Flirting with Ruin

by Marguerite Kaye

  Inside a gloomy hall dominated by a vast number of stone pillars he was relieved of his hat and gloves by a sepulchral butler. Fraser had dressed with care for this visit. His hat was beaver, his gloves York tan. He had polished his Hessian boots to military perfection himself. His pantaloons were an elegant grey and without a wrinkle, his linen crisply white, his waistcoat sombre. His dark blue cutaway coat of superfine with its polished brass buttons was, Scott, the tailor, had assured him, the latest style. Having lived most of his life in uniform or buckskins, Fraser had been forced to outfit himself from scratch in London after he sold out. Scott had been recommended by a fellow officer. Holby, who made his boots, by another. Well-born and well-healed, these gentlemen had clearly not considered the expense. Fraser was base-born and for much of his life down-at-heel. Fortunately, he had invested very wisely over the years, and though he still flinched at the cost of his new attire, it had hardly made a dent in the allowance he had awarded himself from the capital the manager at Coutts’s bank had been more than happy to keep safe.

  ‘His Grace will receive you in the drawing room with the ladies,’ the butler, who was called Lumsden, announced, turning towards a set of stairs at the rear of the great hall.

  ‘Ladies!’ Fraser exclaimed.

  ‘Lady Katherine and Lady Phaedra, Lord Edward’s sisters. Mrs Landes-Fraser, who is their chaperone and His Grace’s sister-in-law. Miss Araminta Montague will not be present.’

  ‘Miss Araminta?’ Fraser repeated dumbly. He had never heard of an Araminta or a Phaedra or even a Katherine, never mind a Mrs Landes-Whatever.

  ‘Miss Araminta is Lord Edward’s cousin,’ Lumsden explained, obviously disdainful of his ignorance. ‘And Mr Ross Montague, who is currently in India, is her brother, so he will not be present either.’

  ‘I had not realised. I thought it would just be the duke.’

  ‘The family has been much affected by the deaths of the eldest and youngest sons, Major Lennox,’ the servant said, unbending a little. ‘The circumstances of Lord Jamie’s death are as yet unknown. It was felt—to be frank, sir, both Lady Kate and Lady Phaedra insist upon being present. They hope that hearing the details of Lord Edward’s bravery will be some consolation.’

  ‘I doubt the real details would give them anything but nightmares.’

  The butler paled. ‘Forgive me, Major, but may I ask, did he suffer?’

  It was the question they always asked, the truth they never wanted to hear. Fraser closed his eyes. The noise, the stench, the horror of that last and bloodiest of battlefields were never far from him. The war haunted him. It haunted all of them who survived. Opening his eyes again, he found the butler’s anxious gaze fixed upon him. The man had obviously been very fond of Edward. Most likely he’d grown up on the estate, and would have known the lad when he was in short coats. Fraser shook his head. ‘He didn’t suffer,’ he lied, as he always did, touching the old man reassuringly on the shoulder.

  ‘Thank you, Major Lennox. That is some consolation at least.’ Lumsden gave him a small smile, all traces of his former disdain now gone. ‘Now, if you will follow me, I will take you to the family.’

  Fraser followed him up the stairs into a magnificent reception hall on the main floor of the house, which seemed to be made entirely of marble. Lumsden opened the door of the drawing room. It was a lofty room, ornately corniced. Blue damask walls, blue window hangings, a number of huge gilded matching-blue sofas set against the walls, giving the impression of being some sort of oppressively formal underwater chamber.

  The Duke of Rothermere sat alone on the sofa at the far end. A faded man, was Fraser’s first impression, a shadow of his former self by the looks of it, thin, grey, leaning heavily on a gold-topped cane. An older woman and a very young one, both dressed in black, sat on another of the sofas, the former still as a statue, the latter moving restlessly, clasping and unclasping her hands, looking as if she would flee at any moment. Nervous, and on the verge of tears, by the looks of things. The younger sister, Lady Phaedra, Fraser surmised. On the third sofa sat another woman in mourning with an interesting face who must be Lady Katherine. And beside her, the only person not clothed in black…

  Dark red hair. Lush red mouth. And blue, blue eyes.

  Rosalind. Dear God, it was Rosalind. What the devil was she doing here?

  * * *

  Rosalind thought she was seeing things. She screwed her eyes tight shut, rubbed them, and opened them again, but he was still there—only slightly blurry now. Fraser. Just Fraser. Who was being announced as Major Lennox. How could she have been so bloody stupid as not to have put two and two together before now?

  A startled look from him told her that he was equally astonished by her presence, but he so quickly regained his composure that it was a small consolation. He was bowing over the Duke of Rothermere’s hand. It was not the most accomplished of bows, not really nearly low enough, especially not for Kate’s father, who was such a stickler for etiquette, but for once His Grace didn’t seem to mind.

  Fraser—Major Lennox, for God’s sake!—was every bit as—as compelling by the light of day. He was dressed carefully, neatly, but without flamboyance, just as she would have expected. The scar on his cheek was more livid in this light. It must have been deep, for it was obviously still healing. His appearance really was most—manly was the word that sprang to mind. Rosalind quickly suppressed a smile. Such a very overused word, manly, but so wholly appropriate. Really, she could quite forgive herself for having been so carried away last night. Was that a relief, or not? Lord, she had no idea, but what she did know, was pretty certain of, was that seeing him again was giving her ample grounds for regretting she had not allowed herself to become even more carried away.

  ‘May I offer my deepest condolences for the loss of your son, Your Grace.’

  Fraser’s words cut into Rosalind’s thoughts, making her feel horribly guilty. She cast a sideways glance at Kate, who was holding herself rigidly and eyeing Phaedra just as surreptitiously. The younger girl looked to be upon the verge of tears already, but catching her sister’s eye, she tossed her head back and managed a smile. Not a watering pot, and determined, despite her youth, to hold herself together, Rosalind thought admiringly.

  Obeying the duke’s regal nod to be seated, Fraser—she just couldn’t think of him as Major Lennox—had embarked upon a careful account of Lord Edward’s last battle. It sounded, Rosalind couldn’t help thinking, like something from the Iliad, with the duke’s youngest son in the role of Hector, all nobility and bravery, with nary a hint at blood and gore. Lord Edward was a lion, a Trojan, an Ajax. The personal recitation signed by the Duke of Wellington himself, and the hand-cast medal that Fraser now passed reverently into the duke’s hands, were so well deserved as to make them superfluous, he seemed to be implying.

  ‘You must be proud of your son, Your Grace,’ Fraser continued, and it was almost a command, the way he said it, Rosalind thought, her admiration growing. ‘He died bravely and without pain. He died for the country he loved, wearing the colours he revered. Without people like Ned—Lord Edward—who made the ultimate sacrifice, we would still be at war.’

  It was not lies, she was sure, but it was a vast distance from the truth. Rosalind waited for the duke to say so, but to her astonishment the old man smiled. It was a weak smile, but it was the first she had seen from him in this visit. He kissed the medal too. A quick peek at Kate showed that she was also moved, furiously blinking in an effort not to cry.

  Phaedra, on the other hand, had given up any attempt to keep her emotions in check, and had leaped to her feet. ‘May I see that, Papa? May I hold Edward’s medal?’ Clasping it to her breast, she turned to Fraser. ‘Thank you, Major. I can’t tell you how much it means to hear—to know that Edward did not suffer, to hear that his loss was of value. I can’t tell you,’ she said fervently.

  ‘Indeed, Major, may I add my thanks to my sister’s.’ Kate’s tone was more measured, but there was no doubting her sincerity
. ‘It must have been very difficult for you to face us today. It was most kind of you to take the time to come to Castonbury. Forgive me, but we cannot help but notice you yourself have also suffered.’

  ‘Nothing. This was nothing,’ Fraser said, though Rosalind noticed he had to stop himself midway, as his hand went to touch the scar.

  ‘You will stay,’ the duke said in his quavering voice. ‘I too am very much obliged for the consideration you have shown us in coming here. There was never any doubt, of course, that Edward must have died bravely. He was a Montague, it must have been so,’ he continued with a touch of his old arrogance. ‘But still, it has been most reassuring to have that confirmed. You will stay, Major, and dine with my family.’

  It was not a request but a command, as everyone in the room was perfectly well aware, but nonetheless Fraser shook his head. ‘Thank you, but I will not intrude any further.’

  The duke looked quite taken aback, but his eldest daughter intervened. ‘Indeed, Father, Major Lennox has given us quite enough of his time, and no doubt has business of his own to attend to,’ she said. ‘I will see you out, Major.’

  ‘No need, Kate. I shall see to it.’ Rosalind had spoken, leaped to her feet before she’d even realised she meant to do so. ‘You will wish to speak to Phaedra,’ she whispered in explanation, earning herself a grateful look from Kate and feeling immediately guilty, but unable to help herself. She had not thought to see Fraser again, but now he was here there was no way on earth she wasn’t going to snatch some time alone with him. There was nothing worse in the world, in her opinion, than ‘if only.’ Edward Montague had been cut down in his prime. She could not help but think of all the life he was missing. Now fate had given her a second chance, and she was not going to miss it. Whatever it may mean.

  Fraser said his formal goodbyes without looking at her. She took his arm and led him out of the room, and still he looked straight ahead. Only as the door of the drawing room closed behind them, and she crossed the marble hall, down the staircase to the great hall did he visibly relax, and she realised just how tense he had been. ‘Thank God that is over,’ he said softly.

  ‘You pitched it perfectly.’

  Fraser stopped dead on the stairs. ‘You knew?’

  ‘That you told them what they wanted to hear rather than the truth?’

  ‘Ned was a brave lad.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it. Nor do I doubt that your account was very much sanitised, and I very much admire you for it. As I said, you pitched it perfectly. I meant it as a compliment, Major.’

  ‘So formal! Last night, I was just Fraser.’

  Rosalind blushed. ‘About last night, Major.’

  ‘No. Let’s not, not here,’ Fraser said, looking around the gloomy space with its myriad of pillars. ‘It’s like a damn crypt. Take the air with me, Rosalind.’

  It was exactly what she wished, and exactly what she knew she ought not to do. ‘It is Lady Rosalind, I’ll have you know,’ she said, turning her nose up.

  Fraser laughed. ‘Is it, by God! Take the air with me, my lady.’

  ‘I took the air with you last night.’

  ‘You did, and it was one of the most enjoyable experiences of my life.’

  ‘I ought to go to Kate,’ Rosalind said, not because she believed it but because she felt she ought to.

  ‘Lady Katherine will be best left alone with her sister. Come for a drive with me, Ravishing Rosalind, what possible harm can it do?’

  ‘Two adults, in the open air. Why, nothing at all!’ Rosalind declared, laughingly surrendering to temptation and the shocking hope that he would prove her utterly wrong. ‘Wait for me while I fetch my hat.’

  * * *

  ‘Tell me your history, Lady Rosalind. Tell me what brings you to Castonbury. Tell me your hopes and your dreams and your nightmares. But before you tell me anything,’ Fraser said, grabbing hold of her wrist and pulling her up into the gig beside him, ‘tell me that you are not married.’

  ‘Of course I am not.’ She met his serious look with one of her own. ‘I am many other things, but I am not unfaithful. Are you?’

  Fraser shook his head. ‘Many other things, but not unfaithful,’ he said with just the right note of mockery in his voice. ‘I have never been wed, unless you count the army as a wife.’

  ‘Do you?’

  Fraser picked up the reins and urged the horse into a trot. ‘It’s the only family I’ve ever known, that’s for sure. I joined up as a drummer boy when I was twelve.’

  ‘What of your real family?’

  ‘I am the bastard son of a Highland laird and his laundrywoman. Or so they told me at the orphanage in Glasgow. No, don’t look at me like that, I have no need of your pity. It was a tough rearing, but if nothing else it was a right good grounding for soldiering. It taught me to fight, and it taught me that you have to fight to survive.’

  ‘It’s a lesson you obviously learned very well, since you’ve survived nigh on twenty years of war.’

  ‘Aye, though there have been times when I’ve wondered if I would.’

  Rosalind touched the scar on his cheek. ‘Is it painful?’

  ‘To look at, certainly.’

  His tone was sarcastic, but Rosalind was not fooled. ‘When I saw you today, I thought only that it looked as if it was still healing. I thought it must have been very deep to have taken so long to heal since Waterloo. What I did not think was that it was in any way repellent. On the contrary. As you must be perfectly well aware, Major Lennox, if I did not find myself quite bafflingly attracted to you, I would not be seated by your side in this rather smelly gig, which I fear must have been used at some point in the recent past to transport livestock, allowing you to drive me out into the country without an escort. Do you, incidentally,’ she asked, looking around her at the country lane upon which they were now travelling, ‘have any idea where we are headed?’

  ‘Do you care?’

  ‘Do you always answer a question with a question?’

  ‘Would you prefer, Lady Rosalind,’ Fraser asked, pulling the gig to a halt, ‘if I answered you instead with a kiss?’

  His smile did strange things to her insides. The way he was looking at her too, with intent, made her stomach churn, made perspiration break out on the backs of her knees, of all ridiculous places! ‘Fraser, you cannot mean…’

  ‘Rosalind.’ He pulled her towards him. ‘I can.’

  Chapter Four

  And he did. And the moment his lips touched hers, she was extremely glad that he had. He tasted the same. The feel of lip on lip, tongue touching tongue, was exactly the same as last night. Desire and wanting positively surged through her in a way that she would have scorned, had anyone else suggested that such a thing could happen. She opened her mouth, she let out a soft little moan, she wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him closer, and she kissed him back with what could only be described as fervour.

  She kissed him, and he kissed her. He nipped at her lower lip. She nibbled on the little dent in his top lip. He kissed her hard, mouth-crushingly hard, and then he kissed her with just the lightest touch of lip on lip, and the most tantalising lick of tongue, and she teased him back, as if they were fencing. They found new ways to kiss, leaning this way, leaning that, open more, closed more, sucking, licking, succouring, demanding, until they were both panting heavily, until they were both left staring dazedly at each other, clothing in disarray, hair in disarray, emotions in disarray.

  ‘I believe you,’ Fraser said finally, with one of his stomach-clenching smiles.

  ‘What?’ Rosalind gasped. She feared she must look like a fish out of water, but that is how she felt. ‘Believe what?’

  ‘That you don’t find my scar repellent.’

  ‘Oh. Well, I am glad to hear that. Is it your only scar?’

  ‘Lord, no, I have several more. Why?’

  ‘Are you perhaps a little worried that I mind find some of them repellent?’ Rosalind said, matching his smile with one of her own, which s
he hoped would also have the same effect.

  ‘Would you — are you offering to reassure me, Lady Rosalind?’

  She could see, with immense satisfaction, from the way his pupils dilated, feel from the way his hand tightened around her waist, that she had been successful. ‘These injuries you suffered, they were all in the course of duty, were they not?’ Rosalind murmured, nibbling on his ear. ‘I would be failing in my duty as a patriot if I did not show you my appreciation of your suffering.’

  ‘And it would be quite wrong of me, I suppose, to deny you?’

  She laughed. ‘Oh, I would not wish to force myself upon you, Major. If you feel that it would be too much to bear…’

  Fraser swore, put her from him and picked up the reins. ‘The only thing I could not bear,’ he said, urging the horse, which had been quietly cropping at the verge, into as near a gallop as the staid beast could manage—which was not very near, truth be told—’would be if you changed your mind. You have until I find us a suitable place to continue this conversation in private to do so.’

  Rosalind clutched at the side of the gig, for though the horse was not exactly cantering, the track was deeply rutted and full of holes, and the gig was making contact with almost every one. ‘Do you mean private, as in indoors?’ she asked after a while.

  Fraser grinned. ‘No, I mean private as in right here.’ He pulled on the reins and brought them to a halt by a small wood. Leaping down, he looped the reins over a tree stump, then held his hand out to Rosalind. ‘I spent most of last night regretting that we came to our senses. When I saw you there, in that great big house, I couldn’t believe my luck. If all this war-making has taught me anything, it’s that you don’t often get a second chance. I don’t know what it is about you, Lady Rosalind, but I haven’t ever wanted any woman the way I want you. I don’t know what that means or if it means anything at all, except I want you now. Right now. Here, in the open air, in the full light of day. I want you. I just want you. Just Rosalind.’