tipped her face up toward him. He lifted a brow and waited.
She stared back for a long moment, then sighed. “If wanting to marry someone is not being able to imagine a day without them, then I want to marry you.”
Longing twisted through him. “Perhaps there is a bit more to it than that,” he said.
“Such as liking to play chess with them? Or…” Her gaze dropped to his mouth and lingered there for two heartbeats, then lifted again to meet his eyes. “Or wanting to kiss them?”
He tweaked a lock of her hair that had come loose of the chignon. “You want to kiss a young man. I am too old for you, my dear.”
“That is silly. I said from the start that I wanted an older man.”
“You said that you wanted a man with one foot in the grave. I am, I hope, too many years away from that to qualify.”
“I do not want you to die,” she blurted. “I want—” She looked up at him through her lashes and nibbled on her bottom lip. “I want you to marry me.”
He smiled gently. “I do not think that’s what you really want.”
“It is. You must marry me.”
He lifted a brow. “Indeed?”
She nodded. “It’s the only way to save you from scandal. You know that what happened here tonight will be all over Edinburgh by breakfast.”
She was right about that.
“And the story will be twisted to paint you in a very poor light.”
She was right about that, as well. “It won’t be the first time, and not the last,” he replied.
“People marry all the time to save themselves from scandal,” she said.
“Perhaps, but I am too far gone to be saved.”
She continued to nibble her bottom lip. “Then marry me to save me from scandal.” He started to reply, but she added, “I cannot return home. My mother’s new husband would never allow it.”
He wouldn’t allow that, anyway. “What of Joshua?” he asked gently.
Surprise flickered in her eyes. “Joshua is kind, but if rumors reach him that I am pregnant with your child…” She shrugged.
Valan pictured Gordon slumped between Brendan and Anthony when they dragged him from the room and was glad he was gone. If the two men hadn’t take him away, Valan would kill him. Still…Gordon wasn’t wholly to blame.
He looked at Jeanine. “There is no need for you to sacrifice yourself. I have found an elderly gentleman for you to marry.”
“You did?” she exclaimed, then frowned. “I do no’ care. It’s marry you or be ruined.”
He laughed. “More experienced women than you have tried to coerce me into marriage.”
“I think you mean ‘tricked.’ I am not tricking you. I am telling you directly that it’s marriage or ruin.”
Sadness squeezed his heart. “Why would you want to marry me, love?”
She looked at him in surprise. “Because I love you, silly.”
Peigi and Miss Stone entered. Peigi wore a soft yellow day dress, and Miss Stone carried a basin and pitcher, and had clean cloths slung over her shoulder. They stopped inside the doorway.
“Marry the elderly gentleman, Jeanine,” he urged. “Your comfort will be assured.”
She stared up at him, eyes shimmering. “Don’t you love me just a little?”
He smiled sadly. “I love you far too much to marry you. I don’t deserve you.”
“Yes, you do—and I deserve you.” She threw her arms around his neck. “Say yes. I promise I will not be one bit of trouble anymore and I will do everything just as you tell me to.”
“I don’t think you can,” he said with a laugh.
She pulled back and looked up at him, her expression serious. “Marry me and I will make certain you are never sorry.”
“It isn’t me who will be sorry, love.”
She tilted her head to one side. “Will you be sorry if you don’t marry me?”
“Yes, but that is my penance.”
Jeanine stood. “Do you want me to be happy?”
He sighed. “With all my heart.”
She held out her hand.
He clasped it and stood.
She looked up into his face. “I cannot imagine life without you.”
“It’s insanity,” he whispered.
Tears glistened in her eyes. “Insanity?” she repeated. “It is insanity to be apart.”
He wondered how he would face tomorrow without her bursting into his study with some new gift or a story about Miss Stone.
“You are certain?” he asked. “If we wed, I will not let you go.” He wondered if he could let her go if she refused.
Jeanine frowned. “Where would I go?”
Valan crushed her to him and closed his eyes. Something primal twisted in his chest. She loved him. The urge to protect her nearly suffocated him. She didn’t need his money, his house…his body.
Him. She wanted him.
He released a deep breath, then loosened his hold on her and looked over her head at his cousin. “Peigi, if you are available, we require your presence three days hence for a wedding.”
Peigi clapped her hands. “We must start planning immediately.” She turned and frowned at Miss Stone. “Stop gawking, Miss Stone, and see to his lordship’s arm before he feigns death in order to escape his own wedding.”
Miss Stone started toward him, but Valan dipped his head and kissed his future wife.
###
A Marriage of Necessity
The Marriage Maker
Book Eight
Rules of Refinement
Tarah Scott
Chapter One
Anne angled away from her best friend, Jeanine, drew back the edge of her glove, and glanced at the face of the silver gilded watch pinned to the inside of the fabric. 11:57. If her watch was correct, and the time piece had kept perfect time for three generations, the third ball of the season would end in three minutes when the minuet concluded. Then Lady Peddington’s famed Midnight Ball would begin.
A year of her life, along with funds her family could ill afford to lose, gone. All for nothing, if she didn’t find a wealthy husband by the next ball, which was one short week away. Her heart constricted. Oh, papa, why didn’t you tell us?
She knew why. Her father had been a Weber male through and through. They were stubborn to a fault, determined to care for their own at all costs, and slaves to the gambling halls. In the end, he had the presence of mind to lay down his cards before he lost the castle on Loch Lomond, and the estate and land north of Perth. Her father, however, feared he couldn’t resist the temptation to gamble away their remaining holdings and drank himself to death.
The need to cry rushed to the surface.
Nae, the time for despair was long past. She had to—
A tall, dark, good-looking gentleman approached. Anne’s mind snapped to attention. Two minutes remained of the respectable ball. It was impossible to join in the dance so late in the set, but would this gentleman engage her in conversation? He continued toward them. Anne turned her attention to Jeanine. It wouldn’t do for her to appear too eager.
“I am so glad this ball is almost over,” Jeanine said. “I met an interesting gentleman earlier. He’s older—though not old enough for my purposes.” She sighed. “It is so hot and stuffy in here. I think there are more guests tonight than last week. I wonder if there will be even more for the final ball of the season next week.”
From the corner of her eye, Anne watched the man’s approach. He brushed past a group of men.
“Aye, it is warm tonight,” Anne said to Jeanine. “We can go back to our rooms together, if ye like.”
The man reached them, and she and Jeanine faced him. He looked at Anne. Her pulse jumped. Finally, a gentleman was going to speak with her. He would be the first of the evening.
Then his attention shifted to Jeanine. “Would ye honor me with a turn around the ballroom?”
Tears stung Anne’s eyes. She ducked her head as Jeanine said, “I am tired. But Lady Anne is free. Why don’t you walk with her?”
Anne snapped her head up in time to see the man stiffen. “I beg your pardon, but it is getting late,” he said. “I must be going. Have a good evening.” He started to turn.
“Wait,” Jeanine cried. The man stopped, interest lighting his eyes. “Why won’t you walk with Anne?” Jeanine demanded.
“Jeanine,” Anne hissed under her breath, and she glanced at a group of nearby ladies who were frowning in their direction. But Jeanine ignored her.
“Do you know that she’s the heir to a title?” Jeanine asked.
“I have no need of a title,” he said, and before they could reply, he spun and strode away.
Jeanine faced her. “I am certain of it. Linda and Dorothy are speaking badly about you. Fiona, too, I wager,” she added in a dark tone.
“Why would they?” Anne said. “What can they possibly say that would alienate these gentlemen? And why say anything at all? There are plenty of gentlemen seeking ladies.”
“Because the gentlemen fawned all over you that first night,” Jeanine said. “You’re more beautiful than any other lady here.”
That, Anne knew, was untrue. There were some very beautiful girls here. Jeanine was one. But leave it to Jeanine to be loyal to a fault. Still, something was wrong, and Anne couldn’t escape the feeling that the girls Jeanine had named did have something to do with it.
The lights began to dim. Her heart fell. The respectable ball had ended. Anne spotted half a dozen servants weaving throughout the ballroom and snuffing out candles. They would extinguish more than half the candles, leaving the massive room with many shadows.
“It’s time to leave,” Jeanine said.
Anxiety knotted Anne’s stomach. Once she left the party, she would have to wait another week for the opportunity to find a suitable match. There had to be some way to prepare for the next week. She couldn’t sit passively in Lady Peddington’s parlor and sew, sip tea, and talk about the final upcoming ball. Even if she met a gentleman tonight or next week, what guarantee was there she would make a match? She couldn’t wait to the last minute and simply hope to find a husband. The candles on the table behind them were snuffed, leaving them standing in soft shadows.
Jeanine tugged on her arm. “Come along, Anne.”
Dare she stay? Anne scanned the ba
llroom. At least one hundred and fifty guests, including Lady Peddington’s girls, had attended the night’s ball. Half of those had left. Anne counted ten graduates of Lady Peddington’s School for Young ladies amongst the guests. Some had even removed their gloves. Three girls stood far too close to gentlemen, and the orchestra struck up a waltz. The Midnight Ball had officially begun.
Two gentlemen looked their way.
“Oh dear,” Jeanine whispered. “Two gentlemen are headed our way. If we hurry, we can avoid them.”
Anne faced Jeanine. “Quickly, you go on. I’ll be up later.”
“Nae, you need a husband with money,” Jeanine’s whisper grew urgent. “These men can offer you nothing.”
Jeanine might not be correct. Some courtesans received very expensive gifts. Might she receive enough expensive gifts to support her estate for the next three years? Her mother had a good head for business. She could manage the tenants while Anne earned the money it would take to plant and harvest three years of crops. After that, Dover Hall could support itself and Castle Dòmnallach.
But that required substantial money…
The two gentlemen reached them and stopped closer than propriety allowed. But then, this was the Midnight Ball. Propriety had exited along with all the proper ladies.
The gentleman who stopped in front of Jeanine gave a slight bow. “May I have the honor of this dance?”
Jeanine glanced at Anne.
“Go on up to your room,” Anne said. “I will be up later.” She glimpsed the satisfied gleam in the eyes of the man standing near her.
“Just one dance, my dear,” Jeanine’s admirer urged.
Jeanine narrowed her eyes on Anne. “If you’re staying, then I am staying.” She looked at the gentleman. “I am happy to dance with you.”
Before Anne could object, Jeanine slipped her hand into the crook of the man’s arm and allowed him to lead her toward the dance floor.
Anne hesitated. She should go after her. Oh, this was a terrible mess.
“Would you care for a walk in the garden, love?”
