Love Me Forever

by Johanna Lindsey

  He and his kinsmen could have taken their arguments elsewhere, after they had become aware that they were disturbing her peace. But no, they hadn’t done that, they’d continued to keep her awake…and she did not have to justify her own behavior. She was the one who was still sick and could barely keep her eyes open to finish the meal set before her, while he had come in seemingly in great good spirits and in perfect health.

  “Trying to justify your behavior last night does you no credit, MacGregor. I have had very little sleep in the last three days, two of those days due to your own lack of consideration for others.”

  “Och now, so that’s your excuse, is it?”

  “I am not apologizing to you,” she hissed, “I am merely pointing out that your behavior was even worse than you supposed it to be.”

  “Had you asked nicely for some peace, darlin’, you might have got some, but that wasna the case, now was it?” he drawled rather smugly.

  She gasped. He actually dared to place the blame for his behavior on her shoulders. But that was no better than one could expect of a…Kimberly nipped that thought in the bud as she realized what she was doing, letting her father’s prejudice affect her own thinking. She knew better. And besides, she needed no prejudice whatsoever to dislike this particular Scot. He managed to instill that emotion in her all on his own.

  His comment didn’t deserve a reply. To continue in this vein was letting him bring her down to his level of rudeness. Yet she still couldn’t resist saying, “Is it necessary to remind you that had the disturbance you were making last night been of a tolerable level, it wouldn’t have been necessary to speak to you a’tall. And you may address me as Lady Kimberly. I am not your ‘darlin’.’”

  “And ’tis glad I am of that,” he retorted.

  She had an urge to stand up and slap him soundly. But she recalled where she was and with whom, and made an effort to keep the heat out of her cheeks instead.

  “So we are agreed, MacGregor,” she gritted out, then added in a mild mimic of his lyrical brogue, “And ’tis glad I am that I will not have to suffer your company again after this meal is over.”

  That got her a chuckle and a cheeky grin. “You’re leaving Sherring Cross then, are you?”

  “No, you are.”

  He shook his head. “I hate tae disappoint you, lass, surely I do, but I’m no’ leaving.”

  She frowned at him. “You’re lying. I distinctly heard His Grace—”

  “His Grace has had himself a change of heart,” he cut in and was frowning himself now. “And ’afore I take offense at being called a liar, I’ll be having an apology from you.”

  “No, you won’t. I’ll allow that changed circumstances do not make you a liar in regards to this, but considering your profession, MacGregor, I have little doubt that lying comes as naturally to you as stealing. And since you will, unfortunately, be staying on here, I will be sure to put my belongings under lock and key.”

  She could not have insulted him worse if she’d tried to. But in fact, she hadn’t been trying to. She was simply so flustered and chagrined to be having this conversation with him at all that she was answering him without giving her responses full consideration.

  But he was insulted, gravely. It was one thing to be called a liar when he was lying, but something else again to be called a liar when he wasn’t.

  “The only thing I’d be stealing from you, lass, is that vicious tongue of yours. You’d be wise tae put that under lock and key as well.”

  She gasped for the second time, then in a tone as stiff as dried leather, said, “This habit you have of threatening women speaks for itself. You might have gotten away with intimidating me last night, but you may be sure that you won’t manage it quite so easily again. So might I suggest that you refrain from speaking to me at all, and I will in turn be glad to spare you my ‘vicious tongue.’”

  “’Tis what I deserve for trying tae apologize tae a shrew,” he mumbled to himself.

  She heard him, of course. He meant for her to hear him. But the silence—finally—that his remark produced had him feeling somewhat ashamed. Trading insults with a lady was unique for him. Not that he minded so much, not with this lady in any case. But it was his habit to charm and tease, not to provoke hostility, and he wasn’t even sure why he was doing it.

  This morning, in her frill-less, serviceable brown morning dress that hung loosely on her frame, her hair in an unbecoming, plain style that merely emphasized the redness of her nose, Lady Kimberly was infinitely ignorable, and yet—Lachlan couldn’t seem to ignore her. She rubbed him wrong, she truly did. Every word out of her mouth pricked at his ire and had him hot to retaliate in kind.

  She had managed to disturb his sleep a number of times throughout the night. This morning he had awakened as tired as he was when he’d finally gotten to sleep. That hadn’t annoyed him, had amused him actually, that an Englishwoman could be that vindictive. He’d merely accepted that as his due and came down to breakfast hopeful, after a servant had delivered the message that he would be welcome at Sherring Cross indefinitely. Yet he’d been tired, and even the sight of his beautiful Megan hadn’t perked him up as it should have. But damned if he wasn’t wide awake now, after exchanging barbs with the spiky lady next to him.

  Refrain from speaking to her at all? The devil he would. The MacGregor wouldn’t back down from a challenge like that. But he’d won this round. So he could desist for the moment.

  Guts she had aplenty, although she was bolstered by the presence of others, he didn’t doubt. She’d likely sing a different tune if they’d been alone, one not so grating on the ears. Then again, maybe not. But he’d find out. He wasn’t leaving, had all the time he needed now in win his heart’s desire. And in the meantime, he had little doubt that he and Lady Kimberly would cross swords again.

  10

  Kimberly spent a good portion of the day sleeping. It wasn’t very sociable, it being only her second day at Sherring Cross, but she’d had no choice. And even the duchess agreed she should do so when Kimberly had nodded off just as Megan was beginning to discuss the “plan” that would see her on her way to matrimony.

  Megan had herded both Lucinda, Devlin’s grandmother, and Kimberly to her sitting room directly after that—how should she put it?—torturous breakfast. The “plan,” as Megan called it, was a strategy that they could all agree on, in other words, how to expose Kimberly to the widest assortment of bachelors at the soonest opportunity to assure her a wide range of possibles that she could then have ample time to consider.

  It was mentioned that a number of social events were already scheduled in the coming weeks at Sherring Cross. And a slew of invitations to entertainments elsewhere also needed to be sorted through and decided on, including several imminent balls.

  Kimberly had fallen asleep just as Lucinda, or Duchy, as her family fondly called her, mentioned that one of those balls was in London and a mere four days hence. Kimberly had been about to confess that there was no way she could prepare for an event of that formal magnitude in that short of time, having not a single ball gown to her name, when her eyes had closed for the umpteenth time and stayed closed.

  The next thing she knew, Megan was shaking her awake, laughing softly, and telling her to go to bed.

  It was, of course, the height of bad manners to fall asleep on one’s hostess, and Kimberly was truly embarrassed. She made her excuses, blamed her cold and the journey. And she wasn’t sure why she didn’t put the blame where it belonged, on the guest in the room next to hers, but she didn’t.

  Now, as she dressed for dinner, she also wondered why she hadn’t requested another room today. Having that Scot sleeping nearby was going to disturb her peace of mind, she knew it was. Knowing that she might run into him in the halls, coming to and from her room. Knowing that she was bound to hear him, whether he decided to have a little more consideration for the sort of noise he made or not. She had decisions to make that were going to affect the rest of her life. She didn’t n
eed distractions.

  Yet she’d said nothing to her hostess, and now that she thought about it, she still probably wouldn’t ask to be moved. The simple truth was, that even as exhausted as she’d been, and miserable with her cold, she’d never in her life been so stimulated. Excitement, fear, thrill, fury, whatever she wanted to call it, MacGregor made her feel it. And she ought to decide whether it was a good or bad thing, before she put an end to it.

  The dowager duchess had sent a God-awful tasting concoction along with Mary, to treat Kimberly’s cold, and by the time she was dressed and ready to leave her room, she was actually feeling somewhat better. At least her nose was no longer threatening to run away at the first sneeze. In fact, she’d stopped sneezing, enough so she was able to camouflage some of the lingering redness, or as the case was, rawness, with a little powder. The achiness was also gone from her limbs, adding a little perkiness to her step.

  Actually, she was quite pleased with her appearance, all things considered. The lavender dress that she’d had Mary press for her had a draped and sashed waist that allowed her to tie away the looseness in that area. But she really was going to have to do something about her current wardrobe, and decided to ask the duchess if she had a personal seamstress at Sherring Cross, or at least one located close by that she could visit tomorrow. Parties and balls in London? Not until she was properly girded for them.

  She’d heard not a sound from the room next door all afternoon, though she doubted anything could have roused her from the deep sleep she’d fallen into. But she’d heard nothing this evening either. Perhaps he’d requested a new room elsewhere, now that he was being allowed to stay on, to spare them both any more disturbances. She still couldn’t understand why the duke had changed his mind about letting the Scot stay; he’d sounded so adamant the night before.

  This evening there were several new guests that Kimberly was introduced to when she joined the nightly gathering in the parlor. Lady Hester Cowles and her daughter, Cynthia, were visiting the dowager duchess, and had agreed to stay for the coming week. Cynthia was a lovely young chatterbox of about sixteen years, which made her old enough to socialize with the adults on certain occasions, but not quite used to that privilege yet.

  Tiffany Whately was also present, introduced as Megan’s “dearest friend.” She had come with her husband, the Honorable Tyler Whately, for the weekend, and pretty much monopolized the duchess, as the two friends had much to catch up on. Kimberly had wanted to get back to discussing that “plan” she’d fallen asleep on this morning, but it looked like it would have to wait a bit more.

  However, she was able to find out that a Mrs. Canterby, an excellent seamstress, according to Margaret MacGregor, was retained full-time by the ladies of the house, and they kept her so busy that it was necessary as well as convenient for her to permanently reside at Sherring Cross. And Megan had already arranged for her to meet with Kimberly first thing in the morning.

  That did put Kimberly’s mind to rest on the matter of a new wardrobe. And hopefully the ball that had been mentioned only a few days hence wouldn’t be on the agenda. She had hoped to gradually work her way into the social whirl, until she was comfortable meeting a great many strangers, not start out immediately with extravagant events. However, from the little that she had heard about the “plan” this morning, the duchess apparently had other ideas.

  As it grew near the dinner hour, and Lachlan MacGregor had yet to make an appearance, Kimberly began to hope that she wouldn’t have to endure his company again. She wasn’t to be that lucky.

  She was sitting next to Cynthia Cowles, listening to the girl complain about the lack of color variety in her wardrobe—young girls were still trotted out in the inevitable pastels that had been favored for the last century and Megan’s rich green gown had prompted an envious sigh—when the Highlander sauntered into the room, looking exceptionally handsome in a dark burgundy dinner jacket that nearly matched his hair color when the light reflected in it just so. And his thick, unclubbed hair floated about his shoulders, highly unfashionable. Yet when had Highlanders ever conformed to fashion, and on him, well, the style seemed just right. A bit of lace at the neck and cuffs of his white silk shirt added to the dashing effect he presented.

  Cynthia’s mouth dropped open. Kimberly had nearly the same reaction, though she managed to keep her mouth closed. No doubt about it, he still attracted her on every level, causing her senses to become vibrantly alive and expectant.

  But he didn’t notice her or anyone else for that matter. He came in wearing his charm-the-ladies smile, but there was only one lady he was interested in charming and he moved straight to her.

  That lady was the duchess, of course, and since Megan was on the other side of the room, it was impossible to hear what words were exchanged between them. But it became comical, watching them, as Megan realized he was going to reach for her hand and tried to prevent it. She swiftly moved her hand out of his reach, but had to do it again and again since Lachlan refused to give up, was actually chasing her hand with his until he finally caught it to bring to his lips for a lingering kiss, or at least, he meant for it to be lingering. But Megan immediately snatched her hand back, giving him a frown for his efforts.

  Everyone, of course, was watching them. Lucinda chuckled. Devlin scowled. Kimberly shook her head.

  Into the silence that followed, Cynthia found her voice, saying in an awed tone, “He’s a veritable giant, isn’t he?”

  Kimberly had thought so at first too, but having stood next to him since, she’d been forced to change her mind. “I don’t think so,” she replied.

  Cynthia should have been mortified, having made a thoughtless remark like that, and in a voice that would carry. Her mother certainly was. But the girl seemed quite unaware of her faux pas.

  As for Kimberly’s reply, Cynthia simply looked at her as if she were daft. So she stood up to demonstrate why she might not consider him a giant. Cynthia’s eyes followed her up and up and finally her expression mirrored some mild self-disgust, as if to say, now why didn’t I notice that before?

  “Well, no wonder you wouldn’t think so. You’re a giant too,” the girl said.

  Poor Lady Cowles was beet red by that point, but the comment struck Kimberly funny for some reason, and she laughed out loud. It had been so long since she had done so that it felt strange—yet good. But when she wound down, ending in a smile, she happened to catch Lachlan giving her an odd look. She had not meant to draw his notice to her, and having it now, she found herself flustered again. But fortunately, dinner was announced at that moment and the exodus began toward the dining hall.

  Megan had made an effort to again limit the chairs at the dining table, but without actually assigning seats and being obvious about her strategy, it didn’t work this time. In fact Kimberly and Lachlan were the first seated and as it happened, at opposite ends of the long table.

  Megan was a bit put out. But having witnessed Lady Kimberly’s smile in the parlor, she was still so pleased that she realized the seating arrangements didn’t matter that much.

  That smile, genuine as it was, had completely transformed the lady, surprising Megan at first, then delighting her. Amazing what a couple of dimples could do for one’s appearance, not to mention disposition. And although Kimberly still couldn’t be called beautiful in the classic sense, when she smiled, there was a warm, sensual appeal to her features that made her quite lovely indeed. And Megan was thrilled that Lachlan MacGregor had also taken note.

  Along that same line of thought, another idea occurred to Megan. She tested her theory at dinner, putting her best effort forth to be amusing and to keep those around her smiling, if not laughing. And it worked. Kimberly relaxed and seemed to thoroughly enjoy herself, and each time she laughed, Lachlan seemed to turn her way.

  Of course, it was too bad of him that he was also sending seductive smiles and looks Megan’s way.

  Megan sighed, realizing she was going to have to have another talk with him about h
is continued interest in her—before Devlin took note of it. The only way she’d been able to get around her husband’s stubborn refusal to allow the Highlander to stay was to stress the possibility of matching him with the Earl of Amburough’s daughter. If he happened to notice where MacGregor’s interest lay, albeit temporarily—Megan would see to that—there wouldn’t be any talking around him again. The Scot would be given the boot immediately, if Devlin didn’t take him to task with his fists again instead.

  That was, unfortunately, an ongoing possibility, considering Devlin’s antipathy toward the Highlander. But sitting near each other tonight, with only Duchy between them, they seemed to be doing an admirable job of ignoring each other. Too admirable, possibly.

  Though it might become apparent to those around them how completely they were ignoring each other and cause speculation and gossip, they didn’t have that to worry about quite yet, not until they started socializing outside of Sherring Cross. But then, plans had been made for doing just that within the next few days.

  Duchy had managed to convince Megan that putting all her eggs in one basket wasn’t a brilliant idea. As much as she liked and had settled on the notion of helping Kimberly and Lachlan on the path to discovering true love, and as convenient as it was, having both of them in residence to hurry that along, it might simply not be meant to be. So in all fairness, they each needed to be exposed to a nice range of eligibles. And the Wigginses’ ball in London, only a few days away, was just the thing to get that out of the way.

  11

  Kimberly was feeling pleasantly tired as she slowly made her way down the many hallways back to her room. She still hadn’t caught up on her sleep yet, but hopefully she would make up for that tonight. And her cold, miraculously, seemed to be gone completely, thanks to Lucinda’s wonderful, foul-tasting concoction.

  All in all, she’d actually enjoyed herself this evening. She’d been looking at all these upcoming social gatherings with something more like dread than anticipation. But Megan St. James had been such a charming and amusing hostess tonight that Kimberly had actually forgotten her reason for being at Sherring Cross.