Triumph and Treasure (Highland Heather Romancing a Scot Series Book 1)

by Collette Cameron

  “I’ll also arrange to collect you and your maid. You do have a lady’s maid, don’t you?”

  Flynn surveyed the corridor from one end to the other. Empty. With a staff of thirty, one could never be certain where or when a servant might pop up. He didn’t need more tales carried to those below stairs until he’d a chance to address the domestics himself.

  “Yes, Aunt Camille assigned me one.”

  He returned his attention to Angelina, guiding her into the hallway. “You’ll want to choose your own, of course. For now, she’ll do for a chaperone. As I was saying, I’ll have my carriage at Wingfield at first light tomorrow. We can stop in Barrington. The township boasts a cozy pub, The Fox’s Lair, where Fleming can meet us to witness our signatures.”

  “What shall I tell Murphy? She’ll be suspicious when we stop so soon.” Angelina swept a stray lock off her cheek.

  Was her hair as silky as it appeared? He longed to see those fiery tresses down, run his hands through their softness and bury his nose in the sweet fragrance.

  A clock chimed, reminding Flynn he’d best hurry if he hoped to accomplish everything that he needed to tonight.

  Should he try to introduce Angelina to Mother today?

  No, he’d speak with his mother this evening. Although improving, Mother wasn’t up to receiving guests, as yet.

  The knowledge that Renault hunted Angelina set Flynn’s teeth on edge. Whispers of the slave-trader’s grim activities had reached his ears more than once. The tales had been grisly. She might not believe it, but Angelina was well-rid of the scapegrace.

  “My maid, my lord?” Her soft question reined in his unpleasant musings.

  “It’s Flynn.” He smiled into her upturned face. “And your concern is valid. Perhaps you can suggest you want to break your fast since you left Wingfield Court before eating.”

  “Yes, that should do it.” She chewed her lip before plowing onward. “I don’t think Murphy ought to be present when I sign. She’s been an absolute dear to me. However, Uncle pays her wages. I’m not sure where her loyalty lies. I don’t want him to know of our arrangement.”

  Flynn pressed Angelina’s hand. “Once the contract is signed, she can warble it from the rooftops, and Waterford won’t be able to change so much as a pen stroke.”

  Angelina abruptly flinched and flattened her free hand to her stomach.

  Did a woman typically suffer discomfort early on in her pregnancy?

  He made a mental note to ask Doctor Dawes when next he saw him. When was the last time she’d seen a physician?

  “Are you sure you can travel?” Flynn scrutinized her pale face.

  Angelina nodded. “I think so. If I don’t overexert myself. How lengthy is the journey?”

  “It’s an extended day’s drive. We could break the trip into two, stopping for the night at an inn along the way.”

  He escorted her through the doorway and turned her into a long hallway lined with landscape paintings. “My coach is quite comfortable, although I think for the child’s welfare, that choice the wisest.”

  She graced him with a beatific smile. “Thank you. That relieves me greatly.”

  Flynn admired her all the more for loving her unborn child. While some woman would have resented the child, Angelina cherished hers, despite the despicable situation she found herself in.

  He traced his fingers along her arm, noticing the momentary hitching of her breath. Passion simmered beneath her surface.

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to stop at my cousin’s castle, Craiglocky Keep, on the return trip.”

  Flynn snapped his fingers. “Why didn’t I think of this before? We’ll travel straight there instead of Gretna Green. It’s a shorter journey by several hours, and there’s bound to be a cleric in Craigcutty, the nearby village, if not at the keep itself.”

  “Won’t they think it odd, you marrying so abruptly?” Uncertainty flickered in her eyes.

  Flynn detected the merest tremor buried in her last words.

  Hell, yes, they’d think it peculiar.

  Sethwick and Yvette knew he’d intended to propose to Lydia. But, they’d keep their questions to themselves. At least within earshot of Angelina, and he’d only disclose enough to ease their confusion, no more. “They’ll be curious, I’ve no doubt. They won’t pry. There’s no need to be concerned.”

  “And your family won’t mind us arriving unannounced?” Her hand on his arm trembled.

  Head tilted to the side, Angelina idly toyed with a curl dangling near her shoulder as they walked.

  “Not in the least.” He sent her an amused expression. “The keep is usually overflowing with kin and kith.”

  “Overflowing?” She paled and bit her lip.

  Flynn released a soft laugh. “My cousin, Viscount Sethwick, is Craiglocky’s laird. He resides there with his wife and son, as well as his mother, stepfather, four siblings, a slew of cousins and an aunt and uncle or two. We’ll be most welcome.”

  “Oh. If you’re confident of our reception, Craiglocky does sound preferable.” She gave him a contrite half-smile. “I’m not particularly fond of carriage travel, even when I’m not . . .”

  Her gaze sank to her abdomen. “I don’t care for the jostling. My stomach takes exception to the bumping along.”

  As Flynn and Angelina approached the drawing room, every now and again a low, grating sound interrupted the muted murmurs of women’s voices.

  She faltered to a stop and giggled. “I’m sorry. It’s terrible of me, I know.”

  As another sonorous noise resonated from within the room, she clutched her stomach with one hand and clapped the other over her mouth.

  “Dear me.” Grandmamma’s voice quaked, either with humor or disgust. “Are you quite sure he’s not ailing?”

  “Oh, to be sure, although I fear the china is at risk of shattering with the racket he’s making,” Her Grace quipped.

  Grandmamma chuckled, a contagious merry cackle.

  Angelina convulsed with another round of laughter. “Shatter the china?”

  Transfixed, Flynn stared at her. Given over to mirth, her eyes sparkling, cheeks flushed, and joy rippling from her, she was exquisite.

  “Come now,” she managed between giggles, “Surely you—”

  He pressed his lips to hers in a swift, hard kiss.

  She gasped.

  He slid his tongue into her sweet mouth. Lips petal soft, she tasted of lemons and mint.

  Angelina made no effort to break the kiss or push him away.

  Emboldened, Flynn wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pressed her flat to his chest, deepening their contact. Desire raked him in fierce waves. He groaned low in his throat.

  Angelina tore her mouth from his, panting slightly as she stared at him, her eyes a blend of passion and confusion. She touched unsteady fingers her lips.

  “Why did you kiss me?”

  Because you’re delectable, and I couldn’t eschew the opportunity.

  Another great snort followed by a grotesque noise floated from the drawing room.

  “Good Lord! Waterford, wake up.” Annoyance and chagrin colored the duchess’s voice. “Waterford. Ambrose. Wake. Up.”

  Flynn clamped his lips shut, stifling the guffaw surging to his throat. What an uncouth churl. The poor duchess.

  He gave Angelina no time to question him again. He led her directly into the room.

  Her Grace bent near her slouching husband, prodding him insistently in the chest with her brisé fan.

  Grandmamma had her nose buried in a napkin either to hide her mirth, or to block the aftermath of His Grace’s ill-timed bodily function.

  “What’s that?” The duke wiped at his face and shoved himself into a semi-erect position. Heavy-lidded and muddle
d, he peered at the four of them. He gave a wide yawn. “Must have dozed off. Late night and all that.”

  “Waterford, I should like to sign the marriage settlement tonight.” Flynn crossed to the bell-pull. He gave the cord a firm yank.

  “Tonight?” The duke jerked upright, his keen perusal shifting between Flynn and Angelina. He rubbed his hands together.

  “Yes.” He nodded eagerly. “Splendid.”

  Chatterton entered. “My lord?”

  “Please send for Mr. Fleming. Have him wait for me in Father’s office.”

  The butler regarded the duke warily. “Yes, sir, at once.”

  Flynn guided Angelina to the settee.

  Apprehension lingered in her eyes. Because she would marry him? Because Renault pursued her? Because she feared Waterford would somehow roust their plan and put a stop to their private agreement? Or, had their kiss caused her anxiousness?

  Likely, a combination of everything.

  He yearned to take her in his arms and assure her she could trust him, that he would protect her as fiercely as he would the other women he cared for.

  Settling beside her aunt, Angelina folded her hands primly in her lap as if she waited for Flynn to explain what transpired between them.

  Rather than sitting, he marched to stand before the fireplace. Hands clasped behind him, he faced the others. “Given the Frenchman may have already learned of Mrs. Thorne’s whereabouts, she has agreed we should journey to Scotland tomorrow and marry with due haste.”

  He sent Grandmamma a silent message.

  She signaled her understanding with a barely perceptible nod. She would wait to learn the particulars.

  Thank God, his grandmother wasn’t given to meddling or histrionics.

  “You’re sure of this?” Her Grace laid plump fingers on Angelina’s hand. “This is what you want to do?”

  Her gaze trained on Flynn, Angelina inhaled deeply. As she released her breath, her shoulders drooped the merest bit. She nodded once. “I think it the most prudent course of action.”

  “Well, if you’re certain, my dear.” Mouth pursed, the duchess tilted her coiffed head regally and stared hard at Flynn, an unusual intensity in her gaze.

  After a disquieting moment, the line of her lips softened. Moisture glinted suspiciously in Her Grace’s eyes. “She’s a priceless treasure, my lord. Treat her as such.”

  Flynn acquiesced by bowing his head.

  A blush tinted Angelina’s high cheekbones, and she kept her attention focused on her hands.

  The duke’s face flushed cherry red as he beamed with satisfaction barely this side of gloating. Waterford rose clumsily and tottered. He grabbed at the back of his chair. A pained expression strained his face, but disappeared with the next blink.

  “Why don’t you accompany Angelina and Her Grace to Wingfield, Bretheridge? You can join us for dinner.”

  Angelina tossed Flynn a panicked glance before lowering her lashes, no doubt to conceal her alarm. Her stiff shoulders and the taut line of her mouth revealed her discomfiture to anyone who cared to notice.

  Only Grandmamma did. She quirked a gray brow at Flynn, her gaze moving pointedly between Angelina and him.

  “No, Your Grace, though I do appreciate your generous offer. I’ll call after dinner. I need to inform my mother and sister of the nuptials, and I prefer to ride. It will save your driver a round trip as well.”

  Waterford’s countenance grew irritated. “Come in your carriage and stay the night. You can depart directly from Wingfield in the morning.”

  Why was the sod so insistent? Did he fear Flynn would change his mind?

  Good. Let the bugger stew a bit.

  Flynn sent a glance to the longcase clock. “I’m sorry, Waterford. I need time to pack and to give my man of business my instructions.”

  Angelina concerned him. She’d been observing the exchange with poised anxiety, and obviously worried about their private agreement. There’d be no wedding without it, and her sudden change of mind would be difficult to explain.

  “I assure you, Mrs. Thorne and I have come to an arrangement, and we recognize the prudence and benefit of a prompt wedding.”

  “Glad to see you finally scrounged up some common sense.” Waterford shuffled toward the door, his movements sluggish.

  Grandmamma hmphed her displeasure, but remained silent. Her faded blue eyes shot daggers at the duke’s back.

  Flynn considered Waterford. Did he ail? Or perhaps he but experienced the aftermath of excessive indulgence.

  The duchess stood and scrutinized her husband. The tension creasing her face revealed her concern. “Come, Angelina. We have much to do at home if you’re to depart tomorrow.”

  “Mrs. Thorne, I’m delighted you’re going to be a part of our family.” Grandmamma reached across the table and patted Angelina’s hand.

  Angelina’s countenance brightened. She smiled warmly and gathered her reticule before rising. “Thank you, my lady.”

  “Pshaw, enough of that ‘my lady’ nonsense. You must call me Grandmamma. I’ll refuse to answer to anything else.” For emphasis, Grandmamma thumped her cane soundly on the floor, rattling the china on the table before her.

  Angelina released a tinkling laugh. “Then you must call me Lina.”

  Flynn bowed over the duchess’s fingers. “It’s been a pleasure, Your Grace.”

  “I trust you’ll make my niece happy, Bretheridge.”

  A subtle warning lay buried beneath her polite words.

  “I’ll endeavor to do so.” He straightened and released her hand. Turning to Angelina, Flynn lifted her hand as well. He brushed his lips across the fabric of her glove, his fingers caressing her wrist.

  “Until this evening.”

  “I shall look forward to it, my lord.” Eyes cast down, she trembled faintly.

  He stroked the sensitive spot inside her wrist again.

  Her nostrils flared the merest bit, and her eyes, the pupils enormous, deepened to emerald.

  Unmistakable signs of sexual arousal.

  Flynn’s manhood responded eagerly. He tamped down his desire. He didn’t need a raging erection at the moment.

  Mrs. Thorne possessed a strong, sensual nature. She responded every time he touched her. Did she recognize her passion? Given her high color and sudden obsession with the beadwork on her reticule, he’d bet his prize roses she did.

  Precisely how much experience did she have? He anticipated finding out.

  Flynn turned to Waterford. “I’ll call at seven o’clock. Please, have the paperwork ready.”

  “You’re much too amendable to the marriage today.” Waterford’s mouth skewed into a jeer and he squinted at Flynn. “Yesterday you squawked like a couple of old hens on the chopping block.”

  The duke’s shrewd, watery eyes shifted between Flynn and Angelina. His beetled brows wriggled in consternation.

  “You two are up to something.” His red-veined nose twitched. “I smell it.”

  “Hush, Waterford. The only thing anyone smells is the unpleasant lingering effects of your digestive disruptions.” The duchess joined her surly spouse beside the door.

  Brava, Your Grace. Flynn’s esteem of the duchess raised another notch.

  “There will be no devilry or changing of your minds!” The duke’s bloodshot eyes snapped his displeasure. “You have made a verbal commitment before witnesses. I’ll petition Prinny to see it enforced—”

  “You will do no such thing, Uncle Ambrose.”

  Angelina faced her uncle, fire in her eyes. “His lordship and I’ve agreed to wed. All that’s required of you is for you to honor your part of the bargain.”

  Grandmamma perked upon hearing that. She gave Flynn a severe stare.

  He’d be explaini
ng himself later.

  “Your part? What bargain?” The duchess wore a stunned expression. She gripped the duke’s arm and hissed between tight lips, “What have you done now?”

  “I’ll make good on my pledge only after I have proof of a marriage.” Waterford glared at his wife before jerking his arm loose. He lifted his nose, his saggy chin wobbling. “I’ll accompany you to Scotland.”