Their voices sounded strained to her, both of them contriving to appear unaffected by the encounter.
“Viscount Greysteil. Is that a Scottish name?”
“It is. We are. My paternal grandmother’s title.”
“Did you grow up here?” she asked.
“Yes, we spent a great deal of time at Baronsford. Of course, I went away to school, but we still came back for the summer holidays. My father had his duties in Parliament, but the pleasures of the Season have never appealed to my parents.”
She recalled him giving them credit for his qualities of fairness and tolerance. How wonderful that a man of his age would think of his parents with such admiration. She wondered if the day would ever come that she could praise her father openly for what he’d given her.
“I should think this would have been a lovely place as a child.”
“As a matter of fact, this particular spot was a favorite place for us. All of my siblings and cousins swam right here as children.”
Grace imagined children playing in the grass that ran down to the fine pebbled beach. A nearby grove of trees hung out over the clear water, and in her mind’s eye they sunned themselves on the large flat rock a few yards off shore.
“Do you still have family nearby?” she asked.
He turned and pointed up through some trees. “In that direction, we’re an easy walk from the stables of Greenbrae Hall. That’s where my youngest uncle, David, and his wife, Gwyneth, live with their family for part of the year.” He pointed off in another direction. “As we walk a bit farther, you should be able to glimpse a stone tower house over the tops of those oaks. When he was a young man, Walter Truscott began to restore the place for himself.”
“Walter Truscott?” she asked.
“He’s my father’s first cousin, and he’s been Baronsford’s estate manager since before I was born. I’d be lost without him. The tower house now houses a charity project that my sister and Violet Truscott are involved with, but you can ask Jo about it.”
For Grace, to be rooted in one place and to use part of where you live for helping others was a dream. She would definitely ask Jo about it. Of all the women of wealth and position Grace had met in her life, she recalled no one who embodied the qualities of Hugh’s sister.
They reached a branch in the path, and he pointed to where it turned into the woods. “This path leads back to where we left the horses.”
They walked in silence as she struggled to find more questions. Her mind kept harking back to their kiss, and it was growing more difficult to ignore his presence with every passing moment.
She was relieved when they emerged from the glen and into the clearing. Not far ahead, the horses were in view.
Hugh broke the silence. “I’m afraid our ride was not what you’d hoped for.”
If he only knew it was far more than she’d ever anticipated.
“Being outside was what I needed,” she said. “I think this may be heaven on earth. The serenity of the water and the trees surrounding it. The smell of all these wildflowers.”
His gaze swept across the fields before them. Over a few breaths of silence, she imagined him trying to appreciate the scene as she did. The respite was short-lived, and his gray eyes again found hers.
“I was thinking of the saddle. I’d hazard a guess that in the life you can’t recall, you rode horses but not sidesaddle.”
His astuteness was commendable. “You could be correct.”
“Do you think it was the fit of the saddle?”
Grace was a more than able rider. Annoyance at her inability to adapt gnawed at her now, for she had no trouble riding cross saddle. It wasn’t the fit of the saddle, it was the dratted design of it.
“I couldn’t mount or get down without assistance. And I couldn’t stop thinking of how helpless I’d be if my horse bucked or reared.”
“That would be a complication.”
“Exactly. And how about jumping? Or galloping?” Her tone was sharp. She tried to soften it. “That barbaric device is ruled by fashion. It ignores the safety of the rider.”
She was surprised when he smiled, and her treacherous mind recalled their kiss.
“Men often complain about the spirit in a woman, but in you it is charming.”
He knew how to throw her off guard, make her forget what she wanted to say. A blush of warmth spread up her neck and into her cheeks. Grace stared at the tips of her boots poking out from beneath the dress. Spirit. Impulse. Desire. They all sprang from that place of passion within her.
“You’re like an Arabian,” he continued. “Spirit and intelligence bred together in a creature of great beauty.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment, seeing as you are a horseman.”
Arabians. She knew a great deal about the breed. She’d watched her own father help train Napoleon’s great warhorse, Marengo. Yet another conversation she didn’t dare have with him.
As they walked, Grace wouldn’t trust herself to look at him, for fear she would force him to take her into his arms again. And then where would she be?
“It is a compliment.”
She couldn’t allow herself to be distracted by his charm. She still owed him an apology. She attacked his character. When Anna brought in a breakfast tray, she told Grace the story of Baronsford’s new blacksmith, the man she’d later seen when she walked down the stables. The viscount had seen to it that an injustice was corrected. The story only added fire to her feelings of guilt.
“I need to ask your forgiveness, m’lord,” she said. “I was out of line in the library. My manners, the violence of my expressions, the memory shames me even now. I had no right to be critical of you, who have shown me nothing but kindness. And I spoke out, knowing of all the good that you have wrought. For me to equal the plight of one group against another that has been enslaved for generations reveals artlessness and ignorance in my own character. That ‘spirit’ you referred to just now betrayed me. I spoke out when I shouldn’t have spoken. I was critical when I should have been commending you.”
He took hold of her elbow, making her stop. “You were speaking the truth. And you directed my attention to a blind spot that I hadn’t realized I possessed.”
“I jumped to a conclusion based on a handful of articles.”
“Once I had a chance to think through what you said, I found that you were right. I didn’t become a judge to advance my social or political status. My goal has always been to make my rulings fairly and without partiality. And it troubles me to see where I’ve failed.”
The same man who’d taken her into his arms so passionately moments ago now stood before her without a shred of arrogance or vanity. She could not possibly have been more impressed by Hugh Pennington.
“But you haven’t failed. I believe my disappointment and frustration was really directed at the law and society, and not at you specifically.”
All immigrants struggled, one way or another. Grace and her father were no exception. She was the daughter of an Irish father and a Scottish mother who had lived their lives on the losing side of wars against the English crown. With his days in the battlefields behind him, Daniel Ware worried about the security of his only daughter’s future. She wished she could share her own experience with Hugh now. Fear of outsiders existed everywhere she’d ever lived, including America, a curiosity considering that was a newly settled nation of outsiders. But she couldn’t tell him.
“Thank you for speaking up, but I wish to put last night’s disagreement behind us.”
Grace was thankful for his cordiality. She’d like nothing better.
“Would you mind if we walked the horses back?” he asked when they reached the animals.
“That would be lovely.” She eyed the saddle with exaggerated scorn.
A great weight was lifted from her shoulders. The smell of the firs filled her senses as they walked.
“I’m still stunned, however, by the capacity of your mind,” he said, interrupting her thoughts. �
��The exactness of your memory. The ability to recite text flawlessly. Dates. References. How could you remember them all so precisely?”
For a change, she could be honest. “It appears that what I read stays with me, just as I see it on the page.”
They emerged from the shade of the forest and walked out into the open meadows. In the distance, the towers and turrets of Baronsford rose solidly against the azure sky.
“I’ll never forget your first words were the recitation of the lines of a poem.” They turned onto the lane.
“Wasn’t it a ballad?” she teased.
Looking over at him, she saw his expression darken. His eyes were locked on an open carriage approaching them. He pulled their horses to the side of the lane.
“I apologize for this intrusion, in advance.”
Before Grace could reply, the shrill voice of a woman pieced the air, ordering the carriage to stop.
“Lord Greysteil,” a robust older woman squealed with delight. “I can’t tell you how delighted I am to find you here!”
He ripped the hat from his head and raked his fingers through his hair. His annoyance was evident.
“We just left Baronsford after a lovely visit with your sister. And to find you here! We were positively wretched at the thought that we might miss seeing you and your . . . oh my, your lovely guest. Will you be so kind as to introduce us to the young lady?”
Grace looked from the speaker’s face to her companion. Suddenly, a wave of illness swept over her. She knew this woman. Six years ago, on the day Napoleon’s son was baptized at Notre Dame Cathedral, dignitaries from all over the Continent, including a small delegation from England, had traveled to Paris.
And now Mrs. Mariah Douglas, a member of that party, sat in this carriage, a world away, her keen gaze fixed unwaveringly on Grace’s face.
Chapter 14
Drowned in the River Tweed. Cut up and used as fish bait. Pushed from a balloon at a thousand feet up. Shot for a goose. Hugh could easily think of a hundred more ways to punish the Earl of Nithsdale for the conduct of his wife, but none of them struck him at the moment as painful enough.
The woman was a nuisance. A simple introduction was not sufficient. She immediately launched into a barrage of two dozen questions before pausing for breath. Lady Nithsdale was not just a nuisance. She was an absolute menace.
Somewhere in that library, he thought, he had a volume on the torture techniques of Torquemada.
Looking at the pallor of Grace’s face right now, the memory of their kiss drifted to the shadows. Her condition worried him, and he recalled the words she’d spoken to him in the carriage barn. I’d find it trying to be inspected and judged in strange company. He didn’t blame her. The countess’s behavior was unpardonable. The defendants in his courtroom were treated with more regard.
“That’s quite enough, Lady Nithsdale,” he said in a tone that, for a moment at least, silenced the woman. “Enjoy your ride, ladies. Have a good day.”
He motioned for their carriage driver to proceed.
“Wait!” The countess found her voice before the carriage set off. “M’lord, we haven’t yet made good on the reason for our call, on the offer we made to your sister.”
She waited for no one to speak a word and turned to her companion.
“Mrs. Douglas, this is your chance to solve the Borders’ greatest mystery in a decade. Can you tell us if, in your extensive travels, you ever crossed paths with this young woman?”
Lady Nithsdale’s companion leaned forward, studying her like cat eyeing her prey. This was too much. Hugh was angered on Grace’s behalf.
“That is more than enough,” he ordered sharply. “Our intention is to help Miss Grace regain her strength, not cause her more agitation.”
“Well?” the older woman shrieked, not to be robbed of this moment. “Do you know her?”
“Pardon me, m’lord. I’ve met a great many people in my travels. I cannot recall if this young lady was ever introduced to me.”
“Very well. That’s settled.” Hugh shot a warning look at the driver. “Off you go, man. I’ll not say it again. Have a good day, ladies.”
Grace stood stock still, her blue eyes warily following the carriage’s departure. A shaking hand reached up and pushed away a strand of curls dangling down the side of her face.
Thoughts of their kiss edged back into his mind. The sweet taste of her lips as she’d brushed them against his, granting him permission. He’d lost his mind. The play of their tongues, the press of her body, the urgency to take everything she offered was not like him. He couldn’t recall ever feeling catapulted as he was to those uncertain heights of passion merely by a kiss. His gaze took in the rise and fall of her breasts beneath the gray coat, and he knew he was in trouble.
His sister’s words came back to him. What if there was a husband? Grace wore no ring, but what assurance did that provide? What if she was engaged? Or if she was simply attached to someone she didn’t remember.
And what was Hugh after? An affair.
Until her memory returned, Hugh was the one in possession of the past. He was the one who needed to exercise more control in the present.
The carriage disappeared from view, and when Grace turned her sapphire gaze back to him, he was a lost man.
“I’m ready to go back.”
As they led the horses along, he was relieved to see the color come back into her face.
“Lady Nithsdale’s rudeness is legendary, I’m afraid. She holds everyone else accountable for any lapse in behavior and all the while she behaves abominably. Her visit to Baronsford was the reason why Jo bowed out of this ride. My sister wanted to spare you this meeting. They have to be taking the roundabout way back to Nithsdale Hall. It was unfortunate that they ran into us.”
“I’m grateful to Lady Jo, but encounters like this are inevitable. I can’t hide in my room forever. And they didn’t ask anything truly inappropriate, however astonishing the force of her delivery was. My embarrassment stemmed from my inability to provide answers that would satisfy them.”
“You’re being far too kind. Lady Nithsdale was rude and undignified. And I was negligent in exposing you to some of the most insupportable behavior the Borders has to offer.”
“A vivid reminder that I need to plan on ending my stay at Baronsford,” she said. “I’m not afraid of anything your neighbor can do to me personally, but it’s not fair to allow you and your sister to become a target of such attention. I have a sense that whatever Lady Nithsdale thinks of me, her opinion will be spread far and wide.”
The words stung him. She was already talking of leaving. But what could he expect? Just because she’d been delivered in a crate addressed to him, that didn’t make Grace a gift he could keep.
“Without any memory of your past, you have no way of knowing whom to trust. Where would you go?”
“The only thing of value I possess is a diamond that I don’t recognize. I understand your concern. You think someone might take advantage of me if they learned I’m carrying a stone of value. For this reason I’d ask you to hold onto it for now as security for a loan of enough money for passage to Antwerp.”
“Antwerp?” he asked sharply.
“You told me that’s where the shipment originated. By going there I have a better chance of finding friends or family. Perhaps I’ll remember what I’ve forced myself to forget.”
“It’s impossible. You’re not well enough. It’s been only four days since your fever broke. You can’t be exposing yourself to the dangers and rigors of travel so soon.” He couldn’t let her go. Not yet. “And who would take care of you once you got there? What would happen if you fell ill again?”
Her gaze swept over his face, lingering unconsciously on his mouth. Hugh wondered if he’d driven her to this hasty decision by kissing her. He wanted her, and she had matched his passion. But perhaps he’d frightened her.
“Baronsford is well equipped to handle gossip,” he continued. “It has weathered scan
dal before. You couldn’t possibly bring a greater scandal to its walls.”
She shook her head in disagreement. “Once again, you are being too kind. But I can’t abuse your hospitality.”
“I won’t have you leaving so soon. Neither will Jo. We’re finished talking about it.”
“We’re finished talking about it until when?”
Grace herself was a glittering diamond amid the gray pebbles of his mundane existence. But that was no excuse for keeping her here. No reason to think he could dictate her life.
Even so, she should stay until his clerk returned from Antwerp, Hugh thought. He’d received a single letter from MacKay, sent back express as he’d directed. No one in Antwerp was looking for any missing American woman. He was to meet with British embassy officials in Brussels, not half a day’s ride away, who’d contacted him, asking for a meeting. Assuming nothing came of that, the man requested instructions of Hugh.
“A fortnight. We can revisit this in a fortnight. Agreed?”
He wished he could read her mind as she stared straight ahead. He couldn’t make her stay. The back of their hands brushed as they walked. He looked down, expecting Grace to withdraw hers. But she didn’t. Her gaze lifted to his face. This wasn’t a decision she was making lightly. It was not his imagination. She was torn. He saw a wistfulness in her eyes, a longing that matched his own.
“A week. I must go as soon as I’m able. We’ll discuss this again in a week. And if I’m well enough then, you agree to loan me enough for passage to Antwerp.”
“Fair enough.” He’d been given nothing at first, now they had a week. And if he had his way, they’d be adding more days until they had a firm answer regarding who she was and where she’d be going.
Before either of them could say anything more, Grace’s attention was drawn to the sound of young voices behind them. Turning around, he saw nearly a dozen children of various ages running through the field with a maid in pursuit.
Grace waved back as couple of small girls shouted greetings at them.
“Who are they? Where did they come from?”
He motioned to the tower house, only partly visible through the trees. “That’s where they live. Heading for the loch, I should think. There’s a particularly nasty marsh below where we walked that has more frogs than one can count.”
Romancing the Scot (The Pennington Family) Page 12
