Now all she needed to do was set aside all of her private reservations—which could well be her own nerves and nothing more—and settle Coll with Amelia-Rose Baxter, and she could claim aloud that everything was proceeding much better than she’d expected.
* * *
“Ye said ye would do what was necessary to save Aldriss,” Aden pointed out, picking up a billiards ball and rolling it across the table.
“That’s nae how ye play,” Coll countered, still squinting a little in the reflected morning sunlight even after a night to sleep off his misadventure. “And I reckon I’ll see her for that damned party.”
Niall hefted the cue in his hands, beginning to wonder if cracking it across Coll’s skull would do more damage to the viscount or to the stick. “So ye’ll wed her, but ye willnae bother to become acquainted with her first?”
“Doesnae seem to be a point to that, since Lady Aldriss has decided it’s to be. I’d nae try to choose a man for Eloise without figuring out who she is, first, but who gives a damn, anyway.”
Well, one person came to mind, but Niall reflected that he did seem to be the only one interested in becoming acquainted with his brother’s bride-to-be. “Here,” he said, tossing the cue to Aden.
“Where are ye off to?”
“To find a bride, I reckon. Or get some air, at least.”
He saddled Kelpie himself, despite Gavin’s hovering, and trotted off toward Wigmore Place. He had no idea what Amelia-Rose’s schedule might be, and given that she seemed to have nearly every moment of every day filled with social engagements, the odds of her being home seemed abysmal. Still, Coll was supposed to be courting her. It was supposed to look like a love match. And so for the sake of appearances, which Amelia-Rose valued almost to the point of obsession, he would attempt to make it look like one.
Hughes didn’t look particularly happy to see him when he swung the Baxter House knocker against the door. “Mr. MacTaggert. No calling card, I presume?”
“Nae. Is Miss Baxter in?”
“Wait here. I shall inquire.”
The door closed. Ah, back to exile again. Before he could decide whether to invite himself into the foyer or not, the door opened again, and he found himself face-to-face with Amelia-Rose. “Good morning,” he said, grinning, refusing to examine too closely why the day had just become brighter even if he couldn’t ignore the fact that it had.
“Good morning,” she returned, leaning against the door. “What brings you here?”
He hadn’t really thought that far ahead, damn it all. “I … Coll and I, that is, were about to go riding, and I reckoned with a mount like Mirabel ye’re a rider, yerself. Care to join us?”
“I…” She glanced over her shoulder. “I have a luncheon at one o’clock.”
Niall pulled out his pocket watch. “It’s nae even ten o’clock. We’ll have ye back here in plenty of time.”
The door swung back and forth slowly, mimicking her indecision as she clearly weighed coming with him. “Very well,” she whispered. “Please go have John saddle Mirabel and a mount for himself. I’ll meet you by the stable.”
“And yer shadow?”
“My shadow hasn’t risen yet. Hush.” With a slight grin she softly closed the door on him again.
So the lass was ready to be a bit brave then, was she? Good for her. He and Kelpie made their way around the house, where he helped John saddle Mirabel and a gray gelding. If she meant this as a morning’s escape, the sooner they could get away the less likely anyone else would be able to stop them.
She appeared in the stable doorway, her crimson riding outfit just as compelling as it had been the first time he saw her wearing it. Even more compelling, really. Saint Andrew. “I assume Lord Glendarril is waiting for us?” she asked.
“Aye,” he lied smoothly. “He didnae want to risk a row with yer parents, so he’ll meet us in the park.”
“Which park?” she asked, folding her arms over her attractive bosom, her blue eyes sparkling.
So she didn’t believe him. Just as well. “I reckon he said Saint James,” he returned. Eloise had mentioned it yesterday as having a pond stocked with swans. That sounded reasonable, anyway. “Ye’ll have to lead the way. I couldnae find it without a map.”
“I haven’t found an adequate one for you yet,” she returned, following Mirabel to the stepping-stone. “Evidently everyone knows where everything is the moment they arrive in London.”
“I missed someaught, then.” Taking a breath, he moved in and put his hands around her trim waist. He lifted her, her hands warm where she put them on his shoulders for balance. Every time she touched him, on purpose or just in passing, a brush of her dress against his legs, a hand up into the barouche, he felt … electricity. Lightning. Did she feel it, as well? Was she trying as hard as he was to ignore it?
“You can let me go now,” she murmured.
Niall shook himself. “Are ye certain? Ye seemed a bit wobbly,” he improvised.
Her cheeks darkened. “Yes, I’m seated quite securely.”
Lowering his hands, he turned around to claim Kelpie and swing into the saddle. If he meant to go mad like that in her presence, he likely shouldn’t have worn his kilt again, but he hadn’t actually planned on seeing her this morning. “Which way, lass?”
She gestured, and he fell in beside her, with John bringing up the rear. “I’m glad you and Lord Glendarril asked me to join you,” she said. “I haven’t been riding anywhere except the coffeehouse in days, and Jane is … Well, she tries, but she does not enjoy it.”
“She does seem happier walking.” He looked over at Amelia-Rose. “I’m glad ye had a few free hours this morning.”
“So am I.” She grinned. “I never thought I’d be grateful that Mrs. Evenson had a kitchen fire, but it did cause her breakfast to be canceled.”
“If I’d known it was that easy to spend time with ye, I’d have set fire to it, myself.”
Amelia-Rose met his gaze, then looked away again. “You shouldn’t say things like that.” She frowned. “And I shouldn’t say I’m grateful for a fire. You are a bad influence, Niall.”
“Am I? Ye be polite, then, and I’ll do as I please, and we’ll see who’s happier at the end of the day.”
“That’s not fair. You’re not a refined lady.”
“Nae. And I’ve nae been happier to be a man than I am today, lass.”
“And why is that?” she asked, and he could practically feel her attention sharpen.
Well, he couldn’t very well say the first thing that popped into his brain, which was that he was with her. “Ye’re wearing that heavy skirt,” he compromised, “and I’m in a kilt. Isnae that enough?”
She chuckled. “I’ll concede that I do get a bit warm.”
“What kept ye occupied last evening?” he asked, and then got to listen to her describe an evening of charades and whist that she somehow made sound interesting. She had a keen eye for people and their quirks—which likely made it even more difficult to not comment on any of it in polite company. Evidently he wasn’t polite company, which suited him just fine.
They reached a park filled with trees and rows of planted posies, and an oval pond in the middle. Half a dozen swans paddled about looking untroubled, which he reckoned meant no one dared eat them. “They are regal, aren’t they?” Amelia-Rose noted. “I don’t think I would ever devour one on purpose.”
He grinned. “That statement would depend on how hungry ye were. Are we allowed to gallop here? I tried it on the street the other morning, and some old woman yelled at me and called me a savage.”
“Oh, dear. No, there’s no galloping here. Only on Rotten Row in Hyde Park. We can trot, though.”
Immediately he put a heel into Kelpie’s ribs. “Thank Saint Andrew. For a people that scurry everywhere, ye Sassenach make getting anywhere nearly impossible.”
“That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard,” she retorted. “Simply because we don’t—”
A pair of l
adies and a man with very high shirt points turned a phaeton beside them, and Amelia-Rose clamped her mouth shut. “Good morning, Amelia-Rose,” the elder of the lasses said, nodding.
“Lady Caroline. It was lovely to see you at the theater the other night.”
“Ah, yes, Romeo and Juliet. I recall.”
That’s why the lass looked familiar. She’d been the one seated on the far side of the stage, a pair of opera glasses aimed at him for most of the night. He started to comment on that, but changed his mind after he took a glance at Amelia-Rose and the forced, placid smile on her face.
“Do introduce me to your friend, Amelia-Rose,” Lady Caroline urged.
“Oh, this is—”
“I reckon ye saw me at the theater,” he interrupted. “Niall MacTaggert. The last time a lass stared at me like that, she chased me into a loch and tried to take all my clothes off.”
Lady Caroline blushed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mr. MacTaggert. And I certainly don’t stare.”
“Then those glasses must’ve been stuck to yer fa—”
“I apologize, Lady Caroline,” Amelia-Rose cut in, her own cheeks paling. “Mr. MacTaggert is not from here.”
“Yes, he’s one of those Highlanders, isn’t he? Lady Aldriss’s sons? This isn’t the one you’re after, is he?”
“‘He,’” Niall said, more amused by the nonsense than anything else, “has a pair of ears and speaks on his own.”
“Niall,” Amelia-Rose hissed, “stop it.”
“I do like his accent,” the other lass said. She looked enough like the first one that they had to be sisters.
Niall lifted both eyebrows. Leaning over toward Amelia-Rose, he turned his back on the carriage. “I’ll behave if ye wish me to, lass, but I will point out that being talked about like a dog isnae someaught I generally tolerate.”
“They are my friends,” she whispered back.
“Why?”
A brief grimace crossed her face, then vanished again. “Mr. MacTaggert is from the Highlands,” she said. “He is Lady Aldriss’s youngest son.”
“Well, we know he’s from the Highlands,” Lady Caroline returned. “No English gentleman would wear that, especially on horseback.” She giggled. “How does he manage that anyway, do you think, Lewis?”
The man driving the phaeton snorted. “I’ve heard Highlanders referred to as ‘blue skins.’ Perhaps that wasn’t in reference to the paint on their faces.”
“Lewis Jones, you are too much!” Lady Caroline declared, giggling again.
This was about the time Niall would generally begin punching people, but he’d been insulted before, and for less reason. He was more curious about what Amelia-Rose would say, if anything. It would mean something, whether she ventured a comment or not.
“We’ll take our leave,” she said, and stopped Mirabel.
He halted beside her, but the phaeton went forward a few feet, then turned around and walked back up to them. “You should join us for luncheon,” Lady Caroline said. “I’m certain there’s an inn somewhere where his attire wouldn’t cause anyone to faint.”
Amelia-Rose made a sound deep in her chest. “I should be more concerned with Mr. Jones’s reception,” she said crisply, “as evidently he is unable to resist anything wearing a skirt, including his mother’s maid. Hopefully he recognizes the difference between a kilt and a skirt, or Mr. MacTaggert may have to flatten him.”
“Amelia-Rose!”
“As for you, Caroline, you did stare at Niall all night at the theater, to the point that I’m surprised you remember which play we were there to see. The difference between being rude from a distance and rude up close is that up close your target is able to respond.” She clucked at Mirabel. “Good day, Caroline, Agnes, Lewis.”
She trotted off. Niall took a moment to grin at the stunned trio before he kneed Kelpie and caught up to her. “Lass, you are magnificent,” he drawled.
Amelia-Rose wiped a hand across her face. “I am horrid. Why did I do that? Why do I always do that? It’s a stupid conversation. I don’t need to win it.”
Damn it all, she was crying. “I reckon ye said someaught because they were insulting me for no good reason,” he returned. “It would’ve been easier to say naught, or to laugh along with ’em. Ye took the harder course, adae.”
“I am not comforted. You just say whatever you wish.”
“They dunnae matter to me. Most I meet here dunnae matter a whisker to me. I ken who I am and what I do in my life. I’m proud of that.”
She took a breath, slowing to a walk again. “If my mother hears about this, which she will because she always does, I’ll have to sit through another week of lectures on proper decorum and how to keep my useless opinions to myself.”
“Dunnae keep them from me,” he protested, reaching over to catch Mirabel’s reins and bring horse and rider to a stop. “Ye didnae say a thing that wasnae true, and frankly I’d rather listen to ye read a grocery list than hear anyone else recite Shakespeare.”
For a long moment her blue eyes searched his face. “Your brother isn’t here, is he?” she finally said.
That hadn’t been what he’d thought she would say. She surprised him almost constantly, actually, which she would likely say was a bad thing—but which he looked forward to every time he set eyes on her. “Nae. Do ye want me to take ye home?”
A slight smile touched her mouth. Christ’s sake, her lips looked soft. Kissable. “We still have two hours, I believe. Let’s not waste them.”
Two hours wasn’t nearly enough. Aye, he should be far away from Saint James’s Park and from her. But sooner rather than later he would have no time with her at all—or at least none that he could justify. Until then, he’d steal every damned moment he could.
* * *
“No handsome Scotsman to accompany you today?”
Amelia-Rose looked over her shoulder at the trio who took the seats directly behind her. Wonderful. Playing the pianoforte in front of an audience gave her the shivers all in itself. To have friends here—ones who wouldn’t be performing—made it so much worse. “There are a plentitude of more interesting things for a first-time visitor to London to do than attend a recital,” she whispered, and faced forward again.
“Yes, but you’re here,” Elizabeth Sampson returned, speaking well below the sound of Polymnia Spenfield playing the harp. “And I don’t so much want to meet your fiancé as I do his younger brother. I hear he’s a true Adonis.”
“He’s not my fiancé,” Amelia-Rose retorted, earning her a stern look from Mrs. Spenfield down the row. Be civil, she reminded herself. “Not officially. Please don’t ruin my mother’s wish to make a grand announcement of our engagement simply because we’re friends and I told you what was afoot.”
There. That had sounded logical, anyway. The last thing she wanted, other than people gossiping about her, was for the gossip to be negative. It weighed on her enough that she had no idea if Coll MacTaggert would actually appear tomorrow night to escort her to the Spenfield ball. If he didn’t … She shuddered. No, she didn’t wish under any circumstances to wed a stupid man who couldn’t even be bothered to speak with her for more than three minutes.
But at the same time she already had a reputation for being too blunt. Anyone who already knew about the near-betrothal—which was far too many people for her peace of mind—would assume that he’d broken it off because she wasn’t acceptable. Yes, she’d handed him a set-down, but only after he’d insulted her first. And then he’d stomped off like an angry bull. At the least she deserved to be the one to cry foul and walk away now.
“No one will hear it from me,” Lord Phillip West said quietly, sitting straighter to applaud politely as Polymnia finished her piece.
“I’m only here because I wanted to see his brother again,” Patricia LeMere put in. “Niall. Did you see his eyes? I could just swoon.”
Oh, please. They didn’t even know Niall, or if he would catch any female foolish enough to swoo
n. She rather doubted it. Perhaps he might pick a lady up after she fainted, but he might well laugh at her first for being so delicate. Coll, on the other hand, might prefer a fainter.
“Where will they be next?” Elizabeth insisted. “I didn’t attend the picnic, so I haven’t even seen him yet. Everyone says he’s too handsome for words. Will he be at the Spenfield ball?”
“But I wasn’t invited this year,” Patricia complained, a pout in her voice. “‘Too many females,’ they said. That isn’t fair, is it?”
“Your parents could hold a soiree for you, and invite only men,” Amelia-Rose suggested, trying to pay attention as the Duke of Dunhurst’s granddaughter Maria attempted something horrid on the pianoforte, poor thing.
“That would make everyone think me unmarriageable and desperate,” Patricia whispered back. “Really, Amy.”
“You haven’t been helpful at all,” Elizabeth seconded.
“Then ask Eloise where they might be,” Amelia-Rose suggested. “She’s their sister.” For heaven’s sake, she hadn’t seen a MacTaggert for better than a day herself, and she was supposedly to join the family. Not that she’d been looking for any of them, or one in particular.
“Don’t mind if I do,” one or the other of the girls retorted.
Amelia-Rose’s mother sat down beside her. “It’s your turn next, my dear. Do pay attention, so the others will do you the same courtesy.”
“I am paying attention.”
“Hush.” Victoria Baxter folded her hands in her lap. “I especially arranged for you to go directly after Maria Vance-Hayden; you will show very well, you know.”
Privately she’d hoped that Maria’s musical skills had improved since the beginning of the Season; the young lady was myopic and shy as a mouse as it was. Squinting and muttering would never find her a husband, but a fair turn at music could only help. Alas, either her ability or her nerves seemed to be betraying her yet again.
Finally the duke’s granddaughter stood and curtsied, her music clutched to her chest. Polite applause followed, and then their hostess Lady Curry stood. “Our next recitalist is Amelia-Rose Baxter. Miss Baxter?”
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