A Scoundrel's Promise (The Marriage Maker)

by Tarah Scott

  “Party?” Lady Richards said.

  “I had no idea you were planning a party for this Saturday, Lydia,” Miss Jones said.

  The tension in the room thickened.

  “There is some mistake,” her mother said quickly. She turned her stare onto Mackenzie. “What gave you the idea I was planning a party for next Saturday?”

  Mackenzie looked around the room as if confused. “I— Forgive me, Mother. I just thought that since—” she broke off. “Oh dear, I am speaking out of turn.”

  As expected, the ladies looked at one another in question. Mackenzie resisted the urge to send an I told you so glance Cora’s way. These ladies could smell juicy gossip a mile away.

  Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about, Mackenzie?”

  Mackenzie looked at Cora as if uncertain she should continue. Cora, as instructed, gave an encouraging nod. Mackenzie returned her attention to her mother and said, “Mamma, there is a…lady who I hear is planning to throw a party in celebration of Lord Fraser’s marriage to Kyla.”

  Her mother’s eyes widened. “You do not mean…”

  A murmur broke out amongst the ladies and Mackenzie discerned the whispered name Lady Grand.

  Her mother straightened. “It is shameful that a month has passed and no one has hosted a party in honor of Lord Fraser’s marriage. Did I not say so, Mackenzie?”

  “Indeed, you did, Mamma.”

  “Still, next Saturday…” Her mother’s brow furrowed.

  “After that, there will be no need, I imagine,” Mackenzie said.

  Her mother looked at the ladies. “You are all invited, of course, and bring any guests you like.”

  A murmur erupted among the women, each agog with ideas for the now-upcoming party. Mackenzie grasped Cora’s hand and silently slipped away.

  When they were well out of earshot down the hallway, Cora said, “Someday, your mother is going to discover your manipulation.”

  Mackenzie waved a hand. “I am only steering her in the direction she wants to go.”

  Cora snorted, but didn’t argue. “I must admit, I did not think you could convince your mother to throw a party five days hence. What will she do when she discovers Lady Grand had no intention of hosting a party?”

  They reached the stairs and Cora started to turn, but Mackenzie continued forward, past the roses on the small table beneath her grandfather’s portrait, toward her father’s study.

  “Mackenzie,” Cora hissed. “Your father told you to leave him and Lord Liam to their business.”

  “I know,” she replied in a low voice. “I only want another peek.”

  She’d almost reached the study door when the knob rattled. Mackenzie stopped.

  “Then I bid you good day,” Liam’s voice filtered through the door.

  “Oh, what to do?” Cora gasped.

  Mackenzie winced. There wasn’t a place to hide before they were caught. As the door widened, she grabbed Cora’s hand and yanked her back to the vase of roses beneath the portrait.

  “Are you certain you won’t stay?” her father asked as the men stepped into the hall.

  “The leaves,” Mackenzie said, pretending to concentrate on the flowers. “One must arrange them to compliment the roses, Cora.”

  “Yes, yes, to be sure,” Cora dutifully replied.

  Footsteps approached.

  Mackenzie shot a sidelong glance at Liam. Her sleeve brushed the bouquet and snagged on a thorn. The vase tipped. All thoughts of handsome men vanished as she saw her mother’s favorite vase—her prized possession—teeter on the edge of the table. She knew she wouldn’t be able to catch it in time. Still, she tried. She stretched out her fingers—and missed.

  The vase plunged toward the floor. A hand flashed into her field of vision. Liam’s. Tanned. Well-formed, with a hint of charcoal on one finger.

  The natural flow of time resumed, and the vase fell into Liam’s hand with a dull thump.

  “By God,” her father swore.

  Mackenzie swallowed. Such a narrow miss.

  “Miss Dunn.” Liam extended the vase toward her.

  The expression in his blue eyes held a note of suspicion. Truly? Did he think her a silly enough twit to risk her mother’s prized vase to gain his attention? Irritated, she opened her mouth, but then their fingers brushed. The warmth of his skin drew her attention. So solid.

  Liam placed the vase in her hands. “Good day, Miss Dunn.” He bowed, then strode away.

  “Thank you,” Mackenzie called after him.

  Had he heard? She liked his gait. Each step confident as he started down the stairs with her father. The hem of his kilt brushed those muscled calves. She suddenly felt oddly warm.

  “Come, let us return to your mother,” Cora urged.

  Mackenzie waved her hand as the men disappeared from view. “Go, I need to clean up this spill.”

  Cora’s big brown eyes took on a Will you? look before she turned and headed toward the parlor.

  Mackenzie hurried to the top of the stairs and peered over the railing, down into the foyer.

  They stood before the open door. “I shall see you soon, Liam.” Her father clapped him on the back.

  “Good evening.” Liam gave a slight bow.

  He ducked his tall frame out the door and Mackenzie hurried to the window overlooking the front drive as he stepped into the summer rain. He descended the half dozen steps to the drive and started toward his horse, tied to a post. She’d met plenty of men during the Season in Inverness, but none so compelling as Lord Liam. What was it about the man? She simply had to see him again. She couldn’t let him slip through her fingers. Suddenly, the party seemed far too distant.

  He untied the reins from the post and her heart skipped a beat when Liam swung up into the saddle. She got an eyeful of his muscled thigh and—Lord help her—a hint of his rounded buttocks when the wind snapped his kilt. His long hair flicked in the rain and wind. He turned the horse toward the drive, then unexpectedly looked up. Mackenzie ducked aside. Had he seen her? Nae, he couldn’t have. Carefully, she peeked around the window. Lord Liam’s horse cantered down the drive, then broke into a gallop.

  The creak of the stairs jarred her from her thoughts and she realized her father was returning. An inkling of an idea flashed through her mind. Quickly, she retreated to the vase and began to rearrange the flowers.

  “Pray have a care, my dear,” her father greeted her mildly as he emerged from the stairs.

  Mackenzie turned, as if surprised, and smiled contritely. “I will, Papa. How fortunate Lord Fraser is as nimble as a cat.”

  “Aye.” Her father snorted and nodded in the general direction of the parlor. “Your mother would suffer a fit of vapors to know just how close her vase came to shattering on the floor.”

  Mackenzie winced in agreement, then as her father started toward his study, she joined him and caught his arm.

  “Papa, I have decided on my birthday wish. This time, I shan’t change my mind.”

  “Truly?” his voice held a hint of amusement.

  She followed him into the study. “The Arabian. ‘That prime piece of horse flesh,’ I believe you called her.”

  Her father chuckled. “Did you not say she was a wee too spirited? And when I offered to hire a trainer, I do believe you told me you weren’t ‘overly fond of waiting,’ did you not?”

  “Perhaps it is time I learned patience,” she replied lightly.

  “Are you ill?” he asked in mock concern.

  Mackenzie tugged his sleeve. “Please, Papa, the horse?”

  He crossed the room, settled behind his desk, and reached for a stack of letters near the inkwell before glancing up at her with a twinkle in his eye. “If it is the horse you wish, my dear, then it is the horse you shall have.”

  “Splendid. The particular trainer I have in mind will give the horse a proper finishing.” Mackenzie suppressed a smile of glee. Liam Fraser. He wouldn’t be able to refuse such a request. She’d have him at t
he house daily, and that would give her time to weave her web. “I shall write him tonight.”

  “Very well,” her father answered in a distracted manner. “I’ll send for the horse in the morning.”

  “Wonderful, Papa.” Mackenzie grinned. Such a delightful turn of events. She reached for the door knob.

  “Ah, yes, my dear,” her father’s deep voice rumbled from the desk. “Lord Gilford has accepted my invitation and will arrive in time to attend the party your mother is hosting this Saturday.”

  Mackenzie froze. Invitation? Her head snapped back. An invitation sent to Lord Gilford meant only one thing. With Lord Gilford, in particular, this invitation was nearly as good as a contract. She drew a deep, calming breath and then faced her father once more.

  His attention remained on the letter he held. “It is time you wed, my dear,” he said without looking up. The parchment rustled as he refolded the letter. “Gilford is delighted to join us. I am certain you will find him a suitable match.”

  Mackenzie opened her mouth to reply when a tap sounded on the door. She opened the door and smiled at sight of Sir Stirling James. “Sir Stirling,” she cried, and dipped into a courtesy.

  Stirling laughed and lifted her easily to her feet. “None of that, my lady. How have you been?”

  Until her father had mentioned the dreadful Lord Gilford, she’d been perfectly fine—better than fine. She wrinkled her nose. “Perhaps you can talk some sense into Papa.”

  Sir Stirling’s brows rose. “In fifteen years, I have yet to talk one bit of sense into him, but tell me, what has he done?”

  “He wants to marry me to the very boring Lord Gilford.”

  “Mackenzie,” her father warned.

  “She might have a point, Richard. Lord Gilford is a fine fellow, but he is no’ all that imaginative.”

  Mackenzie grinned at having found an ally. “See, even Sir Stirling agrees.”

  Her father didn’t appear impressed. “Stirling will feel differently when his daughter is old enough to wed. Gilford is a dependable man who will protect you.”

  “There will be nothing to protect, for I shall die of boredom,” Mackenzie objected somewhat sourly and then dropped a quick courtesy. “Forgive me, I must go. Mamma asked my help in planning her party.”

  ***

  Lady Mackenzie swept from the room like the tornado she was. Stirling hid a smile as he crossed the room to the chair by his friend’s desk and lowered himself onto the seat.

  “Marriage, eh?” Stirling murmured. “Lady Mackenzie doesn’t seem taken with the idea.”

  “She is a young girl taken with the idea of romance. Life is not romantic.”

  “A little romance doesnae hurt,” Stirling said.

  Richard humphed, and opened a letter sitting on his desk. “As I said, you will sing a different tune when it comes time to marry off Ella.”

  Stirling gave a slow nod. “I hope I can still recall that romance matters.”

  The earl’s eyes shifted from the letter to Stirling. “You have something on your mind?”

  Stirling shrugged. “Nothing in particular. How is the building of your stable and storehouses going?”

  Richard folded the letter and placed it in the desk. “Men have been clearing trees the last week. Liam Fraser should have more drawings for me tomorrow.”

  “He would make a fine engineer. I suggested he return to school.”

  The viscount nodded. “He would be wise to consider an education.”

  “Over time, he will. They have repaired the dormitory and barn on the abbey grounds.”

  Richard leaned back in his chair. “You seem to have taken an interest in the men’s wellbeing.”

  “They have seen too many horrors.”

  He nodded. “Aye, war is not kind.”

  Stirling understood the depth of his friend’s experience. He’d fought at Trafalgar. If anyone understood that only love could restore a man to sanity after the horrors of war, it was Richard Caine, Viscount Dunn.

  Chapter Four

  A comforting drumbeat of rain struck the abbey windows. Of late, the weather had been wetter than usual. There would be no fence-building this morning. Liam didn’t mind. He could use the time to finish Lord Dunn’s sketches and deliver them that afternoon—rain or no.

  The leather chair creaked as he stretched his legs. He dropped his gaze to his sketchbook and inspected his latest drawing with a critical eye. Mackenzie. The likeness was a good one. He’d even caught the pout of her lips and the wicked gleam in her eye. His mouth curved in a smile, then he caught himself. He took a deep breath. Why was he drawing her face? Not only was she above his station, she toyed with men—most definitely, not a trait that attracted him… Yet, he had still chosen to sketch her face—not once, but twice.

  A scuffling scrape of boots against the stone floor startled him into slamming the sketchbook shut. Ewan stepped into view, a letter in hand. He cocked a dark brow at Liam’s sketchbook but said nothing—as usual. He spoke more with his eyes than anything else, barring the occasional grunt. How his wife, Kyla, understood the man was a mystery. Liam met his brother’s cool stare with one of his own.

  After a moment, Ewan handed him the letter. “If you’re off to Newborne, then fetch the new spades from the blacksmith, will you? We’re in sore need of them. He should be done by now.”

  “Aye.”

  Ewan left.

  Liam broke the red wax seal and scanned the contents of the missive. A request from Lord Dunn to train a horse. He owed the man the drawings of his new outbuilding, as well.

  He opened his sketchbook and flipped past the first sketch of Mackenzie, then paused. He studied the drawing. The first drawing had been of Lady Mackenzie on her horse. This one of her face, however, had haunted even his dreams. He’d hoped that by drawing her face, he would be able to put her out of his mind. He’d been wrong. Liam ripped the page from the sketchbook and tossed it into the fire, then did the same with the other sketch. He knew better than to foster an attraction to a woman he could never have.

  The flames licked the pages. Liam forced his gaze away from the paper before the fire devoured Lady Mackenzie’s beautiful face.

  ***

  “What do you think, Liam?” Lord Dunn asked as Liam brought his bay to a halt by the paddock later that afternoon. “She’s a devil of a horse, do you not agree?” Dunn nodded toward the Arabian mare trotting along the fencing, obviously seeking a means of escape.

  Liam gave a low whistle. The horse was impressive, proud and sleek of line with a white coat that gleamed in the early afternoon sun. She tossed her mane as she passed them, her hooves churning the mud.

  Liam swung down from his horse and tied the reins to the fence. “She is a beauty.”

  “In more ways than one.” Lord Dunn barked a laugh. “She’s worth a king’s ransom.”

  A breeze blew against Liam’s face, carrying the scent of damp earth and horse, as he leaned against the fence beside Lord Dunn. For a time, both men watched the prancing beast appreciatively.

  Finally, Lord Dunn straightened. “A beauty, but too high-spirited. I need her civilized.”

  The magnificent beast tossed her head and whickered.

  “I fear she disagrees.” Liam chuckled, then met the man’s gaze. “What use have you for a civilized horse?”

  The man laughed. “Ah, she isn’t for me.”

  “Then, whose?”

  “Would you be surprised to discover she is mine?” a feminine voice chimed in from behind.

  Liam turned. Lady Mackenzie approached, a vision in a lavender pelisse that gaped just enough to flash a tantalizing view of rose-sprigged muslin with a blue satin ribbon tied snugly under her breasts.

  “My father’s gift.” She smiled, dimpling her cheeks.

  “This horse is yours?” he asked, surprised. Good God, what was her father thinking?

  Mackenzie stopped in front of him. “Why does that astonish you? I am quite the accomplished horsewoman.”
>
  Liam dropped his gaze over her in a cursory inspection, recalling just how she’d jumped from her horse the day before. She had displayed a mark of skill.

  “Aye, you’re a pair,” he murmured. Then, aware he’d allowed his eyes free rein over her shapely form, he yanked his gaze back to the horse.

  “My lord,” a man called.

  As one, they turned to face the newcomer, Mister Pettigrew, puffing heavily as he hurried across the grass to arrive out of breath.

  “Good afternoon.” Lord Dunn inclined a brow toward the dark clouds gathering above. “Or what is left, I imagine.”

  Mister Pettigrew ignored his attempt at humor. “Good afternoon, my lord.” He mopped his brow then nodded at Mackenzie. “My lady.” When he faced Liam, he dipped his chin the barest amount required to remain civil. “Lord Liam.”

  “What brings you here this fine afternoon?” Lord Dunn pressed.

  “Doings,” Mister Pettigrew answered. He fixed a look at Liam. “Of the disturbing kind.”

  Liam crossed his arms.

  “MacAlpin’s missing a cow, as is Widow Cochrane,” Mister Pettigrew said. “Appears the tracks lead through your lands, Lord Liam, straight east, Blackstone way.”

  The thread of insinuation in ‘Blackstone way’ couldn’t be missed.

  Mister Pettigrew swiveled toward Lord Dunn. “Have any of your beasts gone missing, my lord?”

  “Not that I am aware of, but let’s speak to Mack, shall we?” Lord Dunn waved Mister Pettigrew toward the stables before leaning toward Liam, “Then, you will train her?” He tilted his head at the horse.

  “Aye.”

  The viscount nodded, then strode off toward the stables, motioning Mister Pettigrew to precede him. The man obeyed, but not before he sent a black look Liam’s way. Liam suppressed a snort, and then turned back to the paddock.

  Good God, Lady Mackenzie had halted directly behind him, so close, he caught a faint scent of lavender. He drew back, his arm accidentally brushing her breast. Her eyes widened. He tamped down on a sudden surge of lust.

  She smiled sweetly. The wench had to be aware of her effect on him.