I flushed.
“I can understand how that would give him the courage to ask you when he saw it. But I think what really struck him upon seeing the portrait was all the traits you imbued him with.”
My brow wrinkled in confusion. “What do you mean?”
He smiled softly. “I’ve only known him a short time, but I can already tell Gage is used to being underestimated. Just a charming, attractive man to pass the time with. But you see the nobility in him—the bravery and honor and determination. And if I were still a betting man, I would wager that is what so affected him. Knowing that you love him not only for the man he shows most of the world, but also for the man he is deep down inside.”
I was stunned. Was Trevor right? Was that why Gage had proposed? I felt queasy knowing I’d turned him down after that. And in such a panicked and muddled way.
I frowned. But once again we came back to the question of how Gage felt about me. Just because I loved him—and yes, much as I’d been denying it, I knew it was futile now not to admit the truth, especially if Trevor had seen it—didn’t mean Gage loved me. And if he didn’t, I knew I would never be happy. I might have been willing to marry Sir Anthony knowing there was no love between us and hope it would grow in time, but I knew better now. If Gage didn’t truly love me, then a union between us would never work.
Trevor clucked his tongue, shaking his head as if he could read my thoughts. “If you can’t see that that man loves you, then you truly must be addled, for it’s as plain to see as the nose on your face. How can you doubt it? Where are your formidable observation skills?”
I scowled at him and he grinned brightly.
Pulling my arm through his, he led me away from our parents’ graves. We wound our way back through the gravestones toward the gate. I welcomed the warmth of the sun’s rays as they pierced through a cloud bank.
“You have a decision to make,” Trevor declared as he latched the gate behind us.
“I know,” I admitted, my thoughts still on Gage and whether I should trust that what my brother said was true. Was I being willfully blind? Was I so afraid of making a mistake that I couldn’t see the truth right in front of me?
But apparently that was not all my brother meant. “Your life at this moment is wide open with possibilities—ones I suspect you never thought to have.” His eyes were very serious. “Do you want to marry again? Do you want to have children? Do you want to keep painting portraits? Do you want to continue to be involved with these inquiries?” He stopped and turned to look at me. “The choice is yours, Kiera. I mean that. Whatever it is you decide, I’ll support you. But I want you to think long and hard about what it is that you do truly desire. This is your opportunity to choose the life you want.” He shook his head. “No more hiding. No more fear.”
I was speechless in the face of my brother’s pronouncement. I had been conscious that my life was at a crossroads, but I had never really contemplated all of the choices that were open to me. That he would have given this matter such intense consideration himself, and love me enough to support me in whatever decisions I made was nearly overwhelming. As a female in our male dominated society it was a rare thing indeed to encounter so much devotion and respect. Though, I should have known to expect nothing less from Trevor.
Emotion clogged my throat.
“You don’t have to decide right this minute,” he said, clearly sensing how much his gift had astounded me. “But you do need to decide soon.”
I squeezed his arm closer to my body in gratitude, barely able to speak. “Thank you.”
He merely smiled and turned our steps toward home.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
The house was quiet when Trevor and I returned. I didn’t know if Gage had still not risen or if he’d hidden himself somewhere, but regardless, I wasn’t ready to face him. Not yet.
Instead, my steps were drawn once more to my studio in the back corner of the conservatory. Beams of winter sun shone through the glass ceiling and walls, fully illuminating the space. Earl Grey had lolled onto his back on the wicker settee, basking in the warmth. I sat down beside him and he rolled to his side, allowing me to scratch behind his ears. His chest rumbled with the comforting sound of his contented purr.
I turned to stare at Gage’s portrait. It was the first painting I’d completed since finishing William Dalmay’s posthumous portrait, since I’d lost my ability and my desire to paint. And it just might have been my best work ever. If nothing else, I owed Gage my thanks for that—for inspiring my passion again, for giving me back my gift, and for distracting me enough with his presence and this investigation to keep me from agonizing over every step of the process.
Without having given in to my overwhelming urge to capture Gage on canvas, I’m not sure how long I would have floundered. Or whether I might have simply given up.
No. I couldn’t imagine ever doing that. My art was too much a part of me, even when it was painful.
So I supposed that answered one of Trevor’s questions. Yes, I would continue to paint portraits, whether I took them on as commissions or not. It was who I was.
But what of the rest? Did I want to marry? Did I care about having children?
Five months ago I would have unequivocally said no—no hesitation, no doubts. But that was before I met Sebastian Gage. Before he’d pestered and cajoled his way into my heart. Before he’d proved what a good and honorable man he was.
He and Trevor were right. It was unfair to compare Gage to Sir Anthony. They were nothing alike. I couldn’t imagine Gage ever using me or hurting me the way Sir Anthony had, but it was hard to release that fear completely. There was always a sliver of doubt, knowing as intimately as I did how the husband held all the power in marriage. There was always some danger when giving over so much control to another person that they might abuse it.
So what it really came down to was trust. Did I trust Gage enough to take that chance?
I turned to stare at the row of barren pear trees lined up along the west side of the house and thought of the times Gage had saved my life—first at Gairloch and then at Banbogle Castle. I thought of all the times he’d grown angry when others had failed or insulted me. I recalled the strength of his arms holding me tight when I was distressed and the nonjudgmental way he had accepted the worst about me and my past once I shared with him the truth.
Then I examined all the ways he’d trusted me. To assist with his inquiries without botching them. To interview suspects and provide him with my impressions and the benefit of my reluctantly accrued anatomical knowledge. He’d shared with me the pain of his mother’s murder, and risked my scorn to reveal his woodworking hobby. And I suddenly realized that in all the investigations I’d worked with him, he’d never forced me to do anything against my will, unless it was for my own protection. Normally I was fighting him because he was trying to shield me from the horror, not because he was urging me to follow along.
It was almost absurd for me to worry that he wanted to marry me only for my investigative abilities. If anything, he’d tried to discourage them. And the fact that he was willing to listen to me, to even allow me to assist, said far more in his favor than the opposite. I would have been furious if he’d shut me out merely because I was a woman.
It seemed foolish now that I had turned him down. In any case, what was the alternative? To let Gage go? To never see him again? To one day hear news of his marriage to another lady, perhaps one who would never understand him as I did? I couldn’t expect him to hang about and allow me to assist him with his inquiries after I’d turned down his offer of marriage. And someday soon he would wed, for his own happiness and to produce an heir, while I lived in a cottage near Edinburgh and painted portraits. I would be safe from the machinations of another husband, but I would also be alone. Forever. For if not Gage, I knew I would never trust my heart to anyone again.
The thought of never seeing him again, of never hearing his voice or being held in his arms, of imagining him with another
woman, left a hollow ache inside me I wasn’t certain I would ever be able to fill, for as long as I lived.
When looked at in such a stark light, was there really any other decision to make? I could take a leap of faith and accept Gage’s proposal. Perhaps my fears would come true. He would grow tired of my eccentricities, my awkwardness, and stop loving me. But perhaps my worries were unfounded. Maybe we would be happy, solving inquiries and raising a family together while I painted portraits of our children, even if I never accepted commissions again.
I inhaled past the tightness in my chest and felt a smile curl the sides of my mouth upward, higher and higher, until I was practically beaming with joy.
Then I remembered what a hash I’d made of things. I would need to apologize and explain my reaction to his proposal. I only hoped Gage would listen, and had not already decided I was no longer worthy of his regard.
I stroked Earl Grey’s fur one more time for good luck and then hurried up to my bedchamber. My eyes strayed to Gage’s door on the opposite side of the hall, but I decided I needed to bathe first. I knew without a doubt that I looked and smelled a fright, and if I was to have any chance of wooing Gage back, it certainly would be best to do so primped, perfumed, and dressed in proper attire.
It was time to begin readying myself for the Burns Night Ball that evening anyway, so I rang for Bree and ordered a bath drawn. I knew the perceptive girl could sense my nervousness, but she also recognized my excitement, and that was what she chose to foster.
I bathed in water scented with rose petals, scouring the paint and raw chemicals from my skin, and then I sat before the fire to let my hair dry while I devoured a bowl of cock-a-leekie soup sent up from the kitchens. I realized I hadn’t eaten since luncheon the day before, and only then because my brother had made me. Feeling more myself, I sat before my vanity and asked Bree to arrange my hair in an artfully braided coronet—completely out of fashion, but much more to my style and liking. I even allowed her to dab a bit of rouge on my pale cheeks.
Then I donned my clan Rutherford attire—a full royal blue skirt with a Rutherford tartan overskirt that split in the front and a long-sleeved white blouse covered by a black-laced bodice. Over one shoulder we draped another length of the royal blue tartan with thick stripes of black and thin stripes of red running through it and fastened it with a brooch.
I’d worried that with my recent weight loss the ensemble would be far from flattering on my figure, but unknown to me, Bree had taken in the skirt, and the bodice laced tight enough up the front to hide the bagginess of the blouse and even provide me with some cleavage. I couldn’t help but wonder if Gage would be brave enough to don the kilt Trevor had loaned him, or if he would insist on wearing his usual dark evening kilt. I knew few Englishmen who were not stodgy enough to join in such a custom, but Gage just might be one of them. Either way, it was time to find out.
I heard the large clock in the entrance hall chime the hour, and inhaled deeply, trying to calm my rampaging heart. Bree smiled at me in the mirror as she fastened the clasp of my amethyst pendant around my neck and wished me well. And then there was nothing left for me to do but go.
At the top of the stairs, I paused and pressed my hand to my fluttering stomach. I could hear the low rumble of Trevor’s and Gage’s voices below. I closed my eyes and breathed deep again, cursing myself for a fool, and then forced my foot to take the first step downward. The banister was smooth and cool beneath my hand.
As my lower body came into view, I heard the men’s conversation falter as they turned to observe my progress. It took all of my nerve to continue descending as their bodies were steadily revealed from their feet upward with each step. I inhaled sharply when I realized there was but one step left before their faces came into view, and I compelled my foot forward. My fingers tightened on the banister as I met Gage’s eyes for the first time since spurning him the evening before. I could not read his expression, not from this far away, but it did not seem angry or disgruntled as I’d half expected. The band of fear around my chest loosened. Now, if only he was not indifferent, I thought I might be able to survive this night.
The men were silent as I moved closer and closer to them with each step. I wished they would speak, for it only seemed to stretch the moment out, drawing the tension in the room taut like a cord. Gage looked so handsome, and I realized as my brother moved closer that they were identically attired. Gage was actually wearing the kilt, and I couldn’t stop my eyes from dropping to see his legs below the hem. As expected, they were muscular and well defined.
I felt my cheeks flush and quickly lifted my gaze back to meet Gage’s. His eyes twinkled wickedly, aware of exactly what I’d been looking at.
I turned to Trevor as I reached the bottom, accepting his assistance as I descended the remaining steps.
“You look lovely,” he told me with a kind smile.
“Thank you,” I replied and reached up to straighten the brooch fixed to the length of plaid thrown over his shoulder. I felt Gage’s eyes on me the entire time, and when Trevor stepped away to ask after the carriage, there was no longer an excuse to avoid meeting them.
Fortunately, his gaze was not indifferent. His pale blue eyes were bright with an emotion he couldn’t hide, even tinged with wariness as they were.
“You do look lovely.” His voice was deep and warm.
“Thank you. You do, too. That is . . .” I faltered, feeling my cheeks heat again. “You look handsome.”
He grasped the sides of his kilt and stuck out one leg as if dancing. “Do you like the kilt?” he asked with the devil in his eyes.
I scowled at his teasing, even as it pleased me. “You know I do,” I replied, sneaking another peek at his legs. I was willing to be the recipient of any amount of teasing if it meant he would keep smiling at me like that.
I hesitantly moved a step closer, wishing desperately that we could have a moment alone so I could explain myself. I opened my mouth to tell him just that when he spoke first.
“Save your first waltz for me.”
Momentarily stunned, I gaped at him like a fish. “I . . . if you wish,” I finally stammered.
He shifted even closer, his jaw hardening in determination. “I’m finally going to have that dance with you, and I’m not taking any chances we might be interrupted later in the night.”
I searched his eyes, trying to understand. Did he forgive me for trampling on his proposal? Was he going to try again? Or was this his way of punishing me for turning him down?
But before I could ask him for a moment in private, that interruption he’d alluded to came. There was a shout and then the sharp whinny of a horse.
We all turned as one, to watch through the open door as a man struggled to bring his rearing horse under control, narrowly missing the hooves of one of the matching pairs at the front of our carriage waiting on the drive. The coachman scolded the rider as he leapt off his horse and rushed toward the house. Gage and I moved closer to hear.
“From Lord Fleming,” the rider gasped, holding out a letter.
I shared a glance with Gage, knowing what this meant. We’d been waiting for this very message for days.
Trevor took the missive, broke open the seal, and immediately began to read. His eyes widened and his expression turned grim. He frowned as he handed the note across to Gage, who held it low enough so that I might also read it.
It was an abbreviated version of the ransom note Lord Fleming had finally received, and explained the rider’s extreme urgency.
“Tonight?” I exclaimed. “They want the ransom delivered tonight?”
Gage nodded, looking across at Trevor. “They must know we’re on to them.”
“But . . .” I stared out the door at the swiftly falling darkness “. . . that only gives us hours to prepare.”
“Yes,” he replied unhappily. “And the only advantage we have is that they’ve chosen the same delivery method as last time—a horse waiting for us in Shotton Pass. So let’s make the
most of it. Can you get a message to Lord Rutherford?” he asked Trevor.
“I’ll send it to the Kerswoods’ Ball. So late in the evening, it’s more likely to reach him there.”
“Tell him we’re going to need his son and nephews if they can be spared.” His eyes hardened. “I’m not taking any chances this time.”
• • •
This time when we rode into Shotton Pass, all trace of daylight had long since faded from the sky. However, the night was clear and cloudless, and since the moon was only three days shy of being full, the natural light it provided us was far superior to what we’d experienced during our last trip into the Cheviot Hills. The heavens were speckled with brilliant stars, their beauty almost making up for the bitter temperatures that had settled over the land without any clouds to hold in the heat of the day. I shivered inside my fur-lined winter cloak as Figg picked her way through the scrub and rocks, trailing Gage’s chestnut gelding, Titus.
Time being of utmost importance, Gage and Trevor had hurried to change out of their kilts and into riding breeches while our horses were saddled. Which left me with just a few precious minutes to throw on an old spencer over my blouse and bodice and put on a pair of woolen stockings before trading my dancing slippers for half-boots. With my cloak and gloves, this was the warmest I could expect to feel on horseback on a cold January night.
Lord Fleming had met us with the ransom money at The Plough Inn in Town Yetholm before setting off for Beckford Parish Church with a pair of his footmen. There he was to lie in wait for the man who delivered his grandfather’s bones after the ransom was paid, should our efforts fail to capture him beforehand. As Gage had said, he wasn’t taking any chances, though we really had no idea whether the bones would be left at the church or elsewhere. We’d been fooled before.
We waited as long as we could for the arrival of my uncle and cousins, but when the hour inched too close to the appointed time of the ransom delivery, we’d had to leave without them. Trevor had left a note with the innkeeper should they appear after we departed, but we all knew not to count on their assistance from this point forward. In any case, we had Dixon and his son Davy—the local men Trevor had prearranged to guide us—and Anderley to boost our party to six.
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