by Tarah Scott
“You, sir, are not a gentleman!”
“Sadly, I am not.”
Eve stared. “You are purposely being obstinate.”
“I believe I once pointed out that we are alike.”
“I will not make you a good wife.”
“I see.” he nodded. “I said I will make a bad husband, so you are responding in kind.”
She shook her head impatiently. “You misunderstand. I will not remain here in Scotland.”
“That is fortunate, for neither shall I.”
Dread stuck like a knife clear to her soul. She envisioned them retuning to London—and him returning to the women he touched just as he had her. “What I mean is, that I shall never return to Society,” she quickly added.
“May I ask why?”
“I cannot be a Society wife,” she said.
“Exactly what is a Society wife?”
“A woman who marries out of obligation, then looks the other way while her husband lives his own life.” And she lives her own life, Eve privately added. “Grace can do that. I cannot. But, my lord, you would not flaunt your mistress in front of her, would you?”
“I do not keep a mistress,” he said coolly.
“That is only because even a mistress would not countenance a protector who fraternizes with other women like a butterfly flits from flower to flower.”
“Flits from—Madam, I do not flit.”
“Of course you do, but you will not do so after you are married—” at least she prayed not “—which means you will then keep a mistress as discreetly as other men of your station.”
“Married folk have lived together with just that sort of arrangement for eons,” he said.
“Not all. But you will, for you must choose a bride not out of love, but on the basis of her qualifications.”
“I think, my dear, the choice has been made.”
”Sir,” she began, then hesitated. “In Society, a wife cannot become too attached to her husband. I know this will sound foolish to a man like you but, well, I had rather planned on liking my husband.”
“And you do not like me?”
“No—I mean, yes. Oh, you know perfectly well what I mean.”
“You had hoped to form a more serious attachment than that permitted an earl?”
She nodded. “Forgive me, my lord, but that is your life. Not mine.”
“It seems my life is not to be envied,” he murmured.
“I did not mean it that way.”
He gave her a gentle smile. “I know.”
His gaze moved past her and Eve looked over her shoulder. A tall, older man strode toward them.
Lord Rushton leaned toward her and whispered, “Gather your wits, lass. You are about to meet the marquess.”
Chapter Sixteen
Erroll rose as his father approached, and pulled Miss Crenshaw up with him. “Good afternoon, sir,” he said as the marquess halted in front of them. “May I present Miss Eve Crenshaw? Miss Crenshaw, my father, the Marquess of Rushton.”
She dipped into a perfect curtsy. “My lord.” She rose.
“Miss Crenshaw,” he said. “I trust you are well?”
“Very well, my lord, thank you.”
Erroll was impressed. The lady had collected herself in two heartbeats and was conducting herself as if she hadn’t arrived at Ravenhall ahead of what promised to be one of the biggest scandals of the decade. To his father’s credit, he wasn’t revealing any of his earlier misgivings concerning her. But the marquess was nothing if not the modicum of gentility.
“And the rest of your party, they are well?” his father asked.
“Indeed,” she answered. “My sister is enjoying herself immensely. She has already visited the ladies solar and the…pink parlor, I believe it is called. She tells me it is immense.”
The marquess nodded. “That is Lady Rushton’s favorite. So you have not seen it, then?”
“Not yet. Grace is more energetic than I. But I’m sure I will.”
“How are you finding Ravenhall, otherwise?” he asked.
“It is beautiful—” she laughed and Erroll liked the sound “—and large.”
“Erroll must show you around. He knows the castle’s every nook and cranny.”
“I would be happy to act as guide,” Erroll said.
She angled her head in acknowledgment. “I shall inform Grace.”
“I believe I mentioned the lion’s den, madam.”
Her gaze sharpened. “I suggest you procure a whip.”
That was the best advice he’d heard in some time, and he knew just which Crenshaw sister he would use it on.
The marquess cleared his throat. “I see you were having tea. When you are finished, Erroll, I need a word.”
“Pray, do not let me stop you,” Miss Crenshaw said. “I am ready to return to my chambers.”
“No need to rush,” his father said.
“It is no rush.” She looked at Erroll. “My lord.” With that she curtsied and left.
When she disappeared into the hallway, the marquess said, “Your mother expects us to attend church tomorrow.”
“Church?” Erroll blurted. “I haven’t attended church since I was twelve.”
“That may have been a mistake. But that aside, she wants us there for the next three Sundays to hear the banns read.”
So his mother planned to ensure that the marquess heard that Erroll intended to marry Eve Crenshaw, not Grace Crenshaw. “I suppose we must go, then,” he said, and pictured Miss Eve Crenshaw leaping from the pew with a curse when her name was spoken. But as much as the elder sister didn’t want to marry him, the younger sister was even more determined that she should marry him. He recalled her cry, “He is mine!” when she’d discovered him on top of Eve in her bed. Grace would likely throw just such a tantrum that would start the church-goers buzzing, while his mother watched with wicked delight.
“Did you seek me out just to inform me we are to attend church?” It would be like his father to do just that, especially if his mother suggested it.
“No.” The marquess nodded to the bench at the table.
They sat and Erroll poured the tea he and Eve had left untouched.
“After the service, your mother wants to visit the graveyard,” the marquess said.
Erroll’s hand jerked and tea spilled onto the saucer. He stilled. “We have guests, perhaps—”
“Oscar will accompany the ladies home.”
Erroll didn’t reply, but filled the cup and placed it on the clean saucer.
“You will not disappoint your mother,” his father said.
Erroll set the cup in front of him. “Of course not.”
“Have you spoken with your future bride?” the marquess asked.
“As you saw, I was just speaking with her.”
“Do you think you can thwart me, lad?”
Erroll poured tea for himself. “You have a choice, sir. Accept my decision, or I will be off with Miss Eve Crenshaw as quickly as it takes to saddle a horse.”
“I wager she will not go.”
“If my charm is not sufficient enough to persuade her, I’ll throw her across my lap.”
“Isn’t that what Halifax did to her?” the marquess asked.
“I never said I was any better than him.”
“If what you say about the lady is true, then she deserves better.”
Erroll spooned sugar into his tea. “She deserves better than me, but what is done is done.”
“I will speak with her,” the marquess said.
“You will not.” Erroll set the spoon down with a clank. “I warn you, sir, interfere in any way and I will take Miss Crenshaw and elope. You wanted me to marry, I have made my choice.”
His father regarded him. “What has your mother to say on the subject?”
“I suggest you ask her. Now, is there anything else you needed?”
A hint of rare amusement appeared in his father’s eyes. “There is.”
Erroll cante
d his head. “I am at your service.”
“What do you think of Ash managing your affairs here in Scotland?”
“I think you will have a devil of a time getting him to agree. He is quite attached to his own land.”
“It won’t be as difficult as you might think.”
Erroll paused in lifting his teacup to his lips. “I take it you aren’t asking my permission, but are informing me that you have already put him in charge.”
“Since you are here, I thought it best you should know.”
Erroll shouldn’t have been surprised—or hurt. He had, after all, steadfastly ignored Scotland in all its facets. He took a sip of tea, then grimaced. Cold. “What of Angus?” He set the cup down.
“Angus will deal with Ravenhall only. The estate requires full time maintenance. He was spread too thin.”
The gaping hole Val left when he died was even bigger than Erroll had imagined. But, then, he hadn’t allowed himself to imagine anything beyond what he’d tried not to feel.
“Ash will deal with the day-to-day workings,” his father went on. “When the time comes, you will see to the ledgers.”
“He will have complete autonomy?”
“He is capable,” his father replied.
“That he is. There is not much else to say, then.”
“Not necessarily. If your venture goes well in Norfolk, I would like to try it here on Mull.”
Erroll leaned an elbow on the table. “I am not certain there is a great need. Here there is plenty of land to plant.”
“But many men have left for Australia and the Colonies. Others were taken against their will.”
Erroll nodded. “Better opportunities.”
“Exactly. We must give our men a reason to stay. Perhaps this new trade will be an incentive.”
“Perhaps. Bring Ash when you come to Norfolk for the harvest. The two of you can learn as much about this new brand of farming as I.”
His father hesitated, then nodded. “If you think that is best.”
“You and Ash can easily run things here. I would only be in the way.”
*****
The maid set a plate of poached chicken on the dining room table in front of Eve, shuffled left, put a plate in front of Lord Somerset, then set a third in front of his father at the head of the table. Eve lifted her fork and rooted the food around on her plate.
“Are you all right, my dear?”
Eve smiled at Lady Rushton, who sat at the other end of the table with Lord Somerset to her left. “I am fine, thank you.” But she feared she wouldn’t be after tomorrow. Lady Rushton had informed them they would be attending church in the morning. Grace was as excited as a girl in her first season, for, like Eve, she knew the marchioness hadn’t invited them simply to sing praises to God. There was only one reason for a church invitation: a marriage announcement was to be heard.
“Eve doesn’t travel well,” Grace said.
Eve looked at Grace, sitting across the table, and frowned before realizing that Grace was offering sound reason for her sour mood.
“Forgive me,” Lady Rushton said. “I should have realized you would be tired and had a tray sent to your room.”
“Not at all, ma’am,” Eve replied. “It’s a pleasure having supper with you.”
“We are so glad you did,” said Camilla, who sat between Grace and Lord Rushton.
“We don’t usually have supper in the dining room,” the marchioness said. “But four guests almost constitutes a party.”
The earl grinned. “Mother does love her parties.”
“No teasing from you, Rush,” she said, then addressed Eve, “Perhaps you should retire after supper. You did have a very trying trip. Rush tells us you encountered a press gang here on Mull.”
“I don’t think they were any real threat to us, ma’am.” Eve recalled Lord Rushton’s brother forcing his way into their room. Dear God, please say the earl did not tell his mother that tale. “Poor Oscar received the only hurt and, thankfully, that was not serious,” she said.
“The brigands couldn’t have appreciated Rush freeing the young men they had kidnapped,” Lady Rushton said.
Eve looked sharply at the earl. “You stopped the pirates from kidnapping men?”
“My mother gives me too much credit. I was one man among three who freed the lads.”
“Neither of you said anything about this.” Eve stared across the table at Lord Somerset. He, at least, should have related the story.
“I stayed aboard,” he replied. “Rushton led the rescue. He can recount the tale.”
“It is a tedious story, I assure you,” the earl said.
“How very brave of you,” Grace said.
He laughed. “Not really. As I said, two of Captain Mercantile’s men accompanied me. We and the young men overpowered the four sailors who were guarding the boys.”
“That is, indeed, brave, and no small matter,” Grace insisted.
Eve hadn’t even been aware he’d gone ashore until his brother broke into the room while they were bathing. Other than the short conversation between the earl and his brother while they were there, Eve knew nothing of what happened.
“She is right.” An unwelcome warmth spread through Eve.
Lord Rushton looked at her. “Do you think so?”
She imagined him pointing a pistol at the slavers to save the boys as he had Lord Halifax when he’d saved her, and the warmth intensified. “I do.”
He shrugged. “I had little choice in the matter. My companions took the matter very personally.”
“What?” Eve frowned. “How could they take it any more personally than you?”
“Press gangs prey on the lower classes.”
“But there is nothing to force the upper class to stop them as you did,” she said.
“You couldn’t be more wrong. It was far less trouble to free the boys than face their parents with the news their sons had been kidnapped into slavery.”
The answer was ridiculous, and he was clearly going out of his way to be irritating.
“You are purposely provoking her,” Juliet said, and Eve wanted to kiss her.
She had already decided she liked both girls. The youngest was still a child, but sweet, if not a little spoiled. Juliet was a young woman with a mind to match her brother’s. Eve startled at the thought. When had she decided Lord Rushton had a mind that considered anything beyond the next feminine conquest? Perhaps last night, when she realized that Lord Somerset was in love with Grace. It was the epiphany that brought her to the realization that she had become another of Lord Rushton’s conquests by foolishly falling in love with him.
“She’s right, Rush,” the marchioness said. “Behave.”
A corner of the earl’s mouth twitched and the mischief that appeared in his eyes made Eve feel she was seeing the thirteen-year-old earl instead of the grown man. He looked at her and his eyes darkened, and Eve knew she was once again looking at the man. She returned her attention to her plate. The marchioness was right. She should retire to her room once supper ended.
The door opened and a maid appeared. “Forgive me, laird,” she addressed the marquess, “there is a man here to see you.”
“At this hour? Who is it?” he demanded.
“Lord Tolland.”
Eve gasped in unison with Grace’s, “Papa?”
“It seems our guest list is complete.” Lord Rushton started to rise.
“Sit down,” his father ordered.
“Sir, I owe it to the baron to explain,” Lord Rushton said.
“This is a matter for him and me to discuss,” his father replied. “You have no more say.”
Eve’s heart pounded. How much say did she have?
“Forgive me, my lord,” Grace said. “Surely we should speak to our father. He must be frantic with worry.”
The marquess grunted as he rose. “No doubt. But I will speak with him first. I’ll call for you when we are finished.”
“Sir,” Grace began
again, but she was cut off by the marchioness.
“Ladies, we must leave the gentlemen to their business.”
“You will remember what I said earlier,” the earl said.
The marquess didn’t reply, but Eve’s heart pounded harder. What had he said earlier?
Despite Camilla’s pleas to be allowed to adjourn to the drawing room with the adults, the girls were sent to their bedchambers. Grace had asked the two men to play cards. Lord Rushton declined, settling instead on the couch in front of the large hearth centered in the east wall, a book in hand. Lord Somerset agreed to a game of piquet and the two sat in the far corner of the mammoth room where burned a fire in a small hearth near one of three card tables.
Eve prowled the room, taking in the magnificent tapestries that hung on the walls. She was no expert, but it was clear the battle scenes depicted on the faded fabric were at least a hundred years old. Whether the tapestry had been woven when the battles took place, or later in an attempt to capture days long past, there was no doubt they were quite old.
She turned from the last tapestry to see Lord Rushton stretched out on the couch, ankle over ankle. His eyes were closed in slumber and the open book on his chest lifted with each breath he took. He had exchanged the buckskin breeches for dark trousers, which hid the muscled thighs little better than had the breeches. His softened features were just as compelling as the hard lines that were present even when he smiled.
His eyes opened and Eve was startled into immobility. His eyes focused, then darkened and heat spread through her stomach. She tore free of the trance and whirled. She feared she would stumble and make a fool of herself, for she knew his gaze followed her. But she managed a casual stroll until she left his line of sight, then continued to the settee near the French doors leading to the balcony.
Eve sat down before realizing she should have taken one of the books from the shelves. But they were near Lord Rushton and she wasn’t going anywhere near him tonight—or ever again—if she could avoid it. A few minutes later, the marchioness rose from her chair near the shelves and came to sit down on the settee near Eve.
“How are you feeling, my dear?”
“I am fine, ma’am.”
“You look tired,” she said with genuine concern in her voice.
