Sally MacKenzie Bundle

by Sally MacKenzie

  “Your grace!” Sarah dodged his hands and returned to her fortified position behind his desk. “Behave yourself.”

  “Must I?” He looked around his study. “This would be a splendid place to engage in a little misbehavior.”

  “No.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “Very certain. We have more important matters to occupy our minds.”

  “We do?”

  “Today’s murder attempt!”

  “All the more reason to misbehave. If I have limited time left on this earth, I would love to spend it with you in that comfortable chair by the fire—or even on that nice, thick rug.”

  “Stop it!” Sarah turned and gripped the edge of his desk. “How can you make light of this?”

  James sighed. Apparently Sarah could be as single-minded as a terrier.

  “I’m not really making light of it, Sarah. I am doing what I can to protect myself and my family, but it’s a little like fencing with shadows. Richard is devious.”

  Sarah picked up the silver penknife from James’s desk, turning it over and over in her hands, running her fingers over the engraved pattern.

  “Why do you think it’s your cousin who is trying to kill you?”

  “Who else can it be?” James shrugged. “I’m no saint, but I play fair and pay my bills. I take care of my properties; I stay clear of other men’s wives and daughters—present company excluded, of course.” He paused and leered at her—she waggled the penknife at him.

  “None of that, your grace. This is serious. I mean to get a straight answer from you.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I can see you were an exceptional teacher in your previous employment. Did your students ever have any fun?”

  “Very rarely—and certainly not if I had anything to say about the matter. Now answer me.”

  “No one but Richard has a reason to wish me dead.”

  “Because he’s your heir.”

  “Yes, but more because he thinks I’ve stolen the dukedom from him.”

  Sarah frowned. “How can that be? Aren’t your laws of succession quite clear?”

  “The laws are clear, it’s the facts that are murky. My father and Richard’s were identical twins. My father, as the elder by ten minutes, was the heir. Richard believes there was some confusion at the birth—the midwife was not expecting twins—and that the babies were switched. According to him, his father should have inherited when our grandfather died, and so Richard, not I, should be the current duke.”

  “That’s ridiculous—isn’t it?”

  “Well, perhaps not ridiculous, but certainly unlikely. As far as I know, no one except Richard has ever questioned the matter. His father never did.”

  Sarah gripped the penknife so tightly, the pattern on the handle dug into her fingers. If she ever needed proof that the English system of inheritance was nonsensical, even dangerous, this was it.

  “So how can Richard accuse you of stealing the dukedom when his father never accused your father? That was the rational time to contest the succession.”

  “True, but Richard isn’t rational.”

  “Your system of primogeniture isn’t rational! That’s what’s at the root of this problem.” Sarah pointed the penknife at James. “If England would get rid of all its titles and hereditary falderal, people like your cousin would not spend their lives waiting for someone else to die.”

  “It’s not quite that simple.”

  Sarah tapped James on the chest. “Richard is a parasite—admit it.”

  “I admit it. Are you planning to stab me with that?”

  “Oh.” Sarah looked blankly at the penknife. “No.”

  “Good.” James took the knife and laid it back on his desk. “You will not hear me defending Richard, sweetheart, but I can’t believe there are no hangers-on in your own country.”

  “Well, perhaps there are, but it’s not the same at all.”

  “I don’t know about that. You may not call them ‘lord,’ but I believe you have a number of wealthy men in your country whom someone—a son or other relation—would not mourn if they went prematurely to their heavenly reward, leaving behind their earthly treasures, of course.”

  “It is still not the same!”

  James lifted an eyebrow and opened his mouth to reply, but a scratching at the door interrupted him.

  “What is it, Layton?”

  “A message, your grace.” The butler handed James a folded sheet of paper and withdrew.

  James scanned the contents, then crumpled the paper in his fist.

  “What is it?”

  “Molly, the girl at the Green Man, was just found dead, strangled, outside the inn.”

  “Richard?”

  “I’d bet my life on it.” He put the crumpled paper on his desk and pulled her close. His amber eyes were dark, and a deep frown etched a line between his brows. Sarah wanted to smooth it away with her fingers.

  “Sarah, it would be much easier to keep you safe if you were my wife and not just my houseguest.”

  “But wouldn’t being your wife put me in more danger, your grace? Now I’m only a poor American nobody. If I married you, I’d be a duchess, wouldn’t I? And, I suppose, eventually…” Sarah bit her lip and studied James’s cravat. “Well, once you have a wife, you could have a son. And a son would definitely upset Richard.”

  The edge of James’s hand pushed gently on her chin. Reluctantly she raised her face. His eyes were no longer dark. They were lit with a most disturbing fire.

  “Very true, sweetheart. If I had a wife—if I had you as my wife—I would work most assiduously to produce a son. Morning and night.”

  “Morning?” Sarah squeaked. Could people do whatever they did to make babies in the daylight?

  “Most definitely. Before and after breakfast. Perhaps in the afternoon as well.”

  Surely that could not be possible.

  “You are being absurd, your grace.”

  “James.” He ran his thumb lightly over her lips. “You said it very nicely this morning.” His eyes traced the path his thumb had just traveled. His voice took on a deep, husky note. “Say it, Sarah. Please. I want to hear my name on your lips.”

  “This is most inappropriate, your grace.” Sarah had intended to speak forcefully, but it was hard to be sharp when someone was nuzzling one’s temples.

  “James.”

  Somehow her fingers had found their way to his chest and were tracing the pattern on his waistcoat. They slipped over the smooth silk, and she remembered with shocking clarity the smooth feel of his naked chest.

  “You are a duke, your grace.”

  “I am a man, sweetheart.” His lips teased the corner of her mouth. “Very much a man.” They moved to the other corner. “Please. A good American like you should not take note of titles.”

  His touch was most distracting. Sarah turned her head to meet his lips, but he pulled back.

  Wanton. She was acting like a wanton again. She pushed hard on his chest. He loosened his hold on her.

  “Come, Sarah. I know you can do it.”

  “You are ridiculous, your grace.”

  “James.”

  “Sir.”

  “Start with the J. It’s not a hard sound to make. Try it with me. ‘J-j-j.’”

  “Oh, for goodness sakes—James! There—will you let me go now?”

  “Do I have to?”

  “I will call you ‘your grace’ if you don’t.”

  “You don’t play fair.” James grinned and leaned forward as if to kiss her, but Sarah slipped out of his arms and fled before she could give in to her wanton wishes.

  James poured himself a glass of brandy and sat down by the fire. He sincerely wished that he had Sarah on his lap, but at least he had gotten his name from her lips. He would not let her go back to “your grace” with him.

  What was he to do about Richard? He would make inquiries, but he would wager that no one could connect Richard to Molly’s death. It was possible that Richard was no
t involved, but, as he had told Sarah, he wouldn’t bet his life on it. He certainly would not bet her life.

  Had Richard killed before? There had been rumors about that girl at University. He had ignored them, thinking them groundless. Had he been wrong?

  How could he keep Sarah safe? She was right. Their marriage would put her at some risk, but she was already at risk now that Richard had connected her with him. If they were married, he would have the right to protect her. He could lock her in her room—in his room. Chain her to his bed.

  He smiled, sipping his brandy and imagining all the lovely ways he could keep her busy and out of Richard’s reach.

  Sarah thought about Richard and the shooting as she walked down to the stable the next morning. She wasn’t worried for herself. Richard wasn’t stupid. He would realize immediately that the Duke of Alvord could not marry penniless Miss Hamilton from Philadelphia. But what of James? He did not take the danger he was in seriously.

  “Sarah!”

  She looked up. James was standing by the stable door, the sun lighting his golden hair and the strong planes of his face. Her heart thudded in her chest and her lips spread into a wide smile.

  “Hello, James.” She saw his grin get even wider.

  “Ah, McGee, did you hear my name on Miss Hamilton’s lips?”

  A short man with gray hair led a horse out of the stable. “Sure, yer grace. I ain’t lost me hearing yet!”

  Sarah smiled and nodded at McGee. “You are being very silly, your grace.”

  “No, you can’t go back—it must be James from now on, right, McGee?”

  Mr. McGee contented himself with rolling his eyes.

  James’s expression turned serious. “We’re going to stay close by the house for this lesson, Sarah. McGee says no one has seen Richard or any strangers about, but there’s no need to take unnecessary risks.”

  Sarah noted that McGee had spat in the dirt at Richard’s name. “That’s fine with me.” She eyed the horse whose reins McGee was holding. “Isn’t that a rather large animal, Mr. McGee?” She was not completely successful at hiding the quaver in her voice.

  “Here now, miss, no need to worry yerself. Rosebud is as gentle as a lamb.”

  “Rosebud?” Sarah looked at James. He shrugged.

  “Lizzie again,” he said. “But McGee is right. Rosebud is very calm. Come here and meet her.”

  James took the reins from McGee and led the horse a few steps toward Sarah. She carefully put her hand on Rosebud’s neck. Even through her glove, she could feel the warmth and the rough texture of the horse’s coat. Rosebud shifted and her neck twitched. Sarah whipped her hand back and looked up at James. He was trying very hard not to laugh.

  “I promise you, Rosebud is so placid, cannon fire couldn’t startle her.”

  “It’d take a cannon to get that one movin’,” McGee muttered.

  James raised his eyebrow and Sarah smiled. She turned back to Rosebud and carefully ran her hand down the horse’s neck. Rosebud turned and regarded her thoughtfully.

  “She does have lovely eyes.”

  “Let’s see how you like the view from the saddle.” James put his hands around her waist and lifted her up.

  “Ereek!” She stared down at James. He kept his hands around her waist to steady her. She could feel the heat of his palms and each finger and thumb through his gloves and the thick fabric of her riding habit. He wasn’t even breathing hard, yet he had just lifted her from the ground, which looked from her new location to be very far away indeed.

  She risked a look around. There were an amazing number of stable hands about, presumably to watch her first attempt at sitting on a horse. She cautiously straightened her spine and tested her balance.

  “I’m just not accustomed to this, ah, angle on the world,” she said.

  “Do you like it?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Fair enough. I’m going to let go now. Do you think you can keep your seat?”

  Sarah was not eager to lose the steadying influence of James’s hands, but she couldn’t look poor-spirited in front of her audience. “Certainly.”

  James let go and stepped back. Sarah grabbed the edge of the saddle. James smiled.

  “Well done. Here, take the reins. No, don’t clutch them; you’ll pull poor Rosebud’s mouth. Just hold them lightly and get used to the motion while I walk Rosebud down to the practice ring and around it a few times.”

  Sarah nodded in what she hoped was a confident manner. James led Rosebud down a gentle incline. At the first step she grabbed the saddle again. James won’t let you fall, she told herself and released her death grip. She sat up straighter. By the time they had completed two circuits of the training ring, she felt secure in her balance.

  “Okay?” James asked.

  “Yes. I think I’m ready to try the next step.”

  “Good!” James nodded to McGee and the groom brought over a huge brown horse. Sarah was glad she wasn’t required to sit on it.

  “That isn’t the horse you had at the inn.”

  “No, that was Newton. Pythagoras here is in semiretirement now, but he has excellent manners, don’t you, old man?” James patted the horse’s neck and Pythagoras nodded as if in agreement. “He’s more willing than Newton to move at a sedate pace, and he and Rosebud get along well.”

  “Pythagoras and Newton?” Sarah watched James swing himself into the saddle. He made it look so easy.

  “Right.” James picked up his reins and turned to look down at her. “I’ve always been somewhat keen on mathematics. I got Pythagoras for my fifteenth birthday. Newton I bought myself when I came down from Cambridge. He went with me to the Peninsula.”

  “Were you there long?”

  James looked out over his horse’s ears and nudged Pythagoras into motion. Rosebud obligingly followed.

  “Long? Not by the calendar, but if you measure time not by days, but by what those days do to you—eons. I was in Spain from the summer of 1811 until the April of 1813, when my father began to fail. I was there for Ciudad Rodrigo, Badajoz, and Salamanca, but I missed Vittoria—and Waterloo, of course.”

  Sarah saw the muscle in his cheek twitch as he tightened his mouth. Then he shook his head and smiled, turning to look down at her again.

  “I actually did go to America after I came down from Cambridge and before I went to Spain. Watch the gate there.”

  Pythagoras led Rosebud out of the practice ring. Sarah leaned slightly away from the fence and Rosebud obligingly stepped a little farther from the gate so that Sarah’s skirt just brushed it.

  “That was close.”

  James laughed. “Rosebud would never intentionally rub you off. She’s just a little absentminded.”

  “She doesn’t remember I’m up here?”

  “Well, she knows something is on her back. Once you figure out how to use the reins, she’ll obey you quite nicely.”

  Sarah leaned over to pat Rosebud’s neck. Rosebud shook her head in what Sarah assumed was a friendly fashion, making the bit jingle.

  “So you were in America? Did you come to Philadelphia?”

  “Unfortunately, no. My father had some investment interests in New York and Boston, so I went there. I had intended to visit your father, but I came back to fight instead. So we almost did meet in the past.”

  Sarah tried to imagine James in her father’s cramped study amid the political pamphlets, medical books, and serious young republicans. He would have stood out like a swan in a duck pond.

  “I’m afraid you would have been bored to tears, unless you enjoy arguing politics.”

  “Did you do nothing for amusement?”

  “I kept house and taught school.”

  “Hmm. So I would not have had to wade through a sea of suitors to gain your attention?”

  “No.” Sarah glanced over at him. If she saw pity in his eyes, she swore she’d climb down from this beast right now and disappear into her room for a good, long cry.

  She didn’t
see pity. She saw…speculation. She raised her chin.

  “Are you going to teach me to ride or not?”

  James’s lips slid into a slow grin. “Yes, love, I’m definitely going to teach you to ride.”

  When they finally returned to the stable, they had been out for two hours.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for the lesson to go on this long.”

  Sarah waved away James’s concern. “Oh, don’t worry about me. I’m a good, strong American girl.”

  He chuckled. “You’re going to be a sore American girl tonight. I recommend a hot bath before dinner.”

  “Thank you, doctor. I shall follow your advice.”

  James swung out of his saddle and reached up to lift her down.

  “Brace yourself on my shoulders.”

  Sarah nodded, but when her weight came off the horse, her elbows buckled. Her body slid down the length of his.

  “Oh!” She felt his hard form from her breasts to her thighs. Heat rushed through her—embarrassment and something else. It was shocking—but she had to cling to him. Her legs had turned to jelly. If she loosened her hold on his shoulders, she’d fall flat in the stable yard dirt.

  She looked up helplessly. His eyes had that hot, intent look again.

  “Stop it.”

  “Stop what? You’re the one who threw herself at me.”

  “I did not.”

  “Hmm.” James was not complaining. Sarah’s body felt very nice pressed up against his. Very nice indeed. Exhilarating. He moved his hips back slightly so she wouldn’t be shocked by just how exhilarated he was and lowered his head to taste her lips.

  “James!” she hissed.

  “Hmm?” She smelled of horse and outdoors and something else, light and sweet.

  “James!” She stiffened and managed to put some space between them. “Everyone is staring at us.”

  Her eyes were huge between the reddish blond lashes. The hazel had turned from green to gold. Sparks, he thought. Sparks and a touch of panic. The panic reached him. He straightened and looked around. The large number of stable hands present quickly found jobs that needed doing elsewhere.

  “Sorry.” He grinned. He wasn’t sorry at all—or he was sorry that she was embarrassed. Once they were married he intended to kiss her wherever and whenever the urge struck. “But you really shouldn’t throw yourself at me like that.”