Daring Lords and Ladies

by Emily Murdoch

“You certainly had your share.” Four children with Erroll’s mother alone. “Lust is a powerful motivation.” Little had he realized just how powerful a motivation.

  “Lust?” His father grunted in disgust. “A fleeting passion.”

  Erroll raised his brows. “You seem to have maintained that passion with my mother.”

  His father scowled. “I am not so old. Why should you be surprised?”

  Why was he surprised? “Most husbands grow tired of their wives after so many years of marriage.”

  “Most men have good reason.”

  Erroll looked sharply at his father. “But you do not?”

  “Did you think I don’t know your mother is a remarkable woman?”

  Something niggled in the back of Erroll’s brain. “But that doesn’t change the fact that she is not Moira MacLean.”

  His father halted and for the first time in his life Erroll saw him nonplussed. “By God, no, she is not, and why should she be?”

  “Perhaps it is merely the fact she is English, then?” Erroll asked.

  “English?” his father repeated in a cold voice. “I did my best to see to it you understood things from both sides of the border. God knows, after The Forty-Five Rebellion, Scotland and England were as far apart as Cain and Abel. I had hoped your generation would be the one to bridge the chasm. Where did I go wrong? When did you decide the English way was better than Scottish life?”

  Erroll stared. “You misunderstand me, sir. I do not think England any better than Scotland. In fact—” he broke off.

  His father’s gaze turned shrewd. “In fact what?”

  An epiphany hit Erroll and he felt like Saul on the road to Damascus. “You wish to bridge the chasm between the Scots and English?”

  “The Scots, yes, but even more so, the Highlanders.”

  “In Manchester you chastised me for not marrying a Scottish woman. You said I cinched the English noose more tightly around our necks.”

  “Yes,” his father replied. “I might want to bridge the gap, but that doesn’t mean we deny who we are.”

  “You never told me any of this,” Erroll said.

  “What is there to tell? You had to see the world yourself, decide for yourself. Surely, it was obvious.”

  “Was your marriage to my mother your way of trying to bridge that gap?”

  “King George commanded the marriage. You know that.”

  “And you know your duty,” Erroll murmured. He thought of the way Eve made him feel, the way he wanted her so badly it hurt, and recalled the look in his father’s eyes three nights ago at the party. Erroll imagined that same look in his eyes when he looked at Eve. He loved her.

  Erroll felt as if a fist had been driven into his gut. He loved her—but believed she didn’t love him, just like—Erroll stared at his father. “It isn’t the fact your wife is English that separates you, but that you do not believe she loves you.”

  To Erroll’s shock, pain registered on his father’s face. “She knew her duty and married me.”

  “All these years, and you never told her you love her.”

  “A man doesn’t burden his wife.”

  “Just as a wife doesn’t burden her husband.” Erroll recalled Eve telling him that she wanted to like her husband and suddenly realized what a fool he’d been. “Sir, if I am any judge of women—and I cannot guarantee I am—I suspect you are as big a fool as I.”

  “What the devil are you talking about?”

  “I’ve seen the way my mother looks at you. If ever a woman loved, it is she.”

  His father’s brows snapped down. “Erroll--”

  Erroll shook his head. “My God, all these years. Did she never—” He caught sight of a carriage sitting in the front circle of the house and strained to discern the crest in the torchlight. “Is that—yes it is, Lydia and Connor’s coach.” He looked at his father. “Did my mother invite them?”

  “I imagine so, but Lydia would never deign to wish you well.”

  “No, but Connor would. I think we had better go inside.”

  “I thought you were leaving.”

  “I believe it is better that I do not make the same mistake you did.”

  “You care for her?” his father asked.

  “I do.”

  “Then tell her.”

  Erroll laid a hand on his father’s shoulder. “I suggest you do the same.”

  *****

  Eve couldn’t refuse the marchioness’ request that she come immediately to the pink parlor. The castle was filled with guests, and Eve had hoped no one would miss her for the duration of the evening. But that was not to be. A maid showed her the way and Eve forced a smile as she entered the room, where a dozen guests milled about or sat chatting and playing cards. She caught sight of Ash, standing just inside an alcove in the left hand corner of the room. He frowned when their gazes met and she read in his eyes the question of her husband’s absence. He left the alcove and approached.

  Eve met him halfway across the massive room, and he whispered, “I don’t suppose his absence is because the two of you were carrying on together and he had to dress before coming?”

  Eve was startled by the forthright question, but could only reply “No.” He—everyone—would soon know that her husband had done exactly what he promised he wouldn’t: abandoned her in Scotland.

  Ash grasped her elbow and led her toward the alcove. “Wherever he is, he won’t be happy he missed this meeting.”

  Eve started to ask what meeting when the interior of the alcove came into view. A man stood alongside a couch, where the marchioness sat with a woman Eve hadn’t yet met. The newcomer, who sat rigid on the cushion, shared the dark hair and eyes of Lord Rushton and his father.

  Eve and Ash entered the alcove and the marchioness rose. “Eve, I am so glad you came. Please meet Rush’s sister and her husband.” She faced the man. “Eve, may I present Connor Douglas, the Earl of Kingsley?”

  The earl took her hand in his and gave it a warm squeeze. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Eve.” The warmth in his voice bellied the palatable anger that radiated from the woman.

  “And this is Lady Kingsley, Rush’s elder sister,” the marchioness said.

  The woman gave a curt nod. Eve caught the marchioness’ disapproval in the thinning of her lips, and it seemed she was about to say something, but a maid appeared.

  “Pardon me, my lady,” the maid said, “but more guests have arrived.”

  Lady Rushton hesitated, and Connor said, “Go on, Angela. We are fine.”

  “I’m sure the marquess will be along soon,” she said.

  Lydia visibly stiffened, and Eve realized that the marchioness’ words had been a warning.

  “I won’t be long,” Lady Rushton said, and left with the maid.

  “I did not come to see him,” Lydia hissed, once the marchioness was out of earshot.

  “By ‘him’, you mean my father?” Ash said.

  She jerked.

  “Lydia,” her husband said in a warning voice.

  “I came as you commanded, Connor. I will do no more.” Her gaze shifted onto Eve. “I pity you.”

  Ire shot through Eve. “Good Lord, what lady conducts herself with so little decorum?” Shame immediately assailed her and Eve looked at Connor. “Forgive me, sir. You have been gracious, and I am not.”

  “I would call you honest,” Ash said.

  Connor cut his stormy gaze onto Ash.

  Eve shook her head. “No. I am no lady to act so ungraciously.”

  “No lady would marry Erroll,” Lydia said.

  “For God’s sake, Lydia,” Connor hissed.

  “Do not reprimand me,” she snapped. “You knew what you were about when you forced me to come.”

  “But did he know what he was getting himself into when he married you?” Ash said.

  “Why are you still here?” Lydia demanded.

  “The hounds of Hell couldn’t drag me away, Sister.”

  Her eyes narrowed, then her gaze jerk
ed past him.

  Eve turned in unison with Ash to see Lord Rushton and his father approach. Eve’s insides trembled. What was the earl doing here? He’d told her over an hour ago he was departing. She thought by now he would be in Tobermory, perhaps even settled on a ship bound for England. His gaze met hers and Eve experienced the same sensation she did when he made love to her, as if she were the only woman in the room…in the world.

  Father and son entered the alcove.

  “What are you doing here?” Eve demanded of the earl when he stopped so close she could feel the heat of his body.

  “Where else would I be, my dear?” he asked.

  “Trouble in paradise so soon, Erroll?” Lydia said.

  He lifted a brow. “I do not see any blood. Have the games not yet begun?”

  Eve blinked. What was he saying?

  “It is always good to see you, Connor,” the marquess said. “But I admit I am surprised.”

  “Lady Rushton sent an invitation. We wished to offer our congratulations,” Connor replied.

  “Of course,” he said. “How are my grandsons? Are they here?”

  Connor smiled with affection. “I am sorry, they are not. Next time, perhaps.”

  It seems you need not worry that our son will eventually inherit Ravenhall, my lord,” Lydia said. “An heir is most assuredly on the way.” She directed a questioning brow at Lord Rushton.

  “You go too far, Lydia.” The harsh note in Connor’s voice startled Eve and should have frightened his wife, but the woman went on as if he hadn’t spoken.

  “The wedding was so unexpected I assumed a child must be on the way.”

  “The marriage took place three days ago.” Lord Rushton said. “It is possible.”

  “Wedding? I understand you stood before a Registrar. “

  “Marriage, then,” he drawled.

  She gave a derisive snort. “Anything to ensure that Ravenhall doesn’t fall to me.”

  “One cannot blame a father for wanting his family home to remain in his family,” the earl said.

  Lydia’s eyes shifted onto her father. “Is that what it is, you want Ravenhall to remain in the MacLean family? Or is it that you are simply determined I shall not inherit the estate?”

  “This is not the place or time to have this discussion,” he said, and Eve agreed. Despite the privacy of the alcove, if the conversation became too heated, the guests would be privy to a family squabble. Something she feared was taking on a life of its own.

  “Tell me, my lord, where is a good place and time to discuss the fact that you tossed aside my mother for your mistress?” Lydia demanded.

  “We have discussed this a thousand times,” the marquess said. “You know that wasn’t the case.”

  Her eyes flashed. “The ink is barely dry on the marriage certificate and already there is talk of how long it will be before Erroll, like his father, sires a child out of wedlock.”

  “Bloody hell—” Lord Rushton cut his gaze onto Connor. “I am sorry, Connor, but she must leave.”

  Connor gave a brusque nod and grasped his wife’s arm, pulling her to her feet.

  She shook him off. “Are you afraid of the truth, Erroll? Or perhaps you attempt to shield your wife from the truth?” She looked at Eve. “Surely you know his reputation.”

  Her husband seized her arm. Eve feared he would drag his wife from the room in front of their guests, and quickly replied, “It is impossible not to be aware of Lord Rushton’s reputation. But he isn’t the first rake to marry.”

  “Then you don’t mind that he will carries on his father’s legacy?”

  Anger and fear rammed through Eve. “I never asked him to change.” She’d never had the chance—never seized the opportunity.

  A malicious glint appeared in Lydia’s eyes. “Well, well, Erroll, a woman who doesn’t care that you have bedded half the women of the ton. What will she do in the nights ahead while you bed the other half?”

  “By God, Lydia,” the marquess began, but Lord Rushton cut him off.

  “You are mistaken, Lydia.” He took Eve’s hand, placed it in the crook of his arm, then covered her hand with his. The tremble inside her traveled down through her legs. “Eve did not ask me to change. I made that choice.”

  Eve jerked, but his hand kept her fingers firmly wrapped around his forearm.

  “Never say London’s most notorious rakehell married for love,” Lydia sneered.

  He smiled at Eve and she was certain her heart would break when he said, “It had to happen eventually.”

  “I wish you luck, Eve,” Lydia said. “His affection will last until you return to London.”

  Eve recalled Laura Greenwood. His attention hadn’t lasted even that long. “Whatever the case, I only pray I don’t become as embittered as you.” Eve shook her head. “What happened to you, madam?”

  Lydia gasped.

  “Simple,” Ash cut in. “Olivia and I were born to our father’s mistress, Moira MacLean, while he was married to Lydia’s mother.”

  “You make it sound so simple,” Lydia hissed. “There is much more to the story. He abandoned my mother for your mother, left her to die when I was but six years old. Even now, the rumors about how she died of heartbreak are repeated.”

  “That is enough,” the marquess snapped. “Put those malicious rumors to rest. If anyone perpetrates them, it is you.”

  Lydia fisted her hands at her sides. “Is it a rumor that you loved Moira MacLean? You sired two children with her. Even your Sassenach wife means more to you than my mother did. Four children you sired on her, but you couldn’t bring yourself to touch my mother after I was born.”

  The marquess stared in stunned silence. “My God,” he finally whispered. “Where did you concoct such a story?”

  “She told me.”

  “She told you—her six year old daughter--that your father no longer…” His eyes misted as if he were remembering long ago. “I had no idea the illness had corrupted her mind so thoroughly.” His focused cleared. “Lydia, it wasn’t true. Yes, I loved Moira. Your mother knew as well as I that ours was an arranged marriage…we agreed. I never lied to her. But to say that I couldn’t… it was not true. She became ill and we—I—simply couldn’t force her to—”

  “You deserted her,” Lydia’s voice trembled. “She told me how much she loved you and how you were always with your mistress. I remember—”

  “You remember a child’s desperation,” the marquess interrupted. “Your mother was ill, she wasn’t herself. Surely you can see that. Oh, had I but known then what she had said. Perhaps I could have made you understand the truth and this bitterness wouldn’t have devoured you.”

  “Nothing you say can change what you did,” Lydia spat.

  Eve stood stunned. Here sat a reflection of her future self if she wasn’t careful. “I am sorry for you,” she said.

  “Sorry for me?” Lydia gritted out. “I am not the one you need be sorry for. Pity yourself, for you have married a man who will abandon you just as his father did my mother.”

  “He has not abandoned Lady Rushton,” Eve said.

  Lydia’s mouth twisted in distaste. “Sassenach. Perhaps that is what it has been all along. Moira was but your mistress and my mother meant nothing to you. Both were Scottish women.”

  Eve gasped, and saw the marquess take a step toward his daughter, but it was Connor who seized her arm and gave her a hard yank.

  “This is beyond the pale even for you.” His head snapped up and he said to the marquess, “We will be leaving. Never fear, Justin, I will deal with her.”

  Everyone stood aside and watched as he hurried her out of the alcove.

  “She’s damned angry that she can’t get her hands on Ravenhall,” Ash said.

  Eve tore her gaze from Lydia, who nearly tripped while attempting to keep up with her husband’s long strides, and looked at Ash. “Surely, she knew that Lord Rushton would marry?”

  “Val didn’t return from war,” Ash said. “It was just
as possible Erroll wouldn’t return either. Since his return, she has probably been stewing about how she was robbed of her revenge.”

  “Revenge?” Eve repeated.

  Lord Rushton squeezed her fingers and Eve realized her hand still rested on his arm.

  “It seems you were right, sir.” Lord Rushton looked at his father.

  The marquess still stared at the door through which the two had disappeared. He glanced at the group. “I have business to attend to.”

  Eve’s heart twisted at the pain she heard in his voice.

  Lord Rushton tensed beneath her fingers and she sensed he wanted to say something, but his father strode from the alcove.

  The earl released a long breath. “I believe I need to rest. Come along, my dear. Ash, we will see you later?”

  “I wouldn’t miss the rest of your wedding party for the crown jewels.”

  The earl nodded and before Eve could think of a protest, he led her from the room. Her heart sank as they headed for their suite.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  When Erroll closed the door to their suite, his wife whirled on him. “What are you doing here?”

  “Why am I not gone to England, you mean?”

  “Yes.”

  “Because I realized what a fool I am.”

  She barked a laugh. “It is I who am the fool. By the by, what was all that drivel out there?”

  Ah, here was the crux of her anger. She wanted to know why he’d professed love in front of his family.

  “You certainly put your sister in her place,” Eve went on. “And you put me in an untenable position.”

  “I have?”

  “How much more of fool will I appear when you leave for England and I stay behind? I won’t do it, which means I cannot stay here.”

  “Indeed?” he murmured.

  “The least you could have done is warned me you were going to say such ridiculous things. Your family wasn’t fooled for an instant.”

  Erroll frowned. “You make it sound as if a declaration of love is impossible.”

  “Of course it’s impossible. The only person who didn’t see through the ruse was your sister.”

  “I think my declaration of love was the only thing she did see clearly.”

  “Let me make something perfectly clear, sir. I am not like my sister.”