Landing a Laird (Novella)

by Charles, Jane

  He glanced back up at her face before she caught him looking where he should not. Though a few remnants of her rash remained, her face didn’t appear to be in the painful state it had been last night. “You are looking, um, better.”

  She graced him with another smile. “That is one remedy I will not try again.”

  “Remedy?” He took a sip of his tea.

  “To rid myself of the freckles.”

  He choked on the tea and sputtered. “My pardon.”

  Lady Moira handed him a napkin. “Are you quite all right, Lord Ainsely?”

  He dabbed at his mouth and set the cup and saucer back on the table. “Why would you wish to make your freckles disappear?”

  “The same reason my red hair needs to go, and why my bre...mother has assured me that gentlemen don't wish their wives to have such endow...blemishes and coloring.”

  Gideon straightened. He had never heard such rubbish before in his life. Where was Hearne, and why wasn’t he taking the situation in hand? “Please, Lady Moira, do not change a thing. You are quite a bonny lass.”

  Moira paused with the teacup halfway to her lips. Did he just refer to her as a bonny lass? Her eyes narrowed and she placed the cup back in the saucer. “Lord Ainsely, where is your estate?”

  “I, um, well—“

  “Do you not know where you live?” she interrupted. Her heartbeat increased. Was it possible he was from Scotland?

  “Yorkshire,” he blurted out. “There is an estate in Yorkshire.”

  Moira’s heart sank. “Englishmen do not usually refer to ladies as bonny lasses; only Scots. At least I’ve never heard an Englishman say such a thing.”

  “Well, you, um see… I must have picked up a few of the phrases from my time in the country.”

  “I suppose,” she sighed.

  Ainsely glanced over his shoulder to Beatrice, who by all appearances was engrossed in her stitching. Moira knew better. Her maid had a knack for listening to and observing everything around her when others were convinced she wasn’t paying attention.

  He turned back to Moira and leaned forward. She shifted toward the table and waited.

  “I have some rather disturbing news.”

  Oh dear, what now?

  “There has been another bet,” he whispered.

  Moira straightened and grimaced. “About me?”

  “Yes. Lord Struthers.”

  “Go on,” Moira encouraged.

  “His estate is in Shropshire.”

  Her shoulders fell with the exhaling of her breath. “We are a week past Easter, and my name has already been in that blasted book three times.”

  Ainsely raised his eyebrows at her language.

  “Apologies. I don’t always mind my tongue.”

  The left side of his mouth quirked in half a smile. At least he didn’t appear overly scandalized by her language.

  “It is quite all right.”

  “I wonder if there is a record for how many times a lady’s name appears in the book in one Season.”

  He grimaced. “I am not sure that is a goal you should aim for. Most ladies are not listed for flattering reasons.”

  “I know.” Moira settled her hands on the settee on either side of her legs and pushed to stand. She could have been more graceful, she supposed, but she was almost as comfortable around Ainsely as she was Pippa, Georgie, and Patience. He was turning into a grand friend. He didn’t need to come to her this morning and tell her of the bet. He could have gone to Nyle instead, and her brother would have delivered the news. “I am still no closer to my goal, however.”

  Ainsely stood as well, as any polite gentleman would. “Please, you can be seated. I tend to pace when anxious, and it can be quite uncomfortable for any gentleman in the room.”

  He sank back down and watched as she wore a path in the carpet between the settee and the table.

  “Perhaps you can help me?” It had been on her mind to ask, and she was going to suggest it when they next met. Now was as good a time as any, and he had come to her first.

  “How may I be of service?”

  “Help me find my husband.”

  He choked. “Excuse me?”

  Moira turned suddenly to assure herself of his health. In her momentum, her knee banged the table and sent her falling forward. Ainsely reached out and grabbed her bare forearms to keep her from toppling onto him. Her skin sizzled at the touch of his ungloved hands. The contact warmed her from the tip of his fingertips to the ends of her toes. Their skin had never touched before and it was quite, well, not exactly disturbing, but her heart raced and her pulse pounded. “Goodness!”

  Goodness indeed. Gideon gently gripped Lady Moira’s forearms to keep her from falling on the table. His fingers burned at the touch of her skin, and his pulse hummed, bringing to life sensations that had lain dormant for far too long. Their eyes locked, their faces merely inches apart. Her lips parted in surprise, eyes wide with shock. She had to be feeling what he was. If he moved just a few inches, their lips would touch. Her tongue darted out, moistening the lower full, rosy bud. The rest of his anatomy came alive. Just one taste. He leaned forward, a breath away. She bent toward him.

  “Moira Kirkwood, what are you doing accosting that gentleman?”

  Gideon pulled back and stood, supporting Lady Moira until she had her balance, and turned toward the woman who had just shrieked at them.

  “Mother, this is Lord Ainsely—” she focused on Gideon and gestured to her mother “—my lord, the Dowager Countless Hearne.”

  “I apologize for my daughter’s behavior.” The woman rushed toward him.

  “There is nothing to apologize for,” Gideon responded slowly. How much had the woman seen from her angle at the door, which had been to the left of his back? “Your daughter tripped, and I simply caught her.”

  The woman’s eyes narrowed. “It looked as if she were...”

  “Yes?” Gideon raised an eyebrow.

  “Never mind.” The woman threw up her hands. “I am sure I was mistaken.” She slid a glance at her daughter. “At least I hope I was mistaken.”

  “You were, my lady,” the maid piped up from the back corner. “I saw Lady Moira trip, and would have ended up right in the tea service had Lord Ainsely not caught her.”

  The dowager countess whipped around. “I will ask if I want your input.”

  Gideon cringed at the woman’s tone. No wonder Lady Moira wanted to be far away from her mother. Lady Moira wasn’t looking at him however, but at the maid and silently mouthing, “Thank you.”

  “Moira, why aren’t you wearing a hat?”

  A befuddled look came across the young woman’s face. “Because I’m in the parlor.”

  “Yes, but you must cover that head until I can find another remedy.”

  Lady Moira’s hand went to her scalp and she grimaced.

  Please, let this woman run out of options before Lady Moira is bald.

  “Madam, I stopped by to see if Lady Moira would like to accompany me on a drive in the park.”

  Both ladies perked up. The mother had a calculating gleam in her eye while she studied him, whereas Lady Moira brightened with what he interpreted as relief at the possibility of escape.

  “As long as she takes Beatrice with her.”

  “I am afraid that’s not possible. I am driving my phaeton today and there’s only enough room for two.”

  The dowager pursed her lips in thought, and Lady Moira twisted her hands together, waiting patiently. The young woman wanted out of this house probably more than he did.

  “It is open?”

  What an odd question. “Of course. It is right outside if you would like to see for yourself.”

  “And where do you plan to ride?”

  Had the woman been part of the Inquisition in an earlier life? “Hyde Park.”

  The maid stood and moved toward the door. “I’ll get your hat and parasol, Lady Moira.”

  “Thank you, Beatrice.” Lady Moira smiled after her.
/>
  “As long as you don’t do anything that could ruin my daughter’s reputation,” the dowager countess warned. “We are still trying to recover from that scandalous bet.”

  Did she not know of the subsequent two? And what a thing to say to a stranger in her daughter’s presence. “Of course. I would not dare risk harm to your daughter.”

  Moments later they were outside, Lady Moira seated beside him as he edged the phaeton into traffic. Her leg pressed against his did nothing for the desire that had been building steadily since they first met and came to full bloom moments before their near kiss.

  Moira took in her surroundings. She’d only walked in the park before, never ridden. The view from Ainsely’s phaeton was much better. If she appeared interested in the crowd, perhaps they would not speak. Heaven knew she didn’t want to talk about what was on her mind.

  Drat her mother for showing up right before she was going to get her very first kiss. And it was to be from Ainsely. She couldn’t have picked the more perfect man for that adventure had she tried.

  She sneaked a glance at him from beneath her lashes. Would he try to kiss her again, or had the moment passed? Well, not here in the park of course. That would ruin her, far more than her name appearing in the betting book. Well, unless Ainsely married her, something which she was positive he did not want to do. Besides, he lived in Yorkshire.

  Disappointment stabbed at her heart a second time. Why did he have to live there, of all places?

  Perhaps if they did kiss, she would no longer wish to spend additional time with him, and this disappointment that he lived in England wouldn’t be so painful. That was what she must do. One simple kiss, and then they could put all of this behind them.

  But where and how?

  Ainsely pulled upon the reins as traffic slowed. It was rather crowded today. Of course it was a beautiful day. Anyone in their right mind would be out and about. A rider drew alongside the phaeton.

  “Good day, Ainsely.” The man tipped his hat.

  “Struthers,” Ainsely bit out.

  So, this was the gentleman from the bet. While Moira leaned forward to look around Ainsely to the gentleman, Ainsely pulled the carriage over to a stop. “Lady Moira, might I present Lord Struthers.”

  The man smiled and tipped his head while his eyes scanned her person from her eyes to her toes and back again, lingering a bit too long on her breasts. Moira fought the urge to lift a hand and cover herself. Not that any skin was exposed, but his leer made her feel unclothed.

  Moira had never been so insulted by such disrespect. “I think it is only fair to tell you that I cannot consider you.” She wanted to be done with this nonsense now. Having her name in that book had become more an aggravation than anything.

  Well, with the exception of Ainsely. His involvement had been nothing but enjoyable.

  “Is it because my estate is in such poor repair?” the blond gentleman asked.

  At least he was now focused on her face and not trying to find her breasts. “I couldn’t care less whether your home is a poorly thatched cottage surrounded by thistle and weeds or a grand castle. The location simply won’t do.”

  Struthers straightened and frowned. “What exactly is wrong with Shropshire?”

  “I don’t wish to live there.” Moira shrugged. Now that she had dealt with the situation, she simply wished he would go away.

  “Good day, Struthers.” Ainsely clicked on the reins and moved the phaeton back into traffic. “I believe you.”

  “Pardon?”

  “You would rather live in a damp cave in Scotland than a prospering estate in England.”

  “Yes.” While that had been the truth a few days ago, Moira was beginning to fret her dreams of Scotland would not come to pass. “Will you help me?”

  He looked over at her and narrowed her eyes. “Help?”

  “Find my Scottish husband.”

  His jaw tightened as if angered. For the life of her, she didn’t understand why. It wasn’t as if he wished to marry her. Well, he had almost kissed her, but that was simply because of the moment, and their faces being so close. Under normal circumstances, she was fairly certain he did not spend time thinking about kissing her at all, whereas she had thought quite a lot about kissing him since the mishap in the parlor. Before he took her home today, she would make sure they kissed. In the meantime, she had a husband to find.

  “Very well.”

  Moira sighed with relief and a bit of disappointment. If he were interested in making her his wife, he would not help her find the man who would take her away. Even if, by the slightest chance, there was a small interest, Ainsely wouldn’t pursue it. He lived in Yorkshire. Given those facts, he was probably not at all that interested in kissing her again. And if that proved to be so, she would simply have to change his mind.

  Straightening, she scanned the crowd. “If you would point out the eligible bachelors and the locations of their estates, it would be greatly appreciated.”

  The park was filled with bachelors, she soon learned. The phaeton didn’t move five feet without Ainsely rattling off a title or mister and location. None of them were Scottish. Two were Irish, so if necessary she would give them some consideration. But how did her mother feel about Ireland? She would have to ask. Of course, one must cross the sea to get there, which may be deterrent enough for her.

  Up ahead, the crowd grew thick. Pippa sat in a landau with Lady Heathfield. Her eyes were fixed on the sky. Moira followed her line of vision and sucked in a breath.

  “What is it?” The concern of Ainsely’s voice brought Moira out of her shock. She pointed to the sky.

  “Who is that in the balloon?”

  “One of my dearest friends, Georgianna Bexley-Smythe, and I believe she may have just landed herself in a pickle.”

  “It doesn’t seem anyone has noticed but a few.”

  Moira glanced around. Ainsely was right. Most of the park goers were turned, looking behind where they had come from. Pippa did the same, and Moira followed her line of vision. Was that St. Austell? “What happened to him?”

  Ainsely glanced back. “I am sure I don’t want to know.” He clicked the reins and maneuvered the phaeton around and away from the crowd. Though curious as to what was occurring with Pippa and Georgie, Moira knew she would find out soon enough. She was too disheartened by not finding one Scot in the park to drum up enough interest.

  Of all the gentlemen they had passed, not one would make a good candidate and, the longer she sat next to Ainsely, the more she compared the others to him. It was enough to make a young woman want to cry. Why was it so difficult to find the perfect husband?

  When she glanced about, they were deep in the park. Ainsely pulled the phaeton to a stop beneath the shade of a copse of trees. There wasn’t another soul around. They were all probably watching her friend’s ruination in the balloon, or waiting to see what St. Austell in his disheveled state was about.

  Ainsely turned to look at Moira, and she met his eyes. Was something on his mind?

  Instead of saying a word, his hand came up, cupped the back of her head, and he brought his lips to hers. She wouldn’t have to make him kiss her after all.

  She melted on contact. His lips were strong, warm, and firm, and she attempted to kiss him in the same manner as he kissed her. His other hand wound around her back, and he pulled her closer as his tongue traced the seam of her lips. Moira would have pulled back from the shock, but he held her head in place.

  This surely wasn’t right. Kissing didn’t involve tongues, did it? She pulled back slightly, which was about all she was allowed, and opened her mouth to ask when he swept in. Her insides heated, and she had to clutch his shoulders to remain upright. Dear heavens. Who would have thought tongues had another purpose besides tasting food and talking?

  Her body tingled, and the binding around her chest became tighter than when Beatrice had tied it around her this morning, and she couldn’t catch her breath. Delicious warmth flowed through her veins and
into areas much too private to consider.

  The hand behind her head skimmed down her back to her waist, leaving a trail of heat in its path, and up to her breast.

  “Bloody hell.” Ainsely pulled back and looked at her. “You have bound your breasts.”

  Her face heated from embarrassment, and not the more pleasant warmth pooling inside. “Mother said they were a hindrance and a distraction.”

  “The same woman who has tried to change your hair and remove your freckles?”

  Moira bit her lip and nodded.

  “That woman knows nothing about men.”

  Moira pulled back, shocked at his harsh tone.

  Ainsely smiled at her and kissed her gently one more time. “Trust me in this, Moira. Your breasts are your fourth best physical feature.”

  “Fourth?” What was he talking about?

  A slow smile came to his lips, causing his warm brown eyes to crinkle at the corners.

  “The first is your face, when you haven’t applied concoctions causing what must have been an uncomfortable rash.”

  Her face heated further.

  “The second is your hair. Do not ever change the color you were blessed with. It reminds me of the morning sunrise.”

  Oh goodness, she was becoming overheated and they weren’t even in the sun.

  “Third, your freckles. I’ve always had a weakness for lasses with freckles.”

  She was in love. If she hadn’t been before, but she may have been and just not realized it, she certainly was now.

  “And the fourth are your glorious breasts. While they may be a distraction, I find them a very pleasant one.”

  Goodness, was living in Scotland really all that important?

  “Despite what your beliefs of marriage may be, do not marry any Scot unless he feels exactly the way I do.”

  Lord Alston bets Mr. Fiske three hundred pounds that Lady Moira Kirkwood

  will be compromised by Lord Ainsely within the week

  and find herself living in Scotland by the end of the Season ~ April 25, 1813

  “Damn and blast.” Gideon threw the empty glass against the fireplace. He gave her the perfect opportunity to give up her dream of marrying a Scot today. After the words he spoke, the closest he had ever come to a declaration of love in his life, she said nothing. Nothing! She should have confessed that she no longer wanted a Scot, but would follow him.