After giving instructions to a footman, Henderson rejoined her at the desk in the small office off the service rooms. “Cook will brew up a fresh pot.”
“Thank you. I was up rather late with Tira, so I suppose that’s why I can’t stop yawning.”
It was a bold-faced lie, and Henderson knew it. Tira was an excellent sleeper—unlike her father, who’d kept Ainsley awake very late for the last three nights in a row.
Not that she had any objections. Royal was a sensual, playful, and occasionally dominating lover, yet incredibly kind and careful. Under his skillful touch, the barriers between them had fallen until they were finally husband and wife in every way that mattered.
Life was now quite perfect, or at least it would be if not for the threat of action by the blasted Marquess of Cringlewood. Though it had been four days since Mamma’s letter, she’d yet to hear a peep from her former fiancé. Perhaps it was all hogwash anyway, and Mamma had just been making a last-ditch effort to scare her into compliance.
There was little point in upsetting Royal and the rest of the family with half-baked legal threats and potential scandals that more than likely would never materialize.
But you should have told him anyway.
“My lady, are you all right?” Henderson asked in a concerned voice a few moments later.
Ainsley jerked, and a blot of ink from her quill dropped onto the ledger. “Oh, dear, how clumsy of me.”
The butler swiftly sprinkled some sand on the ink and blotted it up. “Easily remedied, madam.”
“I suppose I need that coffee, after all,” she said as the footman came in with a tray.
“I can finish the accounts if you like,” Henderson said as he poured her a cup.
“No, I promised Lady Arnprior I would take care of them. I know you’re a bit short-staffed at the moment, without a housekeeper.”
Ainsley fortified herself with the coffee, and then with the butler’s efficient help quickly finished the household accounts and started on the menus for the following week.
“I understand that Mr. Royal is quite fond of scallops,” she said. “Perhaps if Cook can find fresh ones at the—”
“Beg pardon, Mr. Henderson,” William said, sticking his head into the room. “There’s a visitor for Lady Ainsley. I told him my lady wasn’t at home today, but he insisted.” The footman grimaced. “Strongly insisted.”
Ainsley never took callers unless either Royal or Logan was in the house. Her husband had suggested the tactic to prevent surprises from unwelcome visitors. At the time, she’d thought it an overreaction. Now she felt a shiver of apprehension.
“Who is it, Will?”
“Lord Cringlewood, my lady. I tried to turn him away, but he insisted that ye’d want to see him.”
For a few awful seconds, black dots swarmed across her vision and the breath stuck in her lungs. She clutched the edge of the desk. How could Cringlewood be in Glasgow? Had Mamma known he was already traveling to Scotland when she’d dispatched her letter? To withhold that information seemed too great a betrayal, even given her mother’s level of anger.
“Do you wish me to see the marquess off the premises?” Henderson asked. “William and I will be happy to do so.”
Ainsley was surprised by the hard expression in the older man’s normally kind eyes. Clearly, Royal had apprised him of the magnitude of the potential danger from the marquess.
“Aye, my lady,” added William, looking pugnacious. “I’ll fetch one of the other lads and we’ll make short work of it, dinna ye fear.”
Her anxiety abated a jot, knowing that the staff would protect her. Still . . .
She jumped to her feet. “Where’s Tira?”
Henderson stood too. “In the nursery, napping. One of the nursemaids is with her.”
Ainsley leaned against the back of her chair in relief.
Think. What do I do next?
“Should we send for Mr. Royal?” Henderson asked.
Her heart clutched at the idea of Royal meeting Cringlewood. For a moment, she was overcome with the enormity of the secrets she’d been holding back from him. Part of her was tempted to flee, to snatch her sleeping child from the nursery and disappear through the back door, running as far as she could to escape the danger hurtling toward her.
“Madam, what are your wishes?” Henderson said in a quietly urgent tone.
Her wishes.
What she wished for was a life without fear. To be honest with herself and with her husband, no matter the consequences. She wanted to stop being so bloody afraid, both for herself and for Tira.
It was time to confront the monster, once and for all.
“Where is Lord Cringlewood now?”
“I put him in the antechamber off the hall, my lady,” William said.
“Is he alone?”
“Aye.”
“Leave him there for now and send someone for Mr. Royal. He should still be at his offices at this time of day. But don’t send one of the other footmen,” she added. “I want you all to remain here. In fact, have one go up to guard the nursery. I also want someone watching the servants’ entrance and the back of the house.”
She was probably being overcautious, but if her nemesis had come all the way to Glasgow, God only knew what he would do—especially if her mother had finally told him about Tira.
Neither Henderson nor the footman blinked at her odd instructions.
“Aye, my lady, I’ll take care of it,” said William before dashing out.
“I’m going up to the drawing room,” Ainsley said. “Please bring his lordship to me in five minutes.”
“You don’t wish to wait for Mr. Royal?” Henderson asked, clearly worried.
Indeed, she was tempted to wait. But before Royal arrived, she needed to know exactly what Cringlewood intended to hold over her head. “As long as you and William are nearby, I’ll come to no harm.”
The butler didn’t look happy, but he nodded and held the door for her.
Surprised at how calm she felt after her initial panic, Ainsley made her way to the formal drawing room. But after catching a glance of herself in the pier glass over the fireplace, she grimaced.
Not so calm, after all.
She pinched some color into her dead-white cheeks and blinked several times to clear her anxious gaze. Then she straightened her collar and turned her back to the fireplace, taking comfort in the coal fire that seeped heat into her chilled bones.
When the door opened, Ainsley called on all the arrogance of her upbringing to face the brute who’d shredded the fabric of her life. If she couldn’t stare down the devil for herself, she could and would do it for her daughter.
“Lord Cringlewood, my lady,” Henderson announced in a blighting tone.
The marquess threw the butler an amused glance as he strolled into the room. “You seem to have a servant problem, my dear. I was forced to wait in that dreary room for an appalling amount of time, and your butler’s manner leaves much to be desired.”
Henderson ignored him. “Shall I leave the door open, my lady?”
Ainsley forced a smile. “That won’t be necessary, Henderson.”
“William and I will be just outside if you need us, madam.”
“Thank you.”
Though the thought of being alone with Cringlewood was deeply disturbing, she had no wish to expose her situation in front of the servants. Still, she couldn’t help breathing a sigh of relief when Henderson left the door fractionally ajar.
The person she truly needed was her husband, although she felt sick at the thought of how Royal would react to what was about to unfold.
Can’t be helped, old girl.
The Marquess of Cringlewood was a handsome man, although not as brawny as Royal or the other Kendrick men. Lean and fit, he was both an accomplished horseman and fencer. His wheat-colored hair was arranged in the latest style, and his classically aristocratic features and sky-blue eyes held a trace of arrogant amusement. As always, he was dressed in t
he height of fashion, as spotless as if he’d just left the careful ministrations of his valet.
Then again, he probably had. Her former fiancé never traveled anywhere without a large complement of servants and massive amounts of baggage.
Gracefully, he flipped open his snuffbox and took a leisurely sniff. After he put it away, he lifted a golden brow in an ironic arch.
“Nothing to say, my dear girl? Are we simply going to stare at each other, daggers drawn? Perhaps you could at least offer some refreshments. After all, I’ve come such a long way to throw myself at your lovely little feet.”
He punctuated his nonsense with the smile that had charmed so many young women and their matchmaking mammas. But it had never charmed her, she now realized.
“You won’t be staying long enough to take refreshments,” she coolly replied.
He let out a gentle sigh, his smile turning rueful. Really, it was too bad he’d never taken up amateur theatricals.
“May I at least sit down, so we can converse like civilized people?”
“Civilized people don’t go around assaulting defenseless women, but suit yourself.” She waved a hand at the chaise opposite the fireplace.
A scowl briefly surfaced, but he smoothly recovered and sat. Cautiously, Ainsley perched on the edge of a straight-backed chair several feet away from him.
“Ainsley, as I explained previously,” he said, “I didn’t assault you. At the time, you could hardly blame me for thinking you were quite as willing as I was.”
Her outraged gasp had him holding up a hand. “But as I said, it was clearly a misunderstanding, which I regret. I’m eager to clear it up and leave this whole ugly business in the past, where it belongs.”
“And as I told you at the time, it was no misunderstanding,” she said through clenched teeth. “You knew very well I wasn’t willing. You took me without my consent.”
When he let out a snort of derision, her fingers itched to snatch up the vase of mums at her elbow and throw it at his head. Instead, she adopted her coldest manner.
“And I insist that you call me Lady Ainsley, or even better, Mrs. Kendrick.”
His gaze went flinty. “I am just about out of patience, my dear. It’s time for you to stop this nonsense and come home.”
She folded her hands in her lap. “I am home.”
He waved a dismissive hand. “Where is Mr. Kendrick, by the by?”
“At his offices. Unlike you, he works for a living.”
He simply laughed. “My poor girl, reduced to the wife of a tradesman. No wonder your long-suffering parents are so upset.”
“They’ll get over it.”
“No, they won’t,” he said, his voice hard. “I’ll see to that.”
His malicious expression pushed bile up into her throat. Still, she began to feel cautiously confident. He’d yet to mention Tira, which suggested Mamma had kept that ultimate leverage to herself, after all.
“Now we get to the point,” she said. “How, exactly, are you threatening my parents?”
He studied her for a moment before pasting on another charming smile. “Ainsley, my love, surely you can see that—”
“I am not your love. I was never your love. I was only ever a possession to you. Well, I’m afraid you must give up any pretensions to a prior claim. I will not be divorcing my husband. It’s entirely absurd to think that I would.”
He stared at her, incredulous. “If you’re telling me that you have affection for the fellow, I refuse to believe it. End this farce now, and come back to the life you were born to lead. I’ll give you whatever you want, I promise.”
“I want nothing of yours.” She lifted her chin. “And I have much more than mere affection for my husband. He’s the finest man I’ve ever met, and I’m honored to be his wife.”
The marquess leapt to his feet, moving toward her with surprising speed. Ainsley was barely able to scramble up and put the chair between them before he reached her.
“You are mine , Ainsley,” he snarled. “You’ve been mine for years, whether you knew it or not. And no one takes away what’s mine.”
His vicious expression and the ugly tone of his voice turned her blood to ice. In that moment, she believed he might kill her. Every muscle in her body urged flight. But she’d done that once before, and trouble had arrived on her doorstep anyway. It was time to end the madness once and for all.
“You do not own me, my lord. I am free to make my own decisions with my future. And my future will never include you.”
Though his complexion remained a mottled, angry red, he regained a measure of control. “You’re making a grievous mistake, my girl. If you wish to avoid the ruination of your family, I suggest you do as your mother suggested. I will be happy to set you up in a quiet house in the country for the requisite time. Or a town house in Edinburgh, if you prefer.” He suddenly laughed. “I could visit you, in fact. That would certainly make the charge of adultery convincing to the courts.”
She shook her head in anger and disbelief. “Aside from the fact that I will never allow you to touch me again, have you gone entirely mad? The scandal would be enormous, and would reflect on you and your family as well as mine. Why would you wish that? To put all of us through that?”
“As I said, what’s mine is mine. Until I say it isn’t.”
“You mean this is simply about your pride? That cannot possibly be true.”
She studied his cold expression, trying to figure it out. Yes, Cringlewood was an incredibly proud, arrogant man who was used to getting whatever he wanted, but something was off. Revenge for embarrassing him was one thing, but this was . . .
“Something else is at work here,” she said.
When his gaze darted away for a moment, understanding hit her like an earthquake.
“Ah, it’s about the money, isn’t it? You want the settlements.” Yet that didn’t make sense either. “Why? You’re already rich as Midas.”
The sudden blaze of hatred in his eyes had her retreating back to the fireplace.
“Not anymore, you stupid girl,” he said as he stalked after her. “Thanks to you.”
She contemplated grabbing the fireplace poker and braining him. But surely not even he would be foolish enough to attack her, with the butler and a footman just outside the door. Still, she hastily moved and put another chair between them.
“Then I don’t understand,” she said. “I have nothing to do with how rich you are.”
“You think not, Ainsley? You were to bring a large fortune to our union. Based on that and on prior discussions with your father, I made certain investments. Some of them were quite . . . forward-thinking.”
Now she understood. “Risky, you mean.”
“There is no profit without risk. Unfortunately, I was ill advised on two of them—one a mining venture, the other founding a bank.” His features pulled tight. “Sadly, both went bankrupt.”
“How unfortunate. But surely you could find another heiress happy to marry you and pull you out of the River Tick.”
He tilted his head to study her. “Would you like to know how much I owe to my creditors?”
“Not really.”
He told her anyway. The figure was beyond staggering.
“Since the vast majority of my estates are entailed, I have very few options,” he said. “You are one of the richest heiresses in England, and I need both the money and land you will bring to our marriage. The money and the land promised to me.” He flashed a wolfish smile. “Your dear papa has offered to enhance the settlements if you agree to come home, like the good girl I know you are.”
“Blackmail. You’re blackmailing my parents.”
“Call it what you will. But be assured that any scandal from your divorce would be well worth it.” He took another step forward. “You and your family owe me this, Ainsley. And I will collect, no matter what.”
As badly as she felt for her parents, she was heartsick that they would offer her as a war prize. “Not from me, you won’
t. There is nothing you can do that will—”
When he snatched the chair and threw it aside, Ainsley jumped back. Her foot caught the edge of a claw-footed table, causing her to stumble. The marquess was on her in an instant, grabbing her by the neck of her gown and slamming her shoulder into the mantelpiece. For a moment, she was too stunned to utter a sound.
“Nothing?” he snarled, inches away from her face. “I think you’ll soon find how wrong you are.”
She flinched at the sour smell of his breath. For a few, horrible moments, black swarmed at the edges of her vision. Ainsley fought it back, terrified and infuriated by the feel of his body against hers.
“Let me go,” she ground out. “Or I swear I’ll kill you.”
Cringlewood’s mouth split into a nasty grin. But it froze on his face a moment later at the sound of a pistol cocked behind him.
“Best do as she says, ye Sassenach prick, or I’ll blow yer bloody brains out,” said Angus.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Ainsley had never been happier to see her former nemesis.
“Let her go,” the old man snarled when the marquess didn’t move.
“You should do as he says,” Ainsley managed in a hoarse voice. “He will shoot you.”
“Aye, that I will, lass, and I’ll enjoy it, too.”
The marquess cast a glare over his shoulder but finally released her and took a step back. She staggered a bit, her legs shaky with relief.
“Here, sit ye down,” Angus said, coming over to guide her to the chaise. He kept the pistol trained on Cringlewood every moment.
“Are ye all right, lass?” he murmured.
Ainsley nodded. “Yes, I’m fine.”
She wasn’t, but she refused to give Cringlewood the satisfaction of seeing how badly his violence had frightened her.
Angus jerked his head toward the door. “Do ye want me to have the bastard thrown out?”
Henderson and William loomed in the doorway, ready to do just that.
“I wouldn’t, if I were you,” the marquess said to Ainsley. “I have a few other things to say that might influence your decision.”
“Shut yer mouth,” Angus growled. “Ye’ll no be telling the lass what to do, ye bloody ponce.”
The Highlander Who Protected Me (Clan Kendrick #1) Page 35
