Pretender's Game

by Louise Clark

  Theadora Tilton was thoroughly enjoying herself. At the moment she was standing in the largest room, energetically fanning her cheeks to dispel at least a measure of the heat. Beside her, her sister Isabelle’s stiff posture indicated that she was more than a little intimidated by the august company.

  Thea’s admirers that evening had included Judge Denholm himself, who stopped to give Thea all of the details of the history of Scotland he was writing; the Duke of Argyll, a powerful Whig politician who had ruled Scotland in England’s name in the years prior to the rebellion; and Mr. Brendon Ramsey, a member of the wealthy merchant class known as Tobacco Lords. Each was a mature man, well into or, past middle age, and so certain of his position and power that he felt no threat in conversing with an intelligent, opinionated woman.

  Though Judge Denholm was a widower, the other two were long married, and their flattering attendance on Theadora Tilton did not stem from a desire to court her. Denholm, too, was not a suitor or likely to be one—he was reputed to be enamored of a plump widow near to him in age and endowed with a substantial fortune by her first husband.

  Not that Thea cared if the intelligent gentlemen who buzzed around her had marriage on their minds. Over the past three years she had met most of the members of polite Edinburgh society, and there was not a single gentleman who combined the qualities she sought in a husband. Never one to allow herself to be daunted by what she could not change, she accepted this and got what enjoyment she could from her busy life.

  As Brendon Ramsey was drawn away, ending the animated discussion he’d been having with Thea, Isabelle drew an exhausted breath.

  “Thea!” she whispered. “How do you do it?”

  Thea turned lively brown eyes in her sister’s direction. “Do what, love?”

  “Know what to say to all these… these important gentlemen!”

  Thea laughed at the awestruck note in Isabelle’s voice. Several heads turned at the liquid sound. Thea smiled in acknowledgment as she replied. “It isn’t hard. I listen carefully to what they are saying and think before I speak. That way I don’t babble the first thought that comes into my head.”

  “I shall never be able to cope in society!”

  Tender amusement danced in Thea’s eyes and enlivened her delicate features. “Of course you will, Isabelle! You are young and green. When you have a little polish, you will get on as well as I.” She tapped her sister’s wrist lightly with her closed fan. “Remember, I have been out in society for nearly three years. I know most of the people…”

  Her voice died off. She certainly did not know the gentleman who had just entered the room. His face was narrow, his cheekbones high. A sharp beak of a nose jutted over a wide, mobile mouth and a square, determined chin. But it was his eyes, intense, deep-set, and very blue, placed beneath thick brown brows, that made her completely forget what she’d intended to say.

  He was watching her. Even across the room she could feel the heat of his gaze. It set delicious little butterflies fluttering in her stomach, a sensation she hadn’t felt for many long months.

  Her breath caught as the stranger’s gaze left her face to rake down her body. Daringly, she allowed herself to do the same to him. Tall and lean, he had an appealingly muscular build. A sapphire blue coat lay perfectly over his broad shoulders, and was elegantly combined with a white waistcoat, richly laced with silver. Long, muscular legs were snugly encased in matching sapphire breeches. She found herself hoping he was as impressed by her figure as she was by his. Her wanton thought made her blush, and all of her cool, social poise deserted her in a rush.

  His narrowed gaze returned to her face. Taking note of her heightened color, he smiled. Thea’s heart began to pound. Every nerve in her body seemed to tremble. With embarrassment? Or excitement? Thea didn’t know, nor did she have the leisure to reason out her extreme physical reactions to this man. She was too busy concentrating on holding on to what poise she had left.

  After a moment, he looked away, saying something to the younger of the two men beside him. His action released Thea from her trance. She lifted her fan and waved it to cool her heated features.

  “Isabelle!” she hissed.

  Her sister, who was watching her with an expression of considerable surprise on her sweet face, demanded, “Thea! What’s the matter? Why did you suddenly stop speaking? And you’re blushing! Heavens, I haven’t seen you blush since—”

  Thea ignored her sister’s questions. “Isabelle, do you see that man?”

  Isabelle gawked around. “I’m not certain. Oh, do you mean one of the two gentlemen who seem to be coming this way?”

  Thea, who had deliberately avoided looking in the unknown man’s direction once she had been able to tear her eyes away from him, uttered a small, suppressed shriek. “What!”

  “Miss Tilton,” said a light tenor voice. It sounded familiar. Thea looked up quickly, surprised the stranger would have a voice that flickered in her memory.

  He didn’t. The voice belonged to the Viscount Staverton, a young Englishman whom she had recently met. Thea hardly noticed him, though, for the intense blue eyes of the stranger were smiling at her in a way that made her body shiver. Making a heroic effort, she managed to cover her scattered wits with a cloak of social polish. She smiled as she extended her hand. “Lord Staverton, is it not? How delightful to see you again.”

  The viscount bowed. He was a handsome young man, with regular features and a well-muscled body. At that moment, however, Thea could have been staring at a ghost for all she was aware of what she was seeing.

  “I have come at the behest of my friend,” Lord Staverton said, “who was so bowled over by your beauty, Miss Tilton, that he positively demanded an introduction! I do hope you will forgive a besotted man’s impetuosity.”

  The speech, spoken in a tone of world-weary mockery, was too much for Isabelle. She giggled. Lord Staverton looked over at her, his expression perfectly grave, his hazel eyes dancing with sympathetic amusement.

  Neither Thea nor his friend noticed. From the moment Staverton began to introduce him, Thea’s eyes had turned to his. Now she was caught in a stranger’s gaze, aware of nothing else.

  Vaguely, from a long distance away, she heard Staverton finish the introductions. As she lifted her hand, she savored the stranger’s name. James MacLonan. The words had a musical ring. James MacLonan, she repeated in her befogged mind. The name suited him.

  He caught her hand and raised it to his lips with an elegant little bow that spoke of France. His mouth brushed her skin. The caress broke through the trance that held Thea. Suddenly, she felt more vibrantly alive. When he smiled at her, everything seemed so simple. Instinctively she knew he was intelligent, and in the hard bones of his face she could read integrity.

  They were well matched. Was this the elusive man she had sought for so many years?

  Involuntarily, her heart said yes.

  Chapter 3

  She was beautiful, just as Staverton had pointed out when he’d offered to introduce them. Her smile was wonderful, suggesting wit, good temper, and a genuine happiness. James liked the combination. A woman blessed with such a smile would be easy to live with, a good candidate for marriage, in fact. Moreover, as he looked at her, his body was warming in ways he didn’t want to contemplate in a public place.

  He discovered that her hand still rested in his and that he was unwilling to let it go. Her skin was warm, throbbing with vitality. A bringer of life. A wife. With a little mental shake, he released her hand: slowly, reluctantly.

  Staverton said smoothly, “Miss Tilton, may I inquire the name of your lovely companion?”

  James heard the laughter in his friend’s voice, but he shrugged it off. He thought perhaps he deserved to be the butt of the viscount’s amusement, for he was responding to Miss Tilton more like a boy in the throws of calf love than a man with too much experience of life.

  Theadora Tilton dragged her beautiful dark eyes away from his to focus on Staverton. A sudden surge
of jealousy shocked James with its intensity.

  “Your companion,” Staverton was prompting gently.

  His manners were perfect. Not for a moment did his expression expose what James knew was a very lively interest in this meeting. They had known each other for years, since they had both attended Oxford University, and they had been friends and allies ever since. It was to Staverton that he had vented his rage over the clause in the pardon that forced him to marry, and it was Staverton who had briefed him on the suitable women who might be at the party tonight. When he had mentioned Miss Tilton, Staverton had paused, then laughed very softly. Alerted, James had demanded to know what was wrong with the lady. The viscount had replied that James should experience Miss Tilton’s charms for himself.

  Staverton, as usual, was right. A man might try to describe Theadora Tilton’s beauty, but he would fail to capture the glowing warmth that gave it life. And he was about to leave the field clear for James by taking away the pretty young woman standing beside her.

  Thea laughed gaily. “Of course. How remiss of me! Lord Staverton, Mr…” Her voice shook slightly. “Mr. MacLonan. My sister, Miss Isabelle Tilton.”

  James murmured a polite “How do you do,” while Lord Staverton bowed extravagantly over Isabelle’s hand and said something ridiculous about the color of her eyes reminding him of the Mediterranean Sea on a clear day.

  Isabelle gasped, blushed, and lowered her lashes demurely. She murmured disjointedly, “Lord Staverton! Oh, you are too kind!”

  “I speak only the truth,” he returned, apparently quite serious.

  Isabelle blushed harder, but she was smiling in a way that said how pleased she was. James thought admiringly that Staverton had always had the knack of charming women. If the viscount had been the one with the wretched marriage requirement, he’d have been wed by now.

  “My sister has only been out in society a few weeks, Lord Staverton,” Thea announced frostily, shooting a cautionary glare in the viscount’s direction.

  Staverton smiled in a reassuring way. “I find Miss Isabelle’s freshness quite charming. Miss Isabelle, would you care for some refreshments? I believe Judge Denholm’s chef has outdone himself this evening.”

  Isabelle didn’t hesitate. “I should be delighted, sir.”

  Staverton promptly transferred her hand onto his arm and patted it reassuringly. Isabelle smiled guilelessly up at him.

  “Isabelle! Pray do not impose upon Lord Staverton’s good nature!”

  “I shall not, Thea,” her sister replied innocently as she allowed the viscount to lead her away.

  Thea’s concern for her younger sister touched James. She was trying hard not to make a scene, but a little of her disquiet had slipped through. An urge to comfort her made James say gently, “She is quite safe with him, Miss Tilton.”

  She had been watching the couple stroll away, a tiny frown marring her smooth forehead, but at James’s words she looked directly at him. Once again he was captured by her eyes. They were brown, dark and warm, endlessly exciting. He continued, a hint of rueful amusement in his words. “I believe Staverton was simply doing me a kindness by allowing me to be alone with you.”

  Thea dimpled at that, and a little of the anxiety in her eyes eased. “You know Lord Staverton well, sir?”

  James smiled, but he chose his words with great care. “We traveled together in Europe, ma’am.”

  He deliberately kept the explanation simple. He wanted to soothe her, not frighten her with the reality of why he had been on the Continent. Thea’s dimple showed again, and James relaxed. It had worked. She was reassured. He could now concentrate on finding out something of Miss Tilton without the lady worrying about her sister’s fate in one of Judge Denholm’s crowded party rooms.

  She lifted her fan in a coquettish way, hiding her mobile mouth as she languidly waved the fragile creation. Above the fan, her eyes glowed with vibrant enjoyment of the moment. “You were saying, Mr. MacLonan, that you were in Europe recently?”

  “I returned to Scotland only last week, ma’am.”

  Her fan moved, allowing James a glimpse of the mischievous smile on her mouth. “You will find Scotland dull after the excitements and pleasures of the Continent.”

  “That, Miss Tilton,” James replied fervently, “is exactly what I am hoping for!”

  Thea’s wonderful rippling laugh rang out. Forgetting pretense, she lowered the fan. James felt the full impact of her lovely features animated with pleasure.

  She was, he thought, more charming than any of the jaded court ladies he had met on his travels. True, she knew all the sophisticated manners, the flirting looks and movements, the teasing notes that added to her beautifully modulated voice, but beneath the surface he sensed true depth and integrity, not the shallowness he had come to associate with society women.

  “Indeed, sir! You must not admit to such an emotion or your reputation will be in tatters!” She tapped him playfully on the wrist and managed to arrange her delightful features into a serious mask. Her expressive, almond-shaped eyes still danced with amusement. “Instead, you must affect a languid air and… do you take snuff, sir?”

  Smiling faintly, playing along with her game, James admitted he did occasionally indulge in the habit.

  “Very good! Then, Mr. MacLonan, you must take your snuffbox—one of French manufacture, of course!—and hold it in your hand, thus!” She posed lazily, her head thrown back, one slim hand, palm upward, extended. “Then, sir, you must flick open the box, survey the company—in your most haughty manner, mind!—and as you indulge in a pinch of snuff,”—she made the motion suit the words—“remark upon what a charming little village Edinburgh is and,”—her voice dwindled to a slow, disparaging drawl and the expression on her vivid features mimicked the utterly bored one of a court dandy—“that you cannot imagine living anywhere else.”

  James was lost in admiration. Theadora Tilton was beautiful, she was confident, and she was intelligent. She would make a very good wife for a man, for the right man—for him.

  The terms of pardon that had allowed him to return to Scotland were constantly in his mind. The hateful requirements, and the unnerving possibility that he would not be able to fulfill them, would leap into his thoughts at unexpected moments, bringing a grim frown to his brow and a dark bitterness to his spirit. But tonight, in the company of the charming and very beautiful Miss Tilton, the familiar regret didn’t wash over him. Instead, he joined in her playful teasing and knew only the pleasure of being with her.

  Although he was chuckling at her outrageous sally, James pretended to look surprised. “Why, Miss Tilton! Is that not exactly what I told you?”

  Laughing, Thea agreed it was. “But,” she added with mock severity, “you did not quite have the correct manner, Mr. MacLonan. You must drawl and contrive to look—”

  “As if I’d rather be somewhere else,” James finished ruefully. “I am a simple Scot, Miss Tilton. I love my hills and heather. I would prefer to be here rather than anywhere else in the world.”

  Something he’d said made her blush and wave her fan a little too energetically for propriety. Exaltation surged through James. He’d touched her. He’d affected her emotions the way she had his. Perfect.

  “Yet you went to Europe,” she murmured, hiding her expression behind the fan.

  Briefly, James hesitated. Then he shrugged. “A gentleman is expected to do the Grand Tour.”

  “So you and Lord Staverton roamed about the Continent, visiting moldy old museums and overgrown ruins.” She laughed. “I cannot imagine either of you in such a situation!”

  “We did participate in fashionable society where possible,” James retorted distastefully, remembering the fevered, occasionally almost demented, search for pleasure he’d encountered amongst the titled class of Europe.

  “And you hated it,” Thea observed shrewdly. He started, looking down at her with a frown. She smiled gently, reassuringly. “I would, too, I think. I am a w
oman who likes to speak her mind and indulge in intelligent conversation. Heedless frivolity would become exceedingly tiresome.”

  Smiling, James caught her hand and once more raised it to his lips. “Miss Tilton, may I compliment you on being a lady whose personality sparkles with as many facets as a diamond, but who is far, far more beautiful?”

  Thea’s charming laugh rang out once more. “I see, sir, that you have learned your lessons well on your Continental travels. You flatter superbly! Tell me about the dusty old museums you visited and the wonderful ruins of ancient Rome! I am all agog to hear of your travels.”

  James raised a dark brow. “You truly wish me to describe the places I toured?”

  Thea nodded. “I am fascinated by the culture of the ancient world, though I have never had the opportunity to journey to Europe.” Her tone lightened, the teasing note audible once more. “So I must ask you, Mr. MacLonan, to indulge my curiosity and describe what you saw on your travels.”

  In the months James racketed about Europe with Staverton, he had visited, it seemed, hundreds of museums and dozens of crumbling ruins. They’d had no program, no purpose to their travels, except to avoid the appearance of fraternizing with other known Jacobites. The Pretender had begun his frenetic game of hide-and-seek with the Hanoverian government, so James and Staverton had simply gone where they knew the Prince was not.

  Those months were bleak, desolate ones for James, yet to satisfy Thea’s eager interest, he found himself trying to paint word pictures of what he had seen and done. He became more expansive under her interested questions, and was even able to describe in an amusing way incidents he certainly hadn’t considered funny at the time. As she listened, her eyes lit with laughter and her appreciative chuckle expressed her pleasure.