“I highly doubt that, Mr. MacTaggert,” her mother returned. “Amelia-Rose is a troublesome girl, but she will not be swayed by your good looks or absurdly quaint accent. She knows her duty to this family.”
“I reckon we’ll find that out.” He wanted to add that her parents had been the ones signing her over in exchange for the loftiest title they could find, but they would eventually become his in-laws. A healthy dislike would be better than outright hatred.
With a last glance and nod at his mother, Niall left the room. Time to begin again. And this time, he’d be wooing the lass for himself.
Chapter Ten
Amelia-Rose watched Niall stomp off back inside Oswell House. Fine. The MacTaggerts stomped off a great deal.
No, that wasn’t fair. Niall had rescued her last night. His swift appearance had been the only thing that saved her from complete scandal and ruin. And however underhanded his so-called courtship had been, that kiss last night had been more than a moment of mutual attraction. She thought she’d behaved her worst, unable to make a calm reasoned reply when she was clearly being baited, and yet he’d once again been impressed by her spleen, as he called it.
Aside from that, his kiss had absolutely made her toes curl. Better he leave before she accidentally blurted out that she’d half—more than half—wished he’d been pursuing her for himself.
She looked around the garden at Oswell House. It was pretty and well kept, the gazebo freshly painted, with no half-wilted roses and their dropping petals in sight. Lady Aldriss, Francesca Oswell-MacTaggert, had had a father and a grandfather who despite being viscounts had eagerly invested in trade, in this case the tobacco coming in from the Caribbean and the new United States. In addition Lady Aldriss owned part of at least one shipping company, with her father deciding to be sure his untraditional investments went to his only child rather than to whomever she might marry. Now that had been foresight.
“Ye stayed,” Niall said, returning from the house.
“My parents are still here; I would have had to walk,” she replied, belatedly realizing she’d somewhere days ago stopped watching her words when she chatted with him. It made her feel … lighter.
He flashed a grin at her. “I’ve improved to being less offensive than a stroll in the wrong shoes, then. That’s someaught.”
Amelia-Rose tilted her head at him. She’d met good-natured people before, but they always seemed somewhat dim. Unwilling to see beyond the pretty little garden with which they’d surrounded themselves. Niall was not by any stretch of her imagination dim. Just the opposite. And yet … “How do you make me smile in the face of disaster?”
Stopping in front of her, he looked at her for a good handful of seconds. “I reckon I like to see ye smile.”
“That’s very nice, then.”
“Hold on to that compliment, as I’ve a favor to ask ye.”
“A favor? When everything’s been going so splendidly? Oh, by all means, ask away.”
Niall narrowed one eye, light green still glinting from behind his long lashes. “I’m nae oblivious to sarcasm, ye ken.”
“It’s no fun to utilize sarcasm on someone who doesn’t understand it. What is your favor?”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “This is my first time in London. I wonder if ye’d show me about.”
That, she hadn’t expected. Was he attempting to save her again? To keep her well away from any potential social quagmires? He couldn’t save her forever. “I’m in the middle of the social Season, Mr. MacTaggert, and I’ve just parted from an almost-fiancé. Perhaps you should hire a guide.”
“Och,” he muttered. “Ye’re nae even trying to be pleasant now.”
“Well, people have been yelling at me since dawn, and you said you liked my spleen.”
“I dunnae dislike yer sharp tongue. I’m only pointing out that I noticed it stinging me.” Moving closer, he reached out to take her hand and pull her to her feet. “Ye’re a stubborn woman.”
No one had ever called her stubborn before, except for her mother, and Victoria had meant it as an insult. Stubborn meant she had a backbone, and a lady wasn’t supposed to have one of those. “As I said, in light of last night, I find that your motives have somewhat confused me.”
“Ye’re nae the only one who’s been confused, lass.” His gaze lowered to her mouth, and her heart did an odd flip-flop. Kiss me, she thought to herself, since nothing in the world would induce her to say it aloud. Just kiss me.
Niall took a half-step forward, lifting his free hand to brush her cheek with his forefinger. Then, lowering his head, he very lightly touched his mouth to hers. Amelia-Rose shut her eyes, warmth, heat, awareness flooding through her.
The press of his lips didn’t deepen, and a short moment later he withdrew again. Annoyed, she opened her eyes to find him gazing down at her, a half smile on that impossible mouth of his. “What?” she demanded.
“Ye’re leaning,” he murmured, stroking her cheek again. “I knew ye liked me, lass. And my ‘nice’ kisses.”
“I already admitted that you kiss well. Do you wish a fanfare now?”
He laughed. “Take me to a museum tomorrow. Ten o’clock. I’ll fetch ye in that barouche ye like so much.”
Oh, for heaven’s sake, she was leaning toward him. Belatedly she straightened. “Niall.”
“Say aye, Amelia-Rose.”
If she didn’t, there was no telling where he might next make an appearance—or worse, that he would simply decide she wasn’t worth the trouble. “Yes,” she breathed.
“Amelia-Rose,” her mother’s voice came from the direction of the house, “come away at once. We are leaving!”
“I’ll see ye in the morning, lass.” Niall stayed where he was in the gazebo, no doubt deciding he’d aggravated her mother enough with the bagpipers earlier.
“Don’t be late.”
“I dunnae mean to miss my moment again,” he returned.
She contemplated that last exchange as she joined her parents and they stalked through the Oswell House main hallway while the butler hurried behind them. Was he admitting that he knew he’d very nearly ruined his own chances? It would be nice if he actually had learned a lesson from this disaster.
On the other hand, why, precisely, had she agreed to go with him tomorrow? He was still that Highlander who didn’t like London and had no title, and she was still herself. They remained incompatible. Evidently she forgot all her objections to him when he kissed her, and for those moments it was worth it.
But yesterday she’d nearly fallen into a mire well over her head; she had no wish to do it again. Even as she acknowledged that she should stay well clear of his mouth, though, she had to admit that it would be easier to stop breathing. What had she wound herself into? Already she’d begun making compromises in her head, when firstly he’d never asked her for any, and when secondly the two largest walls between them were the ones neither of them could change. He would never be a viscount, and he would always be a Highlander.
“What did that … man say to you?” Victoria demanded as the butler handed her and then Amelia-Rose into their coach.
“That he wants to win me,” Amelia-Rose returned, sliding sideways on the seat to make room for her father.
“Ha. He should have kept his mouth shut, then. Lady Aldriss was in the middle of trying to convince us to sign a new agreement to give you to Niall MacTaggert in exchange for a share in her shipping company, until he stormed into the room and declared that we were trying to buy and sell you and he wouldn’t permit that to happen again. As if he has a say in anything the Baxters do. Ha!”
“He … did?” That was where he’d stomped off to, then. To save her again. Even if an agreement would have rescued her from having to decide for herself what she truly wanted.
“Oh, yes. And then he shouted at me that he meant to win you regardless of what your father and I might want for you. The nerve of that heathen. I can hardly believe he’s Lady Aldriss’s son.”
Good
ness. Now she wanted to demand yet another explanation from him. His mother wouldn’t have written up an agreement without him knowing about it, so he had thought to simply … purchase her. But then he’d stopped it. He’d listened to her in the garden, and had taken steps to alter what might have happened.
“You are to have nothing further to do with him, Amelia-Rose. Do you understand?”
“We’re certain to meet during the course of the Season, Mother. But you needn’t worry; I may attempt to reason with him, but I am still as set against marrying a Highlander as I was when you bound me to his brother.” There. Not much of a lie at all.
“Don’t be impudent.”
“I’m just saying it may take a bit of effort for me to convince him that we won’t suit, but I will be polite about it because I have no wish to make a second scandal out of this. He did save my reputation last night.”
“Y—”
“Now, now, dear,” Charles Baxter said. “You know that makes sense. Lady Aldriss is a powerful figure, and if we can dissuade her youngest son from pursuing Amy without making a scene, that benefits all of us.”
“Amelia-Rose,” her mother stated, glaring at her husband.
He inclined his head. “Amelia-Rose.”
Yes, that was her, Amelia-Rose Hyacinth Baxter. Mother hated the nicknames, especially “plain” ones like Amy. Victoria would no doubt detest a Scottish nickname like adae even more, but she didn’t know about that one. At the end, that name might be all she had by which to remember Niall.
She supposed she was willing to be wooed to a point, because he was extremely good-looking and clever and irreverent, and she wanted more kisses and more of the way she felt lighter inside when he was about. Truth be told, just last night she’d had a rather heated dream about him that had involved a bed and nudity and more kissing, though the parts she wasn’t certain about had unfortunately been rather nebulous. But unless he could miraculously convince her that the Scottish Highlands was superior to London, and convince her parents that being a mister was superior to being a lord something, it couldn’t go any farther than that.
“There was Lord Oglivy,” her mother mused. “Of course he’s only a baron.”
“And he’s fifty-seven years old,” Amelia-Rose added. “For goodness’ sake.”
“Hush. You could be engaged to a viscount with a future as an earl right now. But you didn’t like the details.”
“The details? I don’t want to live as a brood mare in a stable while he … fornicates with whomever he pleases! And takes any children I might have away from me!” she protested.
“Language, Amelia-Rose! For heaven’s sake.” Her mother fanned herself. “You would have been a countess, though. There’s a difference between a brood mare and a countess.”
“Mother!”
“I think we’ve burned that bridge,” her father put in. “She won’t be our Lady Glendarril, sadly enough.”
“The Marquis of Hanstag’s wife is very sickly,” Victoria went on, half to herself. “That would entail waiting a year for him to put on and cast off his black, though.”
Oh, this was getting worse and worse. “Now we’re hoping people die?”
“Not hoping, dear. But if she does, we should be ready. Just think. A marchioness.”
“I don’t wish to discuss this right now.” She didn’t want to discuss it ever, but that simply wasn’t realistic. It did make her wish she’d gone off walking with Niall, though; his conversation kept her on her toes, but it didn’t make her feel oily and ill.
“No, I need some time to consider our options anyway. You will continue attending all your events, and I will find you someone appropriate. And this time you will cooperate.”
No one said or else, but Amelia-Rose heard it. She’d heard it before. She would end up in a nunnery, or out on the streets, or reduced to being some elderly woman’s companion so her mother could pretend she didn’t have a daughter at all. If only Niall MacTaggert had been an English baron with a small house in Devon or Sussex and just a short drive from London.
The idea of escaping, no matter the consequences, had once been an occasionally visited daydream. With no money of her own, and no references on which she could depend to help her find employment, it had never progressed beyond that. But she kept hold of it anyway.
As they arrived at Baxter House, Hughes the butler met her at the door with a pile of calling cards on his salver. “For you, Miss Amelia-Rose,” he intoned.
She took them. “Good heavens. There must be a dozen here. Who are they?”
“Men, miss,” the butler returned. “Most of them asking if you were free for luncheon, or if they could call later to take you walking or riding.”
Niall had truly saved her. Not only was she not ruined, but as a newly unattached lady with at least one handsome man shadowing her, she’d become … desirable, of all things. She reached out her hand for the stack. “Thank you, H—”
“I see word has already gotten out that you and that barbarian aren’t to be wed after all,” Victoria said, taking the cards from the salver and sifting through them. “Your usual followers, unfortunately. So common. Ah well, answer two or three of them; a woman in a man’s company is always more desirable to other men than a woman alone.” She handed them back, except for one. “I shall keep this one. I need to inquire after Lord Phillip’s mother.”
More likely she needed to inquire of Lord Phillip’s mother whether Lord Phillip’s older brother the Marquis of Durst was still pursuing that heiress in Yorkshire. If Victoria Baxter deserved credit for anything, it was the way she knew who was seeing whom. It was uncanny, really.
Taking the remainder of the cards, she went upstairs to dress for the luncheon she’d already agreed to attend with Helen Turner and her brother Harry. And then she meant to spend her evening reading one of her father’s almanacs about Scottish planting cycles and sheep shearing and weather, and otherwise reminding herself that she had other requirements in a marriage than not being left behind, and that she didn’t want Scotland. She would not be thinking about kisses and Niall MacTaggert. Not at all—except perhaps in her dreams.
* * *
“Ye’re truly after Amelia-Rose Baxter, then,” Aden said as he strolled into the breakfast room.
“Aye. If ye’re here to tell me we willnae suit, or she willnae take me if she wouldnae take a viscount, then shut yer gobber now. I already had that chat with the countess.”
“I’ve nae a word to say about it. Ye punched Coll hard enough to convince me.” His middle brother selected a stack of ham and some eggs, then seated himself at the foot of the table. “I’m here for food, and to tell ye I saw Lady Aldriss leaving her room just as I passed Rory on the stairs. Our stag’s wearing earbobs now, did ye notice? I reckon that was Eloise.”
“Shite.” Niall shoveled in the last few mouthfuls of breakfast, pushing away from the table as he chewed. “Ye bastard,” he managed around his ham and gravy, “ye might have warned me about the countess earlier.”
“Aye, I might have.”
He nearly crashed headlong into his mother as he fled the breakfast room. “Niall,” she exclaimed, putting a hand against his chest to steady herself.
“My lady. If ye’ll excuse m—”
“I need a word with you, son.”
“I’ll give ye one later. I’ve a lass to meet this morning.”
She kept her hand over his heart. “Niall, if you want to talk, I’m here.”
“I reckon I’m accustomed to keeping my own counsel, my lady. And I’ve my brothers.”
“I’m nae helpful,” Aden called from inside the breakfast room. “And ye and Coll arenae speaking, as I recall.”
Her mouth curved up at the edges. “I know you may not wish to acknowledge it, but I am a female. You’ve had a scarcity of females in your life, I imagine.”
Somewhere behind him he heard Aden snort. “I’ve had plenty of females in my damned life, woman. I’m nae a bloody monk.”
&n
bsp; “I mean womanly advice, Niall. Not womanly company.”
Niall retreated a step. “I dunnae want to be talking about this with ye, for Christ’s sake!”
“Why not? I have years of wisdom, both as a married woman and as a single young lady.”
“I am nae having this conversation with my mother.”
Her grin broadened. “There it is,” she murmured, and went up on her toes to kiss him on the cheek. “I am your mother. And you may tell me anything, anytime.”
“Bonny. Now go away! Aden’s in there, and I reckon he could use some womanly advice.” He gestured behind him.
“Bastard! I’m going out the window.”
She patted him on the shoulder, then moved sideways so he could get around her. That had been … odd, and oddly comforting. Like a family, almost. Like a dim memory of something he’d thought long forgotten.
Shaking himself, he went outside to meet the barouche. The last time he’d had Eloise and her Matthew beside him, but sitting in there all alone while some other fellow drove him through Mayfair would likely look as ridiculous as it felt. “Shift over,” he told the driver, and climbed up on the narrow seat beside him.
The driver scooted to the far side of the seat. “Do you wish to drive, sir?” he asked.
“What’s yer name, lad?”
“I … Robert, sir.”
“Robert. I dunnae know my way yet, but I reckon I’ll figure London out faster from up here. So ye drive, and I’ll watch. To Baxter House.”
“Um. Yes, sir.”
They set off, and while he did know the way to Baxter House by now, this gave him a few minutes to think. Or rather, to contemplate what he meant to do if the Baxters had actually fled London now that they knew his intentions. He wanted Amelia-Rose—he’d wanted her practically since he’d first set eyes on her. The only difference now was that he didn’t have to try convincing himself that she was meant for someone else, or that he would find someone whose company he enjoyed more than hers.
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