“I’ve already suffered the torments of hell. Once you’ve done it, everything else seems tame by comparison.”
“And three,” she added, “I have no wish to be held responsible for a relapse. Your brother would probably murder me with his dirk or some other equally horrifying Scottish weaponry.”
He mustered a smile that might look more like a grimace. “I’ll sign an ironclad waiver absolving you of responsibility if I do relapse.”
She eyed him in silence.
“Really, there’s nothing to worry about,” he said in a softer tone.
“It’s not that, precisely,” she said.
“Then what, precisely?”
“It does hurt a great deal, does it not? Even though you pretend the opposite.”
“Yes,” he said reluctantly.
“Worse than usual, too. I can tell.”
That startled him. “How?”
Even when the pain clawed at him like a thousand demons, he schooled his expression and forced a consistent gait. The new exercises were helping in that regard. Nick had finally found a doctor who seemed to know his business, unlike the other high-priced quacks they’d seen since their arrival in London. The first physician had morosely shaken his head and recommended a stout cane and a lifetime of laudanum. The second had actually had the nerve to suggest Royal’s leg be amputated.
That particular appointment had not ended well.
“Because when your pain is worse, you go white around the lips,” Ainsley said. “And your right eyelid often twitches.”
Royal gaped at her. He knew he often turned pale as a ghoul when his pain was particularly bad, so that was no surprise, but noticing the tic in his eyelid? No one had ever picked up on that except for his grandfather. Not even Nick, who watched him like a bloody hawk.
She shook her head. “The fact that you never complain is amazing to me.”
“There’s little point in complaining, since it won’t change anything,” he said gruffly.
Ainsley slowly unfurled her fan to study a painted scene of nymphs cavorting amongst a ruin. “You never boast about it, either,” she said in a thoughtful tone. “Most men would. After all, you’re a legitimate war hero.”
“Only a bloody coxcomb would boast about something that all but killed him.”
She shot him an irritated glance. “I’m not talking about your injury, you booby. I’m talking about the sacrifices you made for your country.”
He snorted. “Sacrifices that got me and all the other poor fools nothing but pain and suffering. When you’re bleeding out on the battlefield, it doesn’t matter one damn bit what you’re fighting for. English or French, the blood runs the same red.”
He’d seen rivers of the stuff, including his own, leaching into the dirt and mud. It had rained the night before that last battle, and Royal could still feel himself sinking into the horrendous, foul-smelling muck. Too weak to even turn himself over, he’d almost drowned in a shallow ditch before an infantryman had dragged him away to the temporary shelter of a British line.
Ainsley stared at the opposite wall. “This was a mistake,” she said in a flat tone.
His heart cramped, but he managed a sardonic smile. “I realize that penniless, crippled soldiers are not in your usual style.”
She shot him a resentful look. “You can be remarkably unpleasant at times, Mr. Kendrick.”
“So I’ve been told.” And he hated himself for it, hated that anger and sarcasm seemed the only defenses left to him, other than despair.
She clambered to her feet. “Do you need help getting up?” she asked, half turning away from him.
“I’m not helpless,” he gritted out as he pushed himself to stand. “You’ve done your duty by the poor invalid, my lady. You can return to your friends with a clear conscience, knowing you’ve accomplished one good deed for the evening.”
Ainsley flinched, looking set to flee to the refuge of the glittering lights and laughter of the ballroom. It was certainly what she should do, what part of him wanted her to do. Then the inevitable rejection would finally be over, and he could get on with the business of forgetting how much he adored her.
Instead, she squared her shoulders like a grenadier, and Royal braced for the cutting words that would surely flow from her beautiful lips. God knew he’d earned them.
But when he saw the tears in her eyes, glittering like star sapphires, his heart blackened with shame.
“You’ve got it so wrong,” she choked out. “I don’t pity you. I admire you.”
A startled laugh somehow escaped his tight throat. “Why, for God’s sake? I’m an ill-tempered fool without a shred of courtesy. You should find a vase and smash it over my thick skull.”
She shook her head so hard her curls bounced. “You don’t hide from your pain, but you don’t make a show of it, either. You just . . . live with it, as if it doesn’t matter. I don’t think I could ever be that brave.”
Oh, it mattered. Pain was now the cornerstone of his life. But as for living with it, what choice did he have? Nick had defied his superior officers and risked his own life and career to save Royal from certain death. Because his brother and the rest of the family needed him, Royal would bloody well keep on surviving for their sakes.
How could Ainsley ever understand that? And why did she even care?
“My lady, I don’t know what you want from me,” he said.
She swallowed before answering. “I . . . I like you, that’s all. If you can say that to me, why can’t I do the same?”
He shook his head, afraid to even think what she meant.
“Besides, I’m trying to be nice,” she added, sounding rather surly. Inexplicably, that tone eased the tightness in his chest. “I can be nice, you know, despite what people say about me. And I choose to be nice to you, specifically, you dreadful man.”
As he took a step closer, Ainsley held her ground, meeting his gaze with one both defiant and curiously vulnerable.
And Lady Ainsley Matthews was never vulnerable.
He gently rested a hand on her ridiculous poof of a sleeve. Royal longed to touch the smooth, bare skin just beyond the frill of lace and silk, but he didn’t yet dare. They barely knew each other, and yet the connection between them was battering through his rib cage, forging a path straight to his heart.
When she didn’t pull away from his touch, he found his voice. “I don’t need you to be nice to me, either.”
She stared up at him, her violet, wide-eyed gaze shimmering with vulnerability and longing. Longing for him? It seemed impossible.
“What does that mean?” she whispered.
He left the safety of her sleeve, brushing across her soft skin to cup the back of her neck.
“This,” he whispered as he lowered his head to her parted lips.
He sank into a cloud, into a soft whisper of passion with the promise of more to come. Though their lips barely touched, their breaths became one, a press of silken heat between one heartbeat and the next.
Those heartbeats were enough to know he was forever changed, no matter what happened next.
Drawing in a steadying breath, he reluctantly let his hand drop away, straightening to put some room between them. It was still much too close for propriety’s sake, since her breasts—God, those magnificent breasts—all but brushed the front of his coat.
Ainsley breathed out a little sigh that he swore was one of regret, then her eyelids fluttered open. He waited for her to speak—or haul off and slap him—but she simply gave him a dreamy, sweet smile. It was so unlike her that he was tempted to laugh. Or collapse from the joy and astonishment flooding through him.
He was struggling to find a safe path through the emotional earthquake. “Lady Ainsley, shouldn’t you apologize for taking advantage of me? I am quite shocked, I must say.”
She blinked, the smile fading as her expression turned blank.
He was a moron of the first order to make a joke of their first kiss—a confounded, stupid joke.<
br />
Then she giggled, a charming ripple that drifted around him like butterflies on a summer breeze. Everything about her was magical. She transformed the air he breathed and made him dizzy.
She playfully tapped him on the shoulder. “Mr. Kendrick, if you think—”
“What the devil is going on here?” blared an aggrieved voice from behind them.
Ainsley jerked away, the backs of her knees connecting solidly with the bench. Royal shot out an arm to steady her, but his damn leg chose that exact moment to buckle and he staggered. She slapped her hands on his chest, bracing him against a humiliating tumble.
“Are you all right?” she gasped.
“Yes,” he ground out. He glanced at the tall man charging at them like a boar with a spear in its rump. “Who the hell is that?”
“The Marquess of Cringlewood,” she said in a tight voice.
“Never heard of him.”
She shot him a grim look. “You’re about to hear quite a lot, I fear. And please, Mr. Kendrick, let me do the talking.”
Ainsley stepped forward, as if to protect him. While Royal would have liked nothing better than to pull her behind him for safekeeping, his energies were directed toward staying on his blasted feet.
“My lord, what a surprise,” she said as their intruder stalked up to them. “I didn’t expect to see you back in town so soon.”
Her cool, well-bred elegance acted like a shield. Still, Royal could read her tension by the hike of her shoulders. He could feel it, too. If he wasn’t mistaken, Ainsley was more than embarrassed. She was downright nervous.
“Lady Ainsley, what are you doing out here?” Cringlewood demanded, glowering like a stage villain. “And who the devil is this person?”
Royal finally took Ainsley by the arm as he moved up by her side. She all but jumped out of her shoes.
“Remove your hand, you cad,” Cringlewood hissed.
Royal repressed the impulse to roll his eyes at the man’s absurd theatrics.
“My lord, there is no cause for alarm,” Ainsley said, pulling her arm away. “Mr. Kendrick simply offered to escort me out to the hall for some cooler air. The atmosphere in the ballroom was stifling.”
The marquess still eyed her with heavy disapproval. “Without a chaperone? I cannot imagine your parents would be pleased to see you wandering about unprotected. Nor, might I add, am I.”
Royal gave him a smile that was mostly teeth. “Her ladyship is not unprotected. She’s with me.”
Cringlewood ignored him. “Your mamma is waiting for you, Ainsley. She’s grown concerned by your absence.”
So, the aristocratic blighter was on a first name basis with her. That was a painful revelation, especially since he was tall, handsome, and dressed with an expensive elegance that Royal could never hope to match. Even worse, he was evidently hale in all limbs.
When Ainsley sighed and gave a resigned nod, Royal frowned. She never catered to any man but her father, the Earl of Aldridge.
He laid a gentle hand on her arm. She glanced up at him, startled, but then gave a tiny shake of the head, as if to warn him.
But warn him of what?
“My lady, perhaps you might formally introduce me to your friend,” Royal said. “He seems such a charming gentleman.”
Consternation flashed across her features before her control reasserted itself.
“Of course. Mr. Kendrick, it is my pleasure to introduce you to the Marquess of Cringlewood.” She gave the marquess a bland smile. “Mr. Kendrick is the brother of the Earl of Arnprior.”
The man barely managed a nod before holding out an imperious arm to Ainsley.
Bloody ponce. Even his name was ridiculous.
“Delighted, I’m sure,” Royal said. “And now that we’ve got the niceties out of the way, I’m happy to return you to the ballroom, Lady Ainsley.” He lifted an eyebrow at the marquess. “Your assistance is no longer required, sir.”
Cringlewood’s nostrils actually flared. The man really did have a promising career on the stage if he ever decided to give up life as an aristocratic idiot.
“That won’t be necessary, Mr. Kendrick,” Ainsley quickly replied. “I’m more than happy to return to the ballroom with Lord Cringlewood.”
Despite the words, she looked anything but happy. In fact, she looked all but ready to break out in hives from a severe bout of nerves.
“Are you sure?” Royal asked quietly. “If you’re uncomfortable with him, I’ll escort you to your mother.”
Cringlewood immediately adopted another outraged expression. “Since Lady Ainsley is to be my wife, she obviously does not feel uncomfortable with me.”
The floor tilted under Royal’s feet. He must even have staggered a bit, because Ainsley put a hand under his elbow.
“Be careful,” she said.
“Is it true?” he asked.
“Of course it’s true,” the marquess snapped. “We’re to be married by the end of the Season, as anyone with a brain in this town surely knows.”
“You get ahead of yourself, my lord,” Ainsley said coldly. “There has been no formal announcement, as you are well aware.”
Something in Royal’s chest seemed to explode. He almost thought to look down and see a gaping hole where his heart had been.
He took a step away from her that felt like a retreat back into darkness.
“So, you are betrothed.” He forced a little bow. “Allow me to offer my congratulations.”
She shook her head. “It’s not what you think. I mean . . .” She cast the marquess a frustrated glance as her voice trailed into silence.
“I demand to know what’s going on here,” Cringlewood said angrily.
After Ainsley maintained a tense silence, Royal shrugged. “I’m sorry to say, my lord, that your fiancée is a determined flirt who enjoys leading unsuspecting fools to their doom. As anyone with a brain in this town surely knows.”
She gasped, but he refused to spare her a glance as he limped away as quickly as his blasted leg could carry him.
Chapter One
Castle Kinglas, Scotland
April 1817
Clearly, not even his brother’s library could provide safe haven.
With a sigh, Royal glanced up from his book when his sister-in-law marched into the room. Though the former Victoria Knight was now Countess of Arnprior, and wife to the chief of Clan Kendrick, she was still very much a governess in spirit and looked ready to box his ears.
He raised a polite eyebrow. “Is there something I can do for you, my lady?”
She arched an eloquent brow in return. Perhaps they could conduct this sure-to-be-unpleasant discussion entirely through facial expressions.
No such luck, he thought, when Victoria raised an imperious finger.
“Indeed, there is. I want you to stop moping about the castle. You’ve been doing it all winter, and it’s become ridiculous.”
She was never one to mince words or shy away from an unpleasant task. And now that she’d sorted out his brothers, she’d clearly made Royal her special project.
“I’m not moping. I’m reading a very good book.”
Victoria glanced down at the leather-bound volume, then plucked it from his hand and turned it right side up.
Royal winced. “I was just giving my eyes a rest.”
“Of course you were,” she said dryly.
He’d barely glanced at the blasted thing, a history of the Punic Wars he’d ordered last month. After starting it with a fair degree of enthusiasm, he’d quickly lost interest. Today, he’d read only a few pages before his attention had wandered to the windswept vista of craggy peaks hulking over the loch behind Kinglas. Not even the dramatic beauty of the Highlands had the power to soothe him—not like it once had.
He supposed he could go fishing, which he normally enjoyed, but that hardly seemed worth the effort.
“At least join us for a cup of tea,” Victoria said in a coaxing voice, switching tactics. “Taffy made her special seedcak
es for you. She said you barely touched your breakfast. Or your lunch, for that matter.”
He glanced over to see a generous tea service set up on the low table in front of the library’s fireplace. He hadn’t even noticed the footman lug the damn thing in.
His sister-in-law’s understanding gaze—along with the fact that Taffy, the castle’s housekeeper, thought he needed coddling—triggered an irrational spurt of irritation.
“I’m not one of your pupils, Victoria. Don’t try to manage me with promises of treats.”
“True. My students invariably displayed better manners.”
“She’s got you there, old fellow,” said Nick from behind the ledgers stacked on his desk. “You have been moping about. More than usual, that is. It’s time you do something about it.”
When Nick and Victoria exchanged furtive glances, Royal had to repress a groan. Clearly, they’d planned this little ambush.
He put his book aside and glared at his older brother with predictably no effect. The Earl of Arnprior was well used to his obstreperous siblings, since he’d all but raised them after the death of their parents. Although the most generous of men, Nick was the proverbial unmovable object when it came to deciding his family’s best interests. And once he made a decision, it all but required an Act of Parliament to change it.
“I repeat, I am not moping,” Royal said. “And don’t you have enough to worry about without fretting over me like a granny with gout?”
As usual, Nick was buried under the mountain of work that came with managing the estate, not to mention a large and sometimes fractious Highland clan. Any normal man would founder under the load, but he never failed to rise to the challenge. And now that he’d married Victoria, Nick had finally found the richly deserved happiness so long denied him.
Royal couldn’t help feeling envious of having a loving wife and a sense of purpose—the feeling that one’s life mattered. A compelling reason to wake up in the morning had been lacking in his life for a long time.
Nick had once relied quite heavily on Royal’s support for everything from running the estate to managing the younger lads. But Victoria now appropriately filled that role, as well as still tutoring Kade, the youngest Kendrick. The boy had struggled for years with ill health, but under Victoria’s loving care, he grew stronger by the day.
The Highlander Who Protected Me (Clan Kendrick #1) Page 2
