She tottered unbalanced for a moment.
He stomped several steps along the stable before turning back to her, impatience written on his face. “Come along. Stop dawdling.”
Adaira started for him, still wobbly on her feet. Blasted kisses. She was all muddled, and he stood there seemingly unaffected, except for the return of the sour scowl to his face. Not the reaction a woman wants when she’s been soundly kissed. Maybe he found her kisses unsatisfactory.
Another mark against her.
She stopped before him, her gaze resting on his mouth. She started to lick her lips. Catching herself, she closed her mouth and met his mocking gaze. Heat swept her cheeks.
Och, it was certain he knew what she was thinking. Boor.
His brows arched, and one corner of his mouth inched upward cynically. “Stop acting like you’ve never been kissed before. No chaste maid kisses like you just did.”
Adaira punched him.
Father bursting into Adaira’s chamber awakened her. Head muzzy, she fought to remember the lovely dream she’d been having. Someone had been holding her in his arms, kissing her senseless. Oh, it had been beyond wonderful. Intense blue eyes filtered into her memory.
No! Now the scunner was invading her dreams.
She dared to open her eyes a crack. Father was in high dudgeon, seldom seen wrath flashing in his dark brown eyes. Before she could sit up or wipe the sleep from her face, he demanded an explanation.
“Why did ye leave yer room last night, Adaira, after ye gave me your word?”
She caught her breath. How did he know? Had the earl told him? What explanation had his Royal Pomposity given for his split lip? Not the truth, for certain.
Scooting to a sitting position, she brushed her hair away from her face. “I only. . .”
“Nae, daughter! Ye were not to leave yer room.” Her father threw up his hands and turned from her in angry frustration. He spun back around to face her, his hands planted on his hips. “Aren’t ye in enough trouble already, damn it?”
Her breath left her in a whoosh.
Father had sworn. In the presence of a woman.
Adaira stared at him stunned. He was livid. Oh, but she’d done it up brown this time. She was in suds to her neck.
“Did ye think I’d not find out? Brayan saw ye and the earl leaving the stables.”
She’d just bet he did, God rot the rat. What was he doing prowling about in the wee hours? Spying on her? Her breath hitched. Had he seen—?
Lord help her if he had. The notion was too horrid to contemplate.
Father ranted on. “When I questioned his lordship, he said ye’d been desperate to check on yer mare. The man was so mortified to have been caught soused and half-dressed with a cut lip from plowing into a post, he begged my pardon.”
Plowing into a post? She clenched her bruised hand. What a pile of horse . . . codswallop.
“The man needed some privacy, and I don’t blame him for tossing back a few.” Father brushed a hand over his eyes. “For the love of God, Addy, last night he learned his brother killed their mother!”
Adaira winced.
She flung aside the sheet, then swung her legs over the side of the bed. She hopped to the floor, completely unconcerned about appearing before him in her chaste white nightgown.
“Father, I. . .”
He held up his hand, although it wasn’t the gesture that effectively silenced her. No, the glint of unyielding steel in his usually warm eyes did. Ire darkened his gaze to obsidian. Despite the lingering heat of yesterday, a chill gripped her. This was a side of her father she’d not seen before.
“Lass,” he leveled her with a penetrating look, “yer mother and I are done up with ye. We tried to be understanding when ye started parading about in men’s breeches. We even encouraged your unladylike interests in horse breeding and fencing, hoping you’d eventually find yer own path to happiness.”
Blowing out a gusty breath, he broke eye contact with her. His focus sank to the floor while he rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “Ye’ve been discontented and troubled for nigh on four years.”
Adaira padded to him on bare feet. He lifted his weary gaze to hers. Laying her hand on his solid arm, she searched his eyes. “I know I shouldn’t have gone. It was foolish of me.”
The memory of his lordship’s kiss was far more disturbing to her than the blow she’d landed him. Or the swats on her bottom.
Pray God, his lordship hadn’t revealed that, too?
No, that would paint him in a less than admirable light. His lordship’s sole purpose seemed to be to ridicule and disparage her. She reluctantly conceded she’d given him sufficient fodder to fuel that fire. Dash it all, enough to fuel a blaze for the annual Guy Fawkes Bonfire Night celebration.
Father stared at her, his expression pensive. Melancholy softened his craggy features. A sad half-smile skewed his mouth.
“Ye are always sorry afterward, lass. It’s time ye act yer age. Yer mother was married, bore a child, and was widowed by the time she was onescore, scarcely five months older than ye are now. Seonaid is more mature than ye at times.”
Inwardly, Adaira flinched. That stung. Her sister was but six and ten. He stepped to the door and withdrew the key from the inside lock.
“No!” Adaira gasped, immediately comprehending the significance.
Once he slid the key into the outer keyhole, he moved back to the center of the room.
She grasped his thick forearm. “Don’t do this,” she begged.
She’d stay in her room, but there was something about being locked in. . .
She shuddered. It was too much like prison. The whispers of Newgate’s horrors still haunted her, even though the earl had given his word she’d not be jailed.
In some small measure, she understood how he must have felt as her prisoner. The helplessness. The powerlessness. Entirely at someone else’s mercy. Her father was her jailor, and she hadn’t a doubt he loved her wholeheartedly. She’d been a hostile stranger to the earl when she imprisoned him. He’d also been injured. An injury she’d caused.
“I give you my word, I’ll stay in here. I. . .” She gulped past the lump pressing the back of her throat. “I know I made a mistake.”
Father slowly shook his head. “Nae, ye’ve made one unfortunate choice too many. Now yer mother and I, Ewan, and Lord Clarendon too, will contemplate a solution.”
Nibbling her lower lip, she plucked at her nightgown. She sent her father a hesitant glance. “Does he have to be involved?”
The earl would demand full accountability without a jot of mercy.
Do you truly deserve any?
It was evident Father knew without asking who he was. He angled his head. “Aye. It’s his favor we seek. Ye’d best hope he’s not a vindictive man, Addy. It does not bode well for ye if he is.”
He strode to the door. With a hand on the latch, he said, “Even though Ewan’s a viscount and laird of Craiglocky, the Earl of Clarendon wields far more power. He’s a very influential peer, and he knows it.”
She nodded in reluctant agreement. Why couldn’t the earl have been some plain unremarkable milksop, more interested in insects and tide pools than conventions or decorum? Why did the man have such a rigid sense of propriety?
And such lovely lips?
A movement behind her father caught her attention. Following her gaze, he half-turned and upon seeing Maisey, motioned for her to enter. Her gaze lowered, she scurried into the chamber carrying a tray. She made straight for the table before the window seat. Uncovering the food, she began noisily arranging Adaira’s breakfast.
Her stomach growled as the scent of fresh cinnamon buns and ham drifted to her nose. Worry prevented her from eating most of her evening meal.
Father g
lanced at Maisey, then met Adaira’s gaze square on. His voice a low rumble, he said, “His lordship has us at Point Non Plus. Any reasonable suggestion he makes for your punishment, I fully intend to agree with.”
She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. “I see.”
Why did she feel betrayed? She’d brought this on herself. Every action she’d taken, every choice she’d made, she’d known the consequences.
At least she’d thought she had.
Drawing in a deep, fortifying breath, she gave him a shaky smile. “How long am I to be confined?”
“Two weeks.” He shifted his gaze to Maisey once more.
She paused in straightening the bed covers, looking to him expectantly.
“I’ll leave the key in the lock.” Father motioned to the key protruding from the door. “Attend yer mistress, and when ye are done, see ye bring me the key. I’ll be in the library.”
Maisey, her blue eyes round as dinner plates, bobbed her head. “Yes, Sir Hugh.”
She darted Adaira an apologetic glance and tried to smile. It looked more like a sickly grimace.
Adaira followed her father to the doorway. “Is he still here?”
“Nae, he left at first light to convey his brother to Newgate and deliver Ewan’s letters to the Secretary of War.”
She frowned. How would his lordship confer with Father and Ewan about her sentence, then? Perchance, once the earl was back in England, he’d find it too inconvenient to communicate about the matter. For certain, Lord Clarendon wouldn’t return to Craiglocky. He had no more liking for her than she did for him.
What about that kiss, taunted a voice in her head.
It meant nothing. Lord Clarendon was half-foxed and she, well, she’d allowed her fear about Vala and Maximus, for that’s what she’d named the colt, to overcome common sense.
The kiss meant less than nothing. It wasn’t worth a blink.
Liar, whispered the same mocking voice.
“Do hush!” Addy muttered crossly, while sweeping her hair behind her shoulders.
Father gave her a quizzical look. “Pardon?”
“Nothing, Father. I was just scolding myself aloud.”
He angled his brow in obvious suspicion. Pausing beyond the door, he said, “Ye cannot have visitors either.”
He inclined his head in Maisey’s direction. “She’ll attend ye twice a day, but she will not stay to dress or talk with ye.”
Adaira’s shoulders slumped in resignation. From habit, she fingered the cross resting on her breastbone. How would she endure two weeks of isolation?
“Would you send some books on animal husbandry from the library, please?” Not that she was overly fond of reading, but she had to have something to occupy her time. She wasn’t about to take up embroidery or tatting. “You’ll see to my horses? Fionn needs to be ridden daily. He prefers me, but will tolerate Jocky or Ewan.”
Father’s features softened. “Don’t worry about your beasties. We’ll see they’re well cared for.”
He smiled then, the first hint of happiness she’d observed in him since this whole debacle began yesterday. “The earl is mighty impressed with yer horseflesh. He’s of a mind to purchase some of the yearlings and spoke of a joint breeding endeavor.”
Adaira gaped at him. Was he serious?
As if she’d ever—as long as she had a breath in her body, as long as the Church of Scotland sanctioned marriages at Gretna Green, as long as . . . as Dugall gobbled down Sorcha’s shortbread cookies like a man long starved ever—agree to such a ludicrous scheme.
Ever.
She stifled a hysterical giggle when her thoughts turned to discussing breeding procedures with the earl. How ridiculously discomfiting. Surely the heat infusing her was caused by outrage, or—she cast a glance to the windows, yes, the sun was pulsing off the pane—the temperature outside.
Maisey approached them, wringing her hands in her apron. “Yer breakfast is prepared, and I made yer bed.”
She sliced a nervous glance toward Adaira’s father. “Do ye have need of anything else, Miss Adaira?”
There was a hopeful tone in her voice. She was such a loyal dear.
Adaira sighed. “No, Maisey. I can manage well enough on my own, thank you.”
The maid dipped a curtsy. Adaira bit the inside of her cheek to stop the smile that threatened. Maisey only curtsied when Father was present. He stepped aside to let the maid pass. She continued down the hallway.
“Don’t be too hasty to say no to the breeding venture, lass. Clarendon has some remarkable horseflesh himself.” He gave her an intent look. “Ye’d do well to remember whose keep this is, and why ye have been allowed yer discretion with the horses, Adaira. The earl may very well make a contract between the two of ye a contingency of yer retribution.”
“Never!” she vowed, fists clenched. Blackmail her, would his lordship? He’d no right to her new line of horseflesh.
Father scowled. “Ye’ll have no say in the matter if it’s what he demands.”
With that dour declaration, he closed the door. Metal scraped against metal as he turned the key in the lock.
“We’ll see about that,” Adaira muttered mutinously.
CHAPTER 14
The deed was done.
Three days after leaving Craigcutty, traveling day and night, Roark delivered Edgar to Newgate. Without a backward glance, Roark left his brother to rot. They’d stopped at Cadbury Park for thirty minutes enabling Roark to exchange the borrowed horse for one of his own. He’d refused to ride in the carriage with Edgar.
Roark made for the War Office straightaway. Maman’s words, spoken to him when he was but eight years old, echoed in his mind as he rode the few blocks.
“You must guide and protect your brother, Rory. He doesn’t have your wisdom or ability to make right choices.”
May Maman, God rest her soul, forgive him. He was done with guiding or protecting Edgar. Roark clenched his teeth against remorse as he dismounted Tenacity. He handed the reins to an overheated groom in primrose and emerald livery.
Edgar was reaping what he’d sown, ensnared by his evil deeds. Removing his gloves and hat, Roark shook off the guilt niggling him. His brother was well beyond redemption, at least here on Earth.
Roark ran up the steps to the War Office. Edgar’s mocking words still rang in his ears.
“There’s no proof, Rory, damn you to hell. I’ll not hang. You wait and see. I’ll be a free man again, and soon. When I am, you had best watch your back. I’ll not forget your betrayal, brother.”
Proof or not, Edgar had let a jot of the truth slip. Roark needed no more convincing. He knew his brother.
The venom in Edgar’s voice, and the hatred radiating from his wintry eyes, raised the hairs on the back of Roark’s neck. Edgar looked and sounded like the old earl.
Roark strode down the musty corridors of the War Office. He had one intent—delivering the missives Sethwick sent to the Secretary of War, Bartholomew Yancy, the Earl of Ramsbury. Then, Roark planned to return to the relative peace and quiet of his estate, Cadbury Park, for the remainder of the summer.
Ironic that his conscience plagued him more for swatting Adaira than it did for abandoning his brother to Newgate. One was more deserved than the other, that’s why. He couldn’t blame his actions in Craiglocky’s stables that night on being half-sprung either. Yes, he’d had a bit to drink, hell, a great deal to drink, but he knew perfectly well what he was doing when he’d spanked her.
Guilt thrummed through Roark. He’d taken his ire out on her, although her irascible behavior was to blame in part. He still didn’t know what possessed him to kiss her. She’d been so pitiful, sobbing on the stable floor. Once he held her in his arms, rational thought had fled. As had his desire to find who’d helped imprison him.
The despair in Adaira’s voice when she sobbed she might go to jail or hang had lodged in the pit of his stomach. He’d been unable to keep from comforting and reassuring her.
And he’d enjoyed every moment.
When the hot-blooded vixen began returning his kisses, he’d been hard pressed not to tumble her in the pile of straw. He might have if the bedding had been clean and fresh. Her passionate responses were not those of an innocent. His groin stirred at the recollection. No, he was confident it wouldn’t have been her first time. The notion rankled.
The Earl's Enticement (Castle Bride Series) Page 13
