After Lady Bentley left the bedchamber, Claresta slept once again, waking only to take meals, then slept through to the next morning, waking to feel much more like herself and anxious to be from the bed. Emily had sent clothing over and after she dressed, Claresta made her way downstairs to find Donovan in the sitting room.
He came to his feet immediately. “You’ve recovered?” He blew out a breath of relief.
“Yes, though I don’t believe I will be drinking wine for some time.”
“Had I known…”
This time she placed a finger against his lips. “Nobody knew,” she reminded him. “This wasn’t your fault.”
At least he didn’t argue the point but took her hands in his. “When you became ill, I was beside myself with worry.”
“That is kind of you to say, but I have recovered.”
“That’s not all.” He let go of her hand and thrust his fingers through his thick brown hair. “I realized how much I’d come to care about ye. I dinna think it possible to love someone so soon, but when I thought ye were goin’ to die…”
He loved her? Claresta’s heart soared. It was all she ever wanted…for a man to love her for herself.
“I’ve grown quite fond of you as well.”
“Do ye think ye may ever love me?”
Such a silly question. “I think I began to fall nearly a year ago when I was introduced to Romeo.”
At her words, Donovan pulled Claresta close and took her lips with his. Desire swirled through her and her knees nearly gave way. Thank goodness he held her close and didn’t let her fall. Her body heated as her breasts grew heavy and her dress became so tight she wished it were gone. Would it always be like this when Donovan kissed her?
* * *
At the clearing of a very masculine throat, Donovan pulled away from Claresta and glanced to the entrance of the parlor to note Chambers glaring at him. He hadn’t even asked Chambers to court her yet. Though there had been ample opportunity following the ball, Donovan hadn’t felt the timing was right with Claresta being ill. After the Bow Street Runners had been summoned, he’d truly meant to speak with Chambers but had failed to do so. Now, he regretted that decision tenfold as Chambers looked as though he was about to call Donovan out.
“Care to explain yourself, MacGregor?”
“Perhaps a word would be in order.”
“Perhaps?” The man’s incredulous tone sat heavily upon Donovan. He knew exactly what Chambers was thinking, or at least had a very good idea. Not long ago, Donovan had walked in on a very similar situation, except the girl in question had been his younger sister, Arabella, being kissed by Mr. Gideon Trent. Such advances on Arabella had earned Gideon a blackened eye and Donovan expected nothing less from Chambers.
Claresta stepped in front of Donovan, as if she could protect him, and he couldn’t help but smile.
“This is no laughing matter, MacGregor,” Chambers growled.
“Nay. It isna. However, Lady Claresta thinkin’ she could protect me is.” Given he could see over her head, she wasn’t much of a shield, nor should she be the one to protect him, but he should be the one to keep her safe.
The corner of Chambers’ mouth quirked. “You should leave us, Claresta.”
“I’ll do no such thing.”
Donovan pulled back. Did she just stamp her foot?
“This is between MacGregor and me,” Chambers ground out.
“I was a willing participant.”
Chambers snorted. “That was very clear from my observation.”
“Then I shall stay.” She crossed her hands over her breasts and lifted her chin in defiance.
Donovan rubbed the bridge of his nose. Claresta behaved more as a Scottish lass, his sister and cousins in particular, than how he always thought an English lady behaved—biddable. Then again, he’d not like her nearly as well if she were so easily ordered about.
“I apologize for kissin’ Lady Claresta,” Donovan began. “It wasna right as it wasna my place to do so. I had intended to call on ye this afternoon and ask permission to court her.”
“At least you were going to do that,” Chambers grumbled.
“Dillon,” Claresta warned, a tight edge to her voice.
“However, your behavior has gone beyond a normal courtship, as you well know.” Chambers eyes were hard, dark with warning.
“Aye, I agree.”
“Then I can assume you’ll be asking for more than just a courtship?”
“Aye.”
Claresta whipped around and stared up at him. “More?”
“It is only right, lass, given the way I kissed ye.”
“Oh, Donovan, you do not need to make a declaration all because of a kiss,” she insisted. “I only want you to do so if it is your wish.”
He stared down into her green eyes filled with anticipation and worry.
“That is to be decided between MacGregor and myself,” Chambers insisted.
Claresta whipped around. “It isn’t as if he ruined me. It was only a kiss and nobody else knows but you.”
Did she not want to marry him? Were her declarations of love not as heartfelt as his? Had she only been saying what he wished to hear?
His stomach tightened. Perhaps she didn’t want more than a simple courtship. No more than a friendship that bled into a courtship, but in the end, all it would be was a friendship—just like Mary.
The Season would conclude soon and she’d go off to the country. Had Claresta only intended for an enjoyable diversion for a few weeks and then to be gone from his life?
“I know, and that is really all that matters,” Chambers informed Claresta.
“I will not allow you to force Mr. MacGregor into a more permanent situation if it isn’t what he wishes.”
“What of yer wishes?” Donovan asked. He had to know if her feelings were true or if he was just an amusement.
“It doesn’t matter what you wish, Claresta, or Mr. MacGregor. Once His Grace learns, any decision will be out of our hands.”
“You wouldn’t dare tell Father!” Claresta said just as Chambers’ words registered in his mind.
“His Grace?”
“Yes, His Grace. The Duke of Ellings, Claresta’s father.”
For a moment, Donovan was too stunned to think. He knew she was a lady, and intentionally didn’t think on the matter too deeply, as he was only a mister. However, he had never considered that her father was a duke.
Bloody hell!
She was so far above his reach that Donovan shouldn’t have even held her hand, let alone kissed her, especially in the manner that he’d done last year and just now.
The picnic! He could have truly ruined her if he’d not kept himself in check because she’d certainly been willing.
Thank God he’d not done any more.
“I’d not realized,” he finally muttered and stepped away from the woman he could never have. “I’ve overstepped. Please accept my apologies.”
Claresta turned, her eyes flooded with worry. “Overstepped? Apologies?”
“Ye’re a lady.” Donovan moved further away from her.
“I’ve always been a lady,” she reminded with slow deliberation.
“Yes, of course….but ye’re also the daughter of a duke.”
“That should not matter. I’m still me.” Claresta moved toward him, pain in her eyes. “You said you loved me.”
“It was a mistake.” There was no amount of love in the world that would convince a duke to let his only child marry a mister from Scotland. “Again, I apologize. I wish I’d have…” There wasn’t anything else he could say. Already the tears filled her eyes and it tore at him, but once the Duke of Ellings learned, Donovan was certain that he’d inform Claresta straight away that she was to forget about him and find a husband of rank.
For Donovan, London no longer held the answers, but neither did Bonnybridge. Where the hell was he to go now?
The only thing he knew for certain was that he was never going to trus
t an elusive emotion such as love and would not suffer an emotional attachment again. It wasn’t worth the cost of one’s dignity and heart. Mistresses were safer, and he vowed those were the only intimate entanglements that he’d ever allow himself to experience again.
Chapter 12
Claresta grasped the back of a chair when her knees threatened to give out. Donovan was gone and her mind scrambled to make sense of what had just happened. One moment he was professing his love, and in the next, saying it was all a mistake.
The pain that ripped through her heart was so much more painful than the poison had been.
He’d walked out. He’d left her, and all because her father was a duke.
Or was that simply an excuse to distance himself after he’d been caught kissing her?
Had he meant any of his words? Had he been simply toying with her affections?
Claresta didn’t want to believe it was so, but if he cared, if he deep down truly loved her, who she was wouldn’t have mattered.
Claresta wrapped her arms around her body and stared at the entry, hoping he’d come back, but there was only silence.
Dillon came forward with a handkerchief and wiped her damp cheeks. Claresta hadn’t even been aware that she was crying.
Then, before she knew what was happening, she was in Dillon’s arms as she sobbed into his cravat.
“You love him so much?” Dillon asked quietly after her sobs quieted and only hiccoughs remained.
She couldn’t really answer, and simply nodded.
“You’ve known him only a week.”
No, she’d known him a year. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t seen him, Donovan had been in her heart when she’d only known him as Romeo.
Romeo and Juliet, star-crossed lovers from two separate families who hated the other. Except she and Donovan were from two different worlds. To Claresta, it was simply England and Scotland. To Donovan, it was much more and she’d been rejected all because she was the daughter of a duke and he was a mister.
Romeo and Juliet risked everything to be together, yet Donovan had walked away.
“Let’s get you home,” Dillon suggested. “You’ll be more comfortable there and we can decide what to do.”
Claresta blinked up at him. “Do? There is nothing we can do.”
His kind smile was gentle. “Yes, Claresta, there is.”
“You will not force him to marry me. We’ve only kissed. I’ll not be made to be with a man who doesn’t truly want me.”
“Claresta, he wants you. Trust me in this.”
She pulled away. “How can you be so certain?” Oh, she wanted to believe him, but Donovan had walked away, and her mind screamed to guard her heart and not to give into hope because another heartbreak would destroy her.
“You did not see his face when I mentioned His Grace.”
Claresta frowned.
“Shock, stunned and he went unnaturally pale.”
“Why should it matter who my father is?”
“Aren’t you the one who recently complained that you couldn’t trust a gentleman’s heart because of who your father is?”
“Apparently, I can’t even trust a man when he doesn’t know.” Claresta had been careful not to tell Donovan that her father was the Duke of Ellings, but she had no way of knowing if someone else had told him. Given his shock, that information had been kept from him and for a very short time, Claresta had thought, she, as herself, was enough.
“What I witnessed in his expression was crushing disappointment and pain of loss.”
“Then why did he leave?”
“MacGregor decided he wasn’t good enough for you.”
“That’s silly…”
“No, you don’t understand. Hear me out.”
Claresta nodded and sank into a chair.
“The others, like Lord Millard, see your connection, as you said, and not you. MacGregor fell in love with you, ignorant of your position in Society. The instant he learned the truth, he concluded that he’d reached above himself.”
“Oh, sometimes I hate titles, rank, privilege…all of it.”
“In most circumstances, he’d be correct,” Dillon offered. “However, MacGregor doesn’t know your father, at least not like we do, and he has assumed Ellings is like all other dukes, who would never allow his only daughter to marry a mister.”
“Little does it matter. He’s gone.”
“Have some faith, Claresta. Give this time. If he truly loves you, he won’t be able to stay away regardless of the circumstances.”
But what if he never came back?
If he didn’t, Donovan had never loved her at all, and she’d been foolish to hope that someone would love her for herself and she was better off to retire to Stoneridge Hall and live her life as a spinster by the sea. It’s what she’d decided to do a week ago, and this time, she’d not let anyone deter her from those plans.
* * *
Upon leaving Bentley’s manor, Donovan went straight to his recently retained man of business and informed him that he was no longer looking for property in London or anywhere along the Thames. Instead, he’d be searching elsewhere. What he didn’t know was where he’d seek his new home. That would be determined once he knew all the places the Duke of Ellings had holdings so that Donovan could avoid those areas. His man of business was able to provide such a list.
Claresta had already haunted him for a year and Donovan hadn’t even known her. How long would it take to put her from his mind and heart now? The only hope to forget was never to see her again, then perhaps his heart could begin to heal.
Once he returned to Bridges’ home with a list of holdings in his hand, Donovan sat with a map and crossed out all potential ports within a day’s ride of an Ellings estate and pondered where he might move. The ancestral home was in Shropshire, nowhere near a port. Another, however, was in Kent, near Dover, and Donovan drew an “X” over the entire region.
The remainder of the holdings were scattered throughout England and his options diminished as Donovan needed to be near a port, preferably in the southeast of England. They already had someone, whom his family trusted completely, who smuggled whisky into Cornwall and that was why Donovan had concentrated on London. However, there were still a handful of options available along the east coast, but before any decisions were made, Donovan decided to discuss the possibilities of each with Bridges.
“Excuse me, Mr. MacGregor, Cook would like to know when you’d like to luncheon. It’s past time you should have taken your midday meal.”
Donovan glanced at the clock. It was already late into the afternoon. “I am not hungry, but thank Cook for me.”
“Very good, Mr. MacGregor.” The butler bowed and quit the room.
Donovan stood and retrieved the bottle of whisky from its hiding place. Bridges didn’t keep the illegal whisky on display, but he knew where it could be found. There were two bottles within – a Grant whisky and a MacGregor whisky, which Donovan retrieved.
After taking a sip, Donovan enjoyed the burn down the back of his throat and the taste of home.
Had it been a mistake to leave Anagburn?
He dismissed the question. It was time and he’d not been happy; in part, he’d been searching for Juliet ever since Madame Marseille’s ball.
Donovan stared into the amber liquid before he drained the glass.
Well, he’d found her, and his Juliet was the daughter of a bloody duke.
Rage rose within him so powerful and with only a few options for release. Raising his arm, he aimed and threw the glass against the stone fireplace. It shattered in a satisfactory shower of crystals carpeting the hearth and floor.
“I hope you had the good sense not to waste good whiskey by bathing the fireplace with it.”
Donovan turned to the unfamiliar voice to find a gentleman of regal bearing, greying hair and green eyes, staring at him with considerable interest.
His stomach sank. No introductions were necessary. The Duke of Ellings had come to
…to what...call him out? Have him thrown out of the country…ruin his family?
How the hell did Ellings know he was drinking whisky in the first place?
“Your Grace.” Donovan finally found his voice and bowed.
“Ah, so you know who I am.”
“I assumed.”
He hitched an eyebrow. “It seems to me that you’ve been assuming much today.”
What the blazes did he mean by that?
“Pour me a glass of what you’re having. The two of us are going to have a chat.”
A chat? One did not chat with a duke. However, Donovan held his tongue and walked to the sideboard where he retrieved a glass and a bottle of English whiskey.
“I want what you were drinking. Not the poor substitute we English have attempted to duplicate.”
Donovan slid a look to His Grace. Was this a test to see if there were illegal spirits in the manor, or did Ellings already know?
“If you’re worried that I’ll have you arrested, don’t be. To do so would see Bridges possibly arrested as well, and well, we cannot have that as I count on his discretion in his deliveries.”
Donovan narrowed his eyes, still not certain he could trust a gentleman of such rank and wealth.
“Let go of your suspicions,” Ellings barked. “And none of that Grant whisky. I’ve enough of that at home. I want to taste what the MacGregors have to offer.”
Donovan swallowed against the tightness in his throat. Clearly, Ellings knew of the two distilleries, unless he was only guessing at the MacGregors’. But, instead of arguing or denying the claims, he pulled a MacGregor bottle out from hiding, poured a glass and handed it to His Grace before pouring one for himself.
He waited while Ellings sipped, watching his face for a reaction. Despite the circumstances, Donovan always gauged to see if a potential customer liked their whisky.
“Don’t tell this to Brachton, but I do believe yours is superior.”
Donovan bit back a grin. He was most certainly going to inform Brachton and all of the Grants. After all, if the situation were reversed, Brachton would gloat.
Once Upon a Midnight Masquerade: Scot to the Heart #3 Page 8
