Stella Cameron

by Fascination

  “Not at all,” Grace said lightly, and still smiling. “It has become obvious that it is your habit to be about in the night hours. Therefore, as your future wife, it is my place to adapt my habits to yours. You see, I am already learning to be awake at night. Sleeping in the day may be a trifle more difficult, but I shall conquer that problem.”

  From the corner of his eye, Arran saw Struan put a hand over his mouth. Damn him—and Calum—they were enjoying this.

  “It will not be necessary for you to change your habits.” Hell’s teeth, he could not abide thinking of her tripping in and out whilst he attempted to work.

  “It certainly will be. Now, enough of that. I have brought you something I know you will enjoy.” She frowned down into the cup. “Oh, dear, I’m afraid it may have cooled. There is quite a stretch between my room and the gallery, you know.”

  “It will be fine,” Arran said, reaching for the saucer. “What is it?”

  “Hot chocolate.”

  “I—”

  “He loves hot chocolate,” Struan said. “Doesn’t he, Calum?”

  “Oh, indeed. When we were boys together, he used to drink his own hot chocolate, then try to steal ours.”

  Arran narrowed his eyes. Later there would be ways to extract his revenge.

  “Melony is such a help,” Grace said, clearly delighted. “She said she was certain she had heard that you liked chocolate, and she was right, wasn’t she?”

  Arran was still formulating a reply when Grace simply slipped from the room without another word.

  “Pincham is a bitch,” he said through his teeth.

  “She is sexually obsessed,” Struan commented, tightening pegs on the violoncello. “Isn’t she, Calum? Tell Arran how she tried to lure you into the butler’s pantry.”

  “I hardly think the Pincham’s attempts to seduce me would be near as interesting to Arran as the fact that she managed to get you to meet her in the chapel yesterday and then she asked you to hear her confession!” He slapped a thigh.

  “That was not to be repeated,” Struan said sternly. “I should not have confided in you.”

  “Why?” Calum laughed. “Because you’ve betrayed something sacred by telling me about it?”

  “I told you she asked me to hear her. I did not do so. Therefore nothing has been betrayed.”

  Calum swaggered forward, pointing at Struan, en garde, with his bow. “No, no, Father, you protest entirely too much.” He tapped the other man’s shoulder. “Did she or did she not swoon?”

  The rise in Struan’s color made Arran chuckle. “Come, brother, don’t keep me in suspense.”

  “She swooned into his arms,” Calum said with evident relish. “Struan was forced to catch the succulent piece—”

  “Calum!”

  “Struan. You caught her, and she attempted to have you right there on the chapel floor.”

  “My God,” Arran shouted. “That’s rich. And did she?”

  “Did she what?” Struan said, scowling.

  “Have you, of course. Did she manage to tempt you out of your priest’s garb and into her plump, white arms?”

  “Have your fun,” Struan said. “Then we shall discuss more important matters.”

  Calum smothered his laughter. “Indeed we shall. But first, Arran, does Grace know ...” He indicated scattered sheets of music. “Does she?”

  “That I compose? No. She does not know this music is my own. And it will remain so.”

  Calum inclined his head. “I merely wanted to be certain. Now to the most important issue. Arran, do not allow Mortimer and Theodora to take Grace to Edinburgh tomorrow.”

  “No,” Struan said. “We think it would be better to cancel the trip. Safer.”

  “Safer how?”

  “You know they do not want this marriage,” Calum said. “We fear they may come up with some means to ruin everything.”

  “Ruin a match made in heaven, do you mean?” Arran said.

  Calum set down the violin and bow. “A day will come when you’ll thank me for finding Grace for you. She’s a delight.”

  “A delight indeed,” Struan said. “She’ll make you a good wife and be a good mother to your children.”

  “I hate chocolate,” Arran said, knowing he sounded pettish.

  “We know,” Calum and Struan said in unison.

  In unison they turned to watch as Grace entered once more. She carried the tray again, this time with two cups and saucers. Squeezed beneath her arm was a flat parcel. “Here we are.” The sparkling smile was there, too.

  “Thank you, Grace,” Calum said, rising to relieve her of the tray. “We shall become accustomed to such charming kindnesses just in time for you to take your place as Arran’s marchioness. Then you will be too elevated to make hot chocolate.”

  “Nonsense.” She raised her chin. “I do not believe in elevation.”

  Arran regarded her thoughtfully. What, he wondered, was this all about? What had brought about this display of self-deprecating charm? He studied the green dress she wore. Pretty enough and well cut, but draped about the neck and shoulders with one of those frightful, dowdy falling collars. The damned things had obviously been invented by some prune-faced old maid determined to deprive men of pleasure.

  “This is for you, Stonehaven,” Grace said, handing him the parcel. “It is a very small thing. Of no consequence at all, in fact. It’s just something I thought you might appreciate—since I thought of it for you, that is ...”

  Arran watched her falter and wet her lips. “Are you prepared for your journey tomorrow?” he asked. He avoided looking at Calum or Struan. “No doubt you are delighted by the prospect of so much excitement.”

  She stood before him with the parcel held in both hands. “It will be interesting, my lord; of that I have no doubt.”

  “Yes, well, since you have only hours before your departure, you’d do well to attend to your rest.” She was capable of incredible deceit. How innocent she appeared, even now, standing before him whilst he knew that she’d gleefully shared her plot to use him with Mrs. Pincham.

  “The chocolate is delicious,” Struan said loudly.

  “I’m glad you like it,” Grace said. She continued to look only at Arran.

  The fact that Pincham had also duped Grace brought Arran some satisfaction. So Melony had said she thought him fond of chocolate, had she? Vixen.

  “That dress is unusual,” he said.

  “Do you like it?”

  “It ... it puzzles me somewhat. I cannot imagine why you would choose such a fashion.”

  The brilliant smile appeared once more. “You will, my lord. In time you will understand and appreciate the subtlety of it. Please accept this.”

  He had little choice but to take the package.

  “Consider it a remembrance of me and look at it whilst I’m in Edinburgh.”

  Arran found his eyes drawn to hers, such softly golden eyes. Her face was devoid of any artifice. Lovely in her sharp-boned, delicate way. All of her was lovely.

  He turned away abruptly. “There is no need to give me anything.” Impatiently he unfolded the heavy paper and revealed a small canvas.

  With measured steps, he walked across the room and sat on a chaise.

  “Well?” She pressed her hands together.

  Arran studied what she had given him.

  “Do you like it?”

  “When did you paint this?”

  “Yesterday. In the afternoon. It didn’t take long.”

  “No.”

  “Do be careful. The paint isn’t quite dry.”

  “Mm”

  Struan and Calum assembled behind him and looked down at the painting. Arran glanced up, caught first Struan’s, then Calum’s, eye and found no flicker of reaction in either.

  “Interesting,” Calum said.

  “Most,” Struan echoed.

  Arran sighed. They were relishing his misery. “You are too kind, Grace. Will you explain this work to me? I wouldn’t want to miss a si
ngle nuance.”

  “Oh, you do like it. I’m so glad.” She rose to her toes and bobbed. “It’s a woman. But of course, you will have gathered as much.”

  “Indeed.” No doubt the yellow thing amid stripes of brown would be the subject of the painting. “Clothes?”

  “You toy with me, Stonehaven.” Grace approached with exaggerated steps. “No, naturally there are no clothes. We know I don’t paint clothes.”

  “We do indeed.”

  “He jests with you,” Struan said. “Anyone can see she’s not wearing anything.”

  Arran glanced at Grace. She was so intent, she didn’t meet his eyes.

  “I ... The woman in the painting fears she may be a disappointment to the object of her affections. So she does not look at him.”

  “Ah,” Calum said.

  “Yes. She is sitting with her back to you, Stonehaven. Hiding that which might present the possibility for compromise.”

  “Compromise?” This began to sound like a conversation carried on in code.

  “She does not wish to put the one for whom she cares deeply at risk—of endangering his principles, his honor. Therefore she does not present him with temptation.”

  Her tone, the plea for understanding he sensed, disturbed Arran. He said, “Thoughtful of her.”

  “I knew you’d approve.”

  “What are the brown stripes?” he asked.

  Grace frowned. “They are a curtain, a screen, if you will.”

  “Why does she need a screen if she thinks she’s hidden?”

  “Well, her back is naked, so I decided to hint at a screen just to make sure there is no question of implying seductive intent.”

  Arran shook his head. Muffled noises from behind suggested his allies were having difficulty not laughing. He turned a hard stare at Struan and Calum, and all vestiges of humor vanished.

  “I knew it,” Grace said when Arran failed to comment further. “It was my one mistake on this piece. Never mind. Use it as it is and I’ll correct it when I return from Edinburgh.”

  Arran had to smile at her. “It’s ... delightful just as it is.” Damn, if she didn’t have the power to wind him in like a great, hungry fish. Her passion for her peculiar art drew him; it formed a bond he could not completely dismiss.

  He studied the painting again. “I wouldn’t have you change this, Grace.”

  “No, no,” she said, her smile utterly open now. “You are kind, but no. On this occasion I tried to be too clever. I should have forsaken suggestive technique and followed my instincts. They were definitely correct. I should have painted her in clothes.”

  Arran sat back and looked at her profile, at the shimmer of white-blond hair.

  Could he have been entirely wrong about Grace?

  God help him, but he hoped so.

  Chapter 21

  Humming, Arran strode across the stable yard.

  Warm early afternoon air carried the scent of hay and horses and leather. The ring of steel on steel came from the blacksmith’s shop.

  Arran nodded briskly to a lad who doffed his cap and instantly scurried away. Nearby, two men fell idle over pitchforks and gaped at the master they knew by his bearing but had not seen before.

  He slapped his crop against a boot and smiled grimly. He would not spend many days doing his dear brother’s bidding, but he’d promised Struan to at least let himself be seen about the castle in daylight. “Make the effort, Arran,” Struan had said earnestly. “Still their foolish tongues so that Grace need not listen to the old lies about your supposed madness.”

  And here he was, wasting time in playing the idle nobleman when his energies would be better spent helping with the lambing in the more distant reaches of Kirkcaldy land.

  “Good afternoon,” he said to a tweeded young man leading a pretty chestnut mare.

  “Aye ...” Bright blue eyes slowly registered amazement before a cap was tugged off to reveal untidy red hair. “The Sava— My lord?”

  Arran raised a brow and said shortly, “Quite,” before approaching an open door into the stables. Savage. Perhaps it was indeed time to stamp out stupid rumors.

  He passed inside thick, cool stone walls and scuffed through straw. On either side of him stretched stalls where fine horseflesh stirred and whinnied and blew. There was the sound of soft muzzles nuzzling feed.

  “No!” A male voice reached Arran from the tack room. “Jacob’s bringin’ your horse, Calum. In God’s name, go alone.”

  Hector?

  “How can I, man?” Calum spoke clearly.

  “If ye tell him, I’m done for.”

  Calum swore and raised his voice, “There’s no choice, Hector.”

  “I came t’ye because I thought it’d be a way out wi’out puttin’ the noose around my own neck.” This Hector MacFie sounded nothing like the controlled man Arran had always known him to be. “Surely y’see how it’ll go for me if his lordship ... Ye do see?”

  Calum said, “I see that we must act quickly. And I also see that we have a dilemma.”

  Arran’s way was to be direct, but some instinct told him to hold back. He stepped into an empty stall beside the tack room.

  “Well,” Hector said after a pause. “I’ve said my piece.”

  “Hell and damnation! If—”

  The clop of hoofs approaching from the opposite end of the stables covered Calum’s angry voice.

  Arran remained hidden, waiting for the horse to be led from the building. The animal scuffled, leather creaked, and something scraped metal.

  “Yes!” It was Calum’s shout that carried over all the din. “Pray no harm has come to her or it’ll be both of our necks.”

  There was a great crashing of hoofs and then the animal left the building to clatter at high speed through the cobbled yard.

  Arran stepped from the stall ... and came face-to-face with his estate commissioner. “Pray no harm comes to whom?” Arran demanded.

  Hector fell back. “Your lordship, I—”

  Arran looked through the open stable door and had no difficulty identifying Calum, mounted on his gray and already dropping from sight as he descended the castle mound.

  “Answer me.” Arran’s heart quickened. He turned on Hector. “Answer me, now. Where is Calum bound? Why should I not know?”

  “I ... He doesna want me t’tell—”

  “Damn you!” Arran grabbed Hector’s neckcloth and jerked him close. “Don’t lie to me. I heard some of what just passed between you. You were the one who wanted information withheld from me, not Calum. Even now it is you he seeks to aid in some manner.”

  He saw Hector give up. The man sagged. “I learned something I wish I hadna learned.” He shook his head defeatedly. “It’s Miss Wren who’s in danger.”

  Arran let out a slow breath. “Miss Wren left three days ago.”

  “Aye. And I was mistaken t’hold my tongue so long. But it’s tonight when they plan to do her harm, and ... I should have come t’you sooner, but I’d have had to tell about—”

  “Good God,” Arran said. He whirled about. “My horse!”

  “It isn’t London,” Mama said, pointing her nose at a sky that continued to hold its sun inside a web of fine clouds.

  Grace met Melony’s eyes, and they hid giggles behind their hands.

  “Edinburgh is not London,” Grace said indulgently. “But do look at its castle, Mama. It is so wonderful. Look. In the middle of the city. Right in the middle of everything. Why, one feels one could reach out and touch it.”

  “A black-looking thing,” Mama said. “Give me Windsor.”

  “The king will come in a few months,” Grace commented. “He is said to be most pleased at the prospect. That must mean Edinburgh is considered very important.”

  “Wait until this evening, Mrs. Wren,” Melony said. “The musicale at Sir Alistair and Lady Muir’s will be splendid. Everyone who is anyone will be there.”

  “Is there anyone who is anyone in this provincial little city?”

&n
bsp; Grace met Melony’s eyes again and had to turn and stare unseeingly into the closest shop window. Thank goodness for Melony. She managed to make every moment fun and to help Grace cope with Mama’s efforts to belittle everyone and everything in “this provincial little city.”

  “Where is the coach?” Mama said. “In London one never has to wait for one’s coach at such times.”

  “We’ve never exactly had such times as these in London,” Grace reminded her mother gently. “And poor Angus Creigh is doing his best, I’m sure. Princes Street seems as busy as Bond Street, and we’ve taken so long with our errands.”

  “Kennedy’s gone for Angus,” Melony said. “They’ll be along soon enough.” Dressed in a brilliant blue pelisse and a matching bonnet of crepe with a flaring brim trimmed in swansdown, she swayed and smiled and looked, Grace decided, perfectly charming. Why, every gentleman who passed looked their way to see Melony.

  “There’s Angus,” Melony said, moving closer to the edge of the flag-way.

  The handsome black town coach bearing the Stonehaven coat of arms rolled to a stop before them. Kennedy, a prim, humorless maid Lady Cuthbert had made available to Grace, alighted and promptly disappeared back into the glove-maker’s establishment from which they had most recently departed.

  Angus climbed down from the box. “Let’s get ye settled inside, ladies,” he said. Apparently Stonehaven had insisted that his own most trusted coachman should convey Grace wherever she needed to go—a thought that made her glow.

  He did care. And regardless of Mairi’s dire predictions of disaster if Grace did not cry off entirely, she was determined to pursue her course of teaching the noddycock to admit his love for her.

  Of course, there was the matter of her discovery that he’d made an allotment for her trousseau and that it was strictly limited. That, Mama had informed her stridently, did not suggest a generous heart on the part of Grace’s fiancé—a matter that must be remedied as soon as possible.

  “There ye are,” Angus said when he had his charges settled. “No doubt there’s a mountain o’ finery to be taken along wi’ ye.”

  Grace hurried to reassure the old man. “Not a mountain at all. Very few things, really.” There had been a rather embarrassing moment at the dressmaker’s when it became evident that the budget for Grace’s gowns would mean she must choose with great care and trim whatever corners could be trimmed.