by Erin Rye
They turned a corner in the hallway and approached the door to the private parlor. Ashton drew a breath. Keenly aware of Ella’s large eyes on him, he turned the knob, stepped inside, and glanced about. The small, garish room overflowed with mismatched furniture and a hodge-podge of oil paintings hung on wood-paneled walls. A fire crackled on the hearth, before which stood two red velvet couches.
In the corner before a bookshelf, claret glass in hand, stood his cousin, Duncan MacKenzie, a triumphant smirk on his narrow, freckled face. The bald patch on the top of his head had grown since Ashton had seen him last. Duncan had combed a few wispy red locks sideways in an attempt to cover the bare pate, but with little success. Still, as expected for a man of twenty-five, he was trim and fit, and his breeches, coat, and elaborately tied cravat were of the highest quality.
A growl drew Ashton’s attention away from Duncan, to the right side of the room. His grandmother sat in a chair near the window with Angel on her lap, the dog curled into a growling ball. What appeared to be a diamond dangled from the wee animal’s collar, a pendant that matched one that hung from a gold chain about his grandmother’s neck.
As ever, his grandmother dressed as if she attended the queen, but the overindulgence suited her well. Yards of expensive silks swathed her sturdy figure. A tiara glittered upon her snow-white hair and matching earrings twinkled like miniature stars in the lamplight. Even in her advanced age, few women possessed such grace or commanded so much attention.
“Good evening.” Ashton dipped his head. He reached back, slid his palm down to the small of Ella’s back, and gently guided her forward. “Allow me to introduce my wife, Ella.”
“Wife?” Duncan blurted, and sloshed claret on his sleeve.
“Ella?” his grandmother gasped. “Why, my dear Ella, how wonderful to see you again.” She rose, astonished.
The action sent Angel to the floor. The black pug landed on his feet and launched himself at Ella, yipping and wagging his entire body in what could only be a greeting of a long-lost friend.
“I’ve been quite beside myself with worry, child. Where have you been?” Lady Leighton held out both hands.
Ashton looked sharply at Ella. She stood at his side, rooted to the carpet, her face white as marble while the pug circled her in delight.
“Lady Leighton,” she whispered.
“Wife? Did you say wife, Ashton?” Duncan rasped.
Ashton scarcely heard him. Ella knew his grandmother?
“I’ve been so very worried,” his grandmother repeated, and swept toward one of the couches. She took a seat and gave the cushion beside her a pat. “Ella, dear, come join me. After your father’s conviction, you simply vanished. How we looked, but neither I nor Stirling could find you. I even visited Lord Amsted in prison.”
Amsted? The name rang a distant bell. Ashton frowned as Ella woodenly crossed the room with Angel at her heels.
“Your father instructed me to confer with his nephew Gavin,” his grandmother went on. “But I was told he’d returned to Glasgow. I found that strange, as your father said he’d put Gavin in charge of your finances.”
Recollection dawned.
The John Nicholson, Viscount Amsted. The scandalous, loathsome creature that had murdered his wife’s lover in cold blood, in the most torturous of ways. The death had been cruel and slow. The scandal hadn’t ended there. During his trial, the wife had seduced one of the solicitors and the pair fled to the continent. She’d abandoned her children. What had been the woman’s name? He’d seen it in print often enough. Ah, yes, Amelia Nicholson…Amelia Wetherby Nicholson.
As Ella sank onto the couch beside his grandmother, a fine sense of anger began to burn. He’d been duped. He couldn’t believe it. Stirling had obviously known Ella’s identity, yet had made no effort to inform him of such. Ashton had worked hard the last fifteen years to distance himself from any hint of scandal, especially murder.
Damn it all to hell, Stirling was the last man he’d thought to betray him. Stirling knew damn well his entire inheritance was at stake. It boggled the brain. Even his father hadn’t been convicted of killing his own wife—just as Ashton hadn’t been convicted of killing his father. Society would crucify him. Ashton turned away. Duncan stared at the two women, a malicious grin on his face.
As if reading Ashton’s mind, Duncan said, “I remember reading the story in the paper. Nicholson killed his wife’s lover in cold blood. Not that the man didn’t deserve it. A shame Nicholson got caught, of course.”
“That is quite enough, Duncan,” his grandmother said, and returned her attention to Ella. “Your father was quite surprised to hear his nephew had disappeared along with you and young Cyril.” She gave Ella a shrewd look. “Gavin wanted more than money, didn’t he?”
The distressed look on Ella’s face confirmed his grandmother’s guess.
“Nicholson put his nephew in charge of his daughter’s finances?” Duncan snorted. Angel gave a low bark. “Surely,” Duncan gave a snide laugh, “he knew the man would seek to take advantage of a beautiful young woman like our poor Ella.”
Our poor Ella? Ashton’s blood boiled.
The dowager’s expression darkened. “You are drunk, Duncan. If you cannot remain silent, leave.”
Duncan met Ashton’s gaze and shrugged. Ashton clenched a fist. Satisfaction lit Duncan’s eyes. He lifted his glass in salute, then finished its contents.
Ashton’s grandmother took Ella’s hands in hers as Angel settled between them in obvious contentment. “To think, all this time, you were in Edinburgh. Why haven’t you visited me?”
“I couldn’t impose, Lady Leighton,” Ella answered in a strangled voice.
Ashton clenched his jaw so tightly his teeth ached. What kind of game was his grandmother playing? While she obviously knew the lass and cared for her welfare, she would never accept her into the family. It was time to take control.
“Grandmother.” He strode toward them.
The countess smiled at Ella. “No more ‘Lady Leightons’ from you, dear Ella. Call me Grandmother. This is the most delightful surprise. To think, only last summer, while we played whist, that only a few months later, you would become my own cherished relation. It’s simply about time. I have so wanted another woman in the family.” She paused and nodded at Angel with her chin “He’s missed you so. I will never forget our rescue adventure.”
They had rescued the animal together? Ashton drew up short. Ella was the debutant his grandmother had befriended? What were the odds? Suddenly, Stirling’s hand seemed more a masterstroke of genius than a betrayal. He shifted his gaze to Ella. The lass looked as if she’d seen a ghost.
“Well done, Ashton.” His grandmother motioned him to join them. “Sit down, will you? I couldn’t be more pleased. I really couldn’t.”
Ashton sat in the chair nearest Ella. He couldn’t recall the last time his grandmother had praised him. Even Angel seemed to have accepted his presence. The animal eyed him, but remained quiet.
“Do take a cup of tea, Ella dear.” His grandmother indicated the tea service on a nearby side table. “Have a biscuit, as well. You’ve lost so much weight.” She glanced at Duncan and added in a severe tone, “Duncan, make yourself useful. Pour Ella a cup of tea and bring the biscuits.”
The harshness of her manner gave Ashton pause. She usually reserved that tone for him, not Duncan. With perverse amusement, he watched an astonished scowl transform his cousin’s face.
“Whatever happened to your hands? Merciful heavens, child. Blisters?” The countess squinted close, then drew back, shocked. “Are those calluses?”
Ashton stared. He’d never seen his grandmother so solicitous.
Ella flinched, but answered readily enough, “I washed clothes for a time, my lady. Of course, that was before I met…Ashton.”
“Washed clothes?” His grandmother frowned.
Duncan arrived with the tea and biscuits. Angel growled as he set the tray on the table. “Thank you, my lord.” Ella accep
ted the flowered porcelain cup.
“You’re welcome. Consider it a wedding gift.” Duncan gave a cold laugh.
The countess thinned her lips in his direction, then patted Ella’s knee. “Call him Duncan, dear. You are family now. Do take a biscuit, child.” She reached for the plate. “I still can’t believe you married Ashton. Tell me, how did the two of you meet?”
Ella’s eyes widened over the rim of her tea cup.
He’d promised to do the talking, but his entire plan now stood on its ear—especially since his grandmother clearly knew more about his wife than he did. There was nothing to be done but opt for the truth—or part of it. “Ella’s wee brother stole my watch on a dare,” he smoothly answered in Ella’s silence. “She discovered the deed and sought to return it. She snuck into my room at this very inn, and when I unexpectedly returned, she hid in hopes she could escape detection.”
“Hid?” His grandmother’s eyes gleamed. She’d always loved a good tale. She leaned close to Ella. “Where did you hide?”
“In the wardrobe,” Ella replied. Her eyes silently begged him to continue.
Her eyes were so expressive. Ashton leaned back against the chair cushion. She scowled, clearly displeased with his delay. So, his new wife had a temper, did she? Suddenly, he wanted to see more of it.
“Aye, it’s not often one sees a bonny lass tumble out of a wardrobe.” Their eyes locked. “And, I might add, one wearing rather snug breeches.”
Ella blinked. “My lord.”
An image of her slim thighs flashed across his mind.
“Breeches were necessary, I assure you.” Ella bristled. “It’s dangerous for a woman to walk the streets at night.”
He snorted. “A man would have to be blind not to see those curves.”
“Then there are many blind men in Edinburgh,” she retorted.
An unexpected possessiveness washed over him. “Perhaps, but that matters little now. They will not be treated to such a sight again.”
Again, those blue eyes flashed.
He was oddly pleased to have coaxed that response from her. She reminded him of a kitten with its fur on end, in an attempt to appear fiercer and bigger than it was.
A horrifying realization struck. He recalled many a similar tete-a-tete between his mother and father. He jarred, suddenly remembering they were not alone. Ashton looked up to find Duncan and his grandmother watching him intently.
“It is quite unlike you, Ashton, to ignore scandal,” Duncan drawled.
“Nonsense,” his grandmother disagreed in lofty tones. “Such is the power of love. You should know that yourself, Duncan, should you not?” She rose and clapped her hands.
Ashton stood.
“This is truly a delight,” the countess announced. “Yet, I find myself suddenly exhausted. Let us reconvene at Kinnettles and continue our business there. Ashton, I expect you to join me at once with your lovely bride. I will not take no for an answer.”
Kinnettles. The word felt like a slap. His grandmother knew very well what such a visit meant to him.
A smug expression crept over Duncan’s face.
“Plan to stay for some time.” The countess pulled on her gloves. “I am of a mind to spend the winter at Kinnettles with my lovely grandchildren.” She looked at Duncan, then Ella, and finally Ashton. “If you wish to preserve your chances of inheriting my fortune, then I will see you in Kinnettles within the week.” Her eyes softened as she looked at Angel, still curled on the couch. “I do believe he would still pick you over me, Ella, dear.”
“Oh, I am sure that isn’t true.” Ella flashed a nervous smile.
Lady Leighton clucked and snapped her fingers. “See, I have to ask now.”
Angel’s ears lifted, and he jumped to the floor, but not before he glanced back at Ella and wagged once again.
“Damn dog,” Duncan muttered from the fireplace.
His grandmother shot him a look of disapproval, then swept toward the door.
Ashton held out a hand. “May I escort you to your room?”
“No, thank you,” came her tart reply. She reached for the knob and turned. Her aged face softened. “Good night, sweet Ella. We shall meet again, soon.” With that, she disappeared into the hallway with Angel at her heels.
Ashton stared at Duncan in tense silence until Duncan broke the connection.
He crossed to the sideboard and picked up the decanter of claret. “I’ve missed you, Cousin.” He smirked. “Stay and have a drink. For old time’s sake. Claret? Brandy? I daresay there’s a good whisky lying about.”
Whisky? His cousin knew he hadn’t drank alcohol save wine since that fateful day. “Do you have something to say?” He was in no mood for games.
Duncan smiled without warmth. “Strange, isn’t it, how you found a wife so quickly.”
“No,” Ashton grated. He had had enough of the man. He turned to Ella and offered his arm. “Shall we?”
She hurried to his side, obviously anxious to leave, and slipped her hand into the crook of his arm.
With a nod, Ashton muttered, “Evening, Duncan,” and steered Ella toward the door.
They stepped into the hall, and as Ashton pulled the door shut, Duncan called, “Welcome to the family, Ella. You picked your husband well. If anyone doesn’t care a fig about your past, it is The Demon Earl.”
Ashton halted for two heartbeats, torn between leaving and thrashing his cousin.
Ella looked up at him “Shall we go, Ashton?”
He looked down at her. She stared, eyes clouded with concern. He pulled the door the rest of the way closed, then took the hall in long-legged strides. It wasn’t until they reached the stairs that he noticed she struggled to maintain his mad pace.
“Forgive me.” He stepped aside, and she preceded him up the stairs and down hallways in silence. Minutes later, they stopped before Cyril’s room.
“Good evening, my lady, sleep well. We leave at dawn.” He turned away, but she stayed him with a hand on his arm.
“Nicholson,” she said in a strangled whisper.
“Aye?” He slowly faced her.
“I never meant to mislead you, I swear it.” She stared, her blue eyes earnest. “I had no idea she was your grandmother. I took the name of Wetherby to leave my past behind. Only…only I’m learning that can’t really be done, can it?” She sounded on the verge of tears.
Her words stabbed like a knife to the heart. Leave the past behind? He’d never truly succeeded in doing so.
“There’s no cause for alarm,” he said, then added in bitter tones, “You’ve wed The Demon Earl. As far as scandals go, we’re the perfect match.”
Chapter Five
Of Sheets and Togas
The afternoon sun warmed Ella’s cheek as she opened her eyes and yawned. She looked about, puzzled, but her momentary confusion vanished the instant she spied the man sprawled on the carriage seat directly opposite her, his eyes closed, and his head tilted to one side, asleep. She was married, and on her way to Kinnettles—a place her newly minted husband clearly did not wish to be.
She couldn’t deny his dark, good looks. The demon types always were handsome, and this one even boasted a title to accompany the persona. God help her. It was bad enough that rumor said his father had killed Ashton’s mother. But that Ashton had murdered his own father? Chances were great that one rumor was embellished. But two, including father and son? A shiver snaked down her spine. He’d been far more understanding of her father’s scandal than expected. Did that mean he understood murder because he’d committed one?
He stirred, and she yanked her gaze toward the window. Her heart pounded until she realized he hadn’t woken. She released a sigh and concentrated on the passing scenery. Instead of lowland pastures dotted with sheep, rolling hills now filled the view, with the highlands visible in the distance. She’d never traveled this far north. She wondered how far they had yet to go.
They had left Edinburgh at dawn. She’d kissed her Cyril farewell and left him i
n Stirling’s care. Her brother hadn’t minded. He’d been eager to be free of her authority. She, on the other hand, had entered Ashton’s carriage with apprehension, but as the carriage rolled over the miles, he’d fallen asleep.
She hazarded a sideways glance at him. An air of mystery swirled about the man, no doubt, rooted in his notorious nickname. He projected confidence in his own power that, despite her fears, she found fascinating. The strand of dark hair that had fallen over his face drew her eyes to the crease in his cheek, his square jaw, and his expressive mouth. His lips were so sensually defined, almost as if carved from stone. She recalled his kiss when the priest had pronounced them married. Ashton had grimaced before kissing her. He’d also said it wasn’t her. Was ‘it’ the grimace? She hadn’t sensed distaste in his kiss. She’d sensed the same surprise she’d felt. His mouth had been so full and soft.
From the corner of her eye, she inspected his fine blue woolen coat with shank brass buttons, the shade a perfect complement to his tanned neck and face. He certainly understood fashion, but then, with such a fine physique and broad shoulders, he’d have been handsome in rags. She lowered her gaze to his muscular thighs, to his long legs.
Ashton stirred.
She jerked her attention back to the window and, this time, studiously kept her eyes trained on the countryside as cloth rustled against leather, informing her that Ashton had, indeed, awakened.
Neither spoke.
A small village came into view, a tidy, quaint place, with curious folk who watched from the roadside as they rolled past. It couldn’t have been more than a few miles later that they turned off the road and onto a small, well-maintained drive.
“We’re almost there,” Ashton muttered.
She turned to him and nodded politely, but he stared out his window. Past his shoulder, a large wood barn that had fallen into disrepair came into view. The pasture that surrounded the tumbledown building stood overgrown with nettles
“The Barn of the Damned,” Ashton murmured.
Ella blinked in surprise, but his attention remained on the hills. An unidentifiable emotion laced his words. What she saw of his face looked cold and remote, as if unaware he’d spoken aloud. She suppressed a shiver and peered out her window, where tall pines swayed in the wind.
