Reckless Desire: Flowers of Scotland

by Tarah Scott

  Mrs. Stone’s eyes shifted to Lord Newhall. “We would be pleased to have you, as well, my lord.”

  To Kenna’s surprise, he said, “I would be pleased to attend. Perhaps Lady Chastity can provide me with your address?” He turned his smile upon her.

  “Stirling has the address,” she replied.

  Despite his charming smile, Kenna still sensed tension in Lord Newhall’s posture. She didn’t have to guess at the cause. Embarrassment and regret warmed her cheeks. In less than fifteen minutes, she had revealed her lack of gentle breeding. Like the gentleman he was, he hadn’t pulled away from her, but he must surely want to rid himself of her company as soon as propriety allowed. They weren’t far from Lady Chastity’s parked carriage. She could withdraw her hand from his arm on the pretense that she and Lady Chastity were to return to the carriage. With a deep breath, Kenna pulled her hand free. His head snapped in her direction. His frown deepened.

  “Have a pleasant walk,” Mrs. Stone was saying.

  “We will see you tomorrow, Miss Ramsay,” Miss Stone said.

  Kenna nodded. “Until then.”

  The young woman smiled, and the family moved past. Kenna started forward, her gaze straight ahead. Lord Newhall walked alongside her with Lady Chastity and Stirling to her right.

  “Stirling, I imagine you and Lord Newhall should get back to your business,” Lady Chastity said, and Kenna released a silent breath of relief.

  “We have all day for business,” he replied.” How often do we have the opportunity to enjoy the park together?”

  “Quite often, actually,” Lady Chastity remarked. “I believe Kenna and I will visit the rose garden.” She linked her arm with Kenna’s. “Good day, gentlemen.”

  Kenna glimpsed Lord Newhall’s stiff bow in the instant before Lady Chastity turned her toward the rose garden. Kenna had the odd feeling that Lord Newhall stared at her. She kept her gaze forward and concentrated on her steps. She would die of embarrassment if she tripped over her skirt in public, as she had when they’d left the house that morning.

  Chapter Two

  Bryson tried not to stare at Miss Ramsay, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away. The sway of her hips wasn’t what transfixed him—though his cock pulsed at the hint of round buttocks beneath her dress. Nae, it was simply that she walked away. What if he didn’t see her again? What if she left town? He groaned inwardly. He was acting like a fool.

  What did it matter if she left town? He could follow her anywhere.

  Stirling clapped him on the back. “Shall we go?”

  Bryson broke from the spell. “Of course.”

  Stirling turned. Bryson force himself to follow.

  “I hope to finish our business today,” Stirling said. “Chastity plans for us to leave Inverness later tomorrow after Mrs. Stone’s luncheon. I have many preparations today in order to be able to leave on time.”

  “Leave?” Bryson looked at him in surprise. “Where are you going?” The words left his mouth before he realized how presumptuous the question sounded.

  Stirling flashed white teeth. “Chastity wishes to visit our estate near Lossiemouth.”

  Bryson’s heart stuttered. “Will Miss Ramsay accompany you?”

  They broke from the trees and Bryson’s horse came into view, one among several clustered about the tying posts.

  “Perhaps,” Stirling replied. “She received an invitation to the Colonies, where she has family.”

  “The Colonies?” Bryson blurted. “She said she came from Skye.”

  “Aye, but she wishes to visit the Colonies.”

  “That is a long way for a young woman to travel alone.”

  “I doubt she will be alone.” Stirling leaned closer and said in confidential tones, “I doubt she will go at all.”

  Relief flooded Bryson.

  “Several young bucks are pursuing her. I suspect one of them will capture her heart.”

  Bryson halted. “The devil, you say? Surely, she’s not considering their suits?”

  “Why ever not?” Stirling asked. “They are respectable young men. Well, one is a tad bit older, but he is a viscount, so that is a strong incentive. Her family would be delighted to have her become a viscountess.”

  Bryson’s heart raced. Which viscount sought a wife? Horror struck. “Viscount Hensley?” He narrowed his eyes on Stirling. “You cannot possibly be considering his suit.”

  Stirling laughed. “It is not up to me, lad. She and her aunt will make the decision.”

  “I am no fool, Stirling. Your word carries weight. They will, no doubt, heed any advice you offer.”

  “Who am I to interfere in her affairs?”

  “You are Sir Stirling James, Marquess of Roxburgh, future Duke of Roxburgh.”

  Sterling scowled. “Christ, man, you make me sound like the Messiah.”

  “In this case, you are. You have it within your power to save her from a life of drudgery as Hensley’s wife.”

  “I wouldn’t call it a life of drudgery,” Stirling mused. “Her circumstances would be much improved.”

  A horrifying thought struck. “By God, you facilitated the match.”

  Stirling shook his head. “As I said, I hold no sway in the matter.”

  Bryson worked his hands into fists at his sides. “Encouraged then. I have heard—bloody hell, all of Inverness has heard, and probably half of Scotland, too—how the Marriage Maker makes matches.”

  Starling laughed again. “You credit me with far too much influence. I have, on occasion, made introductions. That is all.”

  Memory flashed of a wedding several months ago. He stared in horror. “You had a hand in Lady Buchman’s marriage.” He had wondered why the marchioness married so suddenly. Bryson’s gut twisted. He hadn’t given much credence to the rumors that no one in the Marriage Maker’s sights could escape. If the rumors were true, that meant the match between Miss Ramsay and the viscount—

  Stirling’s low chuckle yanked Bryson from his thoughts. “I never took you for a man who listens to idle gossip.”

  He didn’t. Only, what he’d heard about The Marriage Maker wasn’t idle gossip.

  Later that evening, Bryson accepted the full brandy glass Sir Stirling offered him. “Third time’s a charm,” he murmured, and took a healthy drink.

  “I beg your pardon?” Stirling sat in the chair to his left.

  Bryson released a breath and kept his gaze on the fire burning in the hearth. “I was just thinking that perhaps this glass of brandy might take my mind off things.”

  “Things?” Stirling sipped his brandy. “We had a successful day. Your father will be pleased.”

  Bryson nodded. “He is as giddy as a schoolgirl at the prospect of the partnership. He considers shipping one small step away from privateering—which, as we all know, is simply government sanctioned pirating—and he finds privateering a romantic notion.”

  Stirling laughed. “He isn’t completely wrong. Given Napoleon’s war, any ship on the open sea risks an encounter with pirates.”

  “Which is why my mother will not allow him on that ship.”

  Stirling lifted his glass in salute. “To Lady Newhall. Clearly a woman of sense and intelligence.”

  Bryson always thought he favored his mother in that regard. Now… He finished the brandy.

  “Another?” Stirling asked.

  Bryson considered, then nodded. Stirling refilled his glass, again, and again…

  At last, the clock struck ten, and Bryson stood. The room swayed slightly. “I believe it is time I take my leave.”

  “So soon?” Stirling asked.

  “My mother taught me never to overstay my welcome.”

  Stirling’s eyes twinkled. “One must always listen to his mama.” He stood, and they started toward the door. “Will we see you at Lady Lexington’s party tonight?”

  Bryson caught himself before he blurted the word ‘we,’ and said in a casual tone, “‘We’?”

  “Chastity, Miss Ramsay and myself.”

/>   No doubt, Miss Ramsay would wear a silk ball gown—turquoise with a low bodice, like the dress she’d worn that morning. They would dance. He would entice her to walk in the garden, pull her close and taste those full lips—and the sweet rosy peaks of her breasts. His cock began to harden.

  “Will you be there?” Stirling asked.

  “I hadn’t planned on attending.”

  They reached the open door.

  Bryson gave a slight bow. “Thank you for the brandy.” He spun and strode into the hallway.

  Twenty minutes later, Bryson entered the darkened foyer of his townhouse, stripped off his great coat and hung it on the coat rack to the left of the door. He strode across the foyer to the staircase directly ahead and began to climb the stairs, mind fixed on the full decanter of whisky waiting on the table in his room.

  By the time he reached his chambers, he’d half decided to wake his valet and have a hot bath drawn. That and the whisky were sure to put him to sleep. He slowed two steps into the room, his gaze on the hearth’s low fire. For an instant, he envisioned Miss Ramsay on the carpet in front of the hearth, red hair glistening in the firelight, arms wrapped tightly around him as he thrust inside her.

  “There you are, darling,” purred a sultry female voice.

  His senses swam. Could it be? But the answer came almost before he truly comprehended the question. Bryson spun to face the naked woman in his bed.

  “How did you get in here, Kathryn?”

  She stretched like a cat. “I have my ways. Now, come here. I haven’t seen you in two days. I have missed you terribly.”

  Even without the benefit of liquor, he recognized the lie. Mrs. Kathryn Sands wasn’t capable of tender feelings, which was the very reason he’d taken her as his mistress—that, and her dedication to pleasing him. He made it a point of honor to return the devotion, along with a generous monthly allowance. There wasn’t the slightest danger she would fall in love with him, nor he with her. For her to be here, in his home, without invitation, was a breach of their understanding. She was up to something.

  He scanned the room and caught sight of her clothes folded neatly on the chair near the window. Bryson crossed to the clothes, snatched them up, and threw them on the bed.

  “Get dressed.”

  “Darling—”

  “Now,” he snapped.

  Her eyes widened. “Bryce, what is amiss?”

  “Pray, do not embarrass yourself further. Innocence does not become you.”

  She sat upright. “Surely, you are not angry because I am here?”

  “Either dress yourself, or I will wrap you in that sheet and put you in a cab.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  He stared.

  Her mouth thinned. She scooted off the bed and, for the first time in their relationship, she didn’t tease him when she dressed.

  Chapter Three

  Kindness was going to kill Kenna.

  The orchestra struck up a country dance as she entered the ballroom of Lord Lexington’s home alongside Lady Chastity and Sir Stirling. Lady Chastity had refused to leave Kenna home, insisting Kenna would be lonely. Her heart squeezed. She was far lonelier in this crowded ballroom than she would have been curled up in bed with a book, or in the nursery watching over the Stirlings’ darling baby girl. Shame washed over her. In fairness, Lady Chastity wasn’t wrong. Kenna was lonely. She missed home: the crisp air as the leaves turned color on these autumn days, and the clear, tinkling water of the fairy pools. The rocks in the shallows often reflected a green-turquoise color, much like the color of the dress she wore.

  The one bright spot in the evening was the dress. She favored the color. But the pleasure was bittersweet, for her memories lingered on her younger cousin, Owen, as he waded, whooping, in the clear turquoise water with his friends, Allen and Kevin. How many times had her aunt sent her in search of the lad only to find him at one of the pools with his friends?

  Her heart warmed. At ten years of age, he had begun to show signs of manhood. His stoic expression on the morning she’d left, as she waved goodbye from the carriage, had been too grown up. Still, she fancied the shimmer in his eyes had been unshed tears. The warmth vanished. She’d been gone a month. Did he think much of the girl who was the only sister he had known? Boys cared so little for anything other than sword play with sticks and chasing tadpoles in fairy pools—which was exactly as it should be.

  Three ladies smiled at Sir Stirling, and he greeted them as they passed. Kenna angled her head and murmured “Hello” in response to their smiles. A couple greeted them, and she smiled and said “Hello” again, and again. The din of conversation seemed to roar in competition with the music.

  Tears pricked. Nae. She had promised her aunt she would not cry after leaving Skye—though she had broken that promise a dozen times. She would not embarrass Lady Chastity and Sir Stirling. Why, oh, why had her aunt been home the day Sir Stirling arrived on their doorstep? She was being foolish. She didn’t know Sir Stirling well, but she knew him well enough to know that he wouldn’t have left without speaking with her.

  They reached a vacant alcove on the far side of the room. If Kenna didn’t know Sir Stirling, she would have thought him fortunate to find an unoccupied, private alcove. But she did know better. No doubt, the hostess had reserved the spot especially for him.

  He stood aside as Lady Chastity entered. He smiled at Kenna a she followed close behind, and she was glad when the murmur of voices softened.

  Sir Stirling lingered in the doorway. “Would you like refreshments, ladies?”

  Lady Chastity sat on the couch to the left and looked at him through her lashes. Her expression lacked the artifice of Lady Phoebe’s when she’d looked at Lord Newhall that morning.

  “Champagne,” Lady Chastity said.

  Sir Stirling’s gaze softened. “Anything you wish, my dear.” His eyes lingered on her another two heartbeats before he faced Kenna. “Would you like champagne, as well, Miss Ramsay?”

  She’d never tasted champagne. “Aye, thank you, sir.”

  He angled his head in a slight bow, then turned and left.

  Kenna half wished he had pulled the curtain.

  “Come, sit beside me, Kenna.” Lady Chastity patted the cushion beside her.

  Kenna crossed the alcove and sat down. The country dance ended and the orchestra began a Scottish reel. Kenna glanced through the open doorway and glimpsed the dancers.

  “Do you like to dance?” Lady Chastity asked.

  She nodded. “My aunt taught me. She said a lady must know three things: how to dance, how to play the pianoforte and how to speak at least one language other than English.”

  “What language did you choose?”

  Kenna looked at her. “Italian.” Her cheeks warmed. “I know it is the fashion to speak French, but Italian is such a warm language.”

  “Have you visited Italy?”

  She shook her head. “Nae.”

  “Perhaps you will one day.”

  Kenna covered Lady Chastity’s hand, which rested on her lap. “My lady, I will never visit Italy.” Kenna removed her hand and sighed. “I know my aunt hoped that I would come here and find a respectable husband, but none of these men will want a poor girl from Skye.”

  “You have a fine pedigree,” Lady Chastity said.

  Kenna blinked in surprise. She had expected her to say, ‘Any gentleman would be fortunate to have you.’ That is what her aunt always said.

  “What will a fine gentleman care that my ancestor was Robert the Bruce?” she replied.

  Lady Chastity laughed. “Kenna, that is not your only fine attribute.”

  “The only men I attracted back home were farmers and ranchers.”

  “Not surprising.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Kenna blurted.

  Chastity shrugged. “Most men on Skye are farmers and ranchers.”

  Kenna barked a laugh, then clapped a hand over her mouth. “That was not ladylike.”

  Lady Cha
stity grinned.

  Kenna sobered. “We both know that the reason I attracted only farmers and ranchers isn’t just because they are the only men on Skye.”

  “I understand there is the son of a vicar who is pining for you.”

  “Jared?” she blurted, then her cheeks burned when Lady Chastity’s brows rose.

  “Mister Jared Evans, that is correct.”

  “How did you know about him?” Kenna asked, then said, “Of course, my aunt told you.”

  “She did mention him,” Lady Chastity answered, unruffled. “She also mentioned Mister Hicks.”

  “He does no’ count at all,” Kenna muttered.

  “Why not?”

  “I have known Michael since we were children. And Jared—Mister Evans—would never get his father’s consent to marry me.”

  “Do you want him to get his father’s consent?”

  Kenna grimace. “Nae. I have known him since I was ten. I could no more marry him than I could my cousin. Not to mention, Jared would never get his father’s consent to marry me.”

  Lady Chastity angled her head to one side. “If you wish his consent, then leave the…details to Stirling.”

  Kenna released a breath. “Even if I did want that, Sir Stirling cannot change the fact that I was born out of wedlock.”

  A shadow fell across the room and Kenna looked up to find Sir Stirling entering. He stopped in front of them and offered the glasses of champagne he held. When each of them had taken a glass, he sat on the chair near his wife. Kenna sipped her champagne. Tiny bubbles tickled her nose as she drank.

  She looked at Lady Chastity in surprise. “It is delicious.”

  “Indeed, it is,” she agreed. “Champagne is my favorite drink.”

  Kenna drank half the glass.

  Sir Stirling’s brows shot up. “I see champagne is a favorite of yours, as well.”

  “It was now.” She finished the glass.

  “Whoa, lass,” he said. “We have all night to drink champagne. Ye might want to drink a little slower.”

  Warmth flooded her cheeks. “I should not have drunk it all?”

  He shook his head. “Never apologize for enjoying yourself, Miss Ramsay.”