by Byrnes, Tess
Never Kiss a Laird
By
Tess Byrnes
Copyright 2013 Tess Byrnes
Also by Tess Byrnes
Waking up with a Viscount
Chapter One
The Most Noble Hugh McLeod, Earl of Kane, Baron McLeod of Thorne, hunched his shoulders against the relentless rain, and urged his horse along the soggy lane. Riding the last leg of the long journey from London back to his home in Scotland had seemed like a fine idea that morning, when the sun had shone on a crisp late-February morning, and the world was dry. This morning the thought of spending the day in a closed carriage had seemed intolerable. Now, with the rain soaking through his overcoat, and running down his hat into the collar of his shirt, he was beginning to wonder if insanity ran in his family. He looked up as he passed a signpost, and realized he was within a mile of his Godmother’s estate, where he planned to rest overnight before continuing on to Castle Kane.
“Thank God,” he muttered aloud, and his horse pricked his ears at his master’s voice. “Not much farther, Rufus,” he called encouragingly.
As if he understood, the stallion’s steps picked up. Hugh was not unaware of the irony of urging his steed to a faster pace. In the usual order of things, he dreaded his infrequent visits to his Godmother and it had been over a year since he had last obliged her. The circumstance of his Godmother’s estate lying in a straight line between London and the Castle put him within a few miles of Waverly on his journey. Stopping along the way had seemed like an ideal chance to at once meet his obligation and get himself off the hook for another twelve month. He had promised his Mama, before she died, that he would stay in touch with his Godmother. Hugh interpreted this to mean a yearly contact, because more than that he could not endure. If the weather had not been so miserable, he might have re-thought this year’s visit and continued on directly to Castle Kane. However, the soaking rain made refuge a necessity, and having given himself a reprieve by leaving London in the middle of the Season, a visit to his acerbic and unloving God-mama seemed like a fitting punishment.
Hugh invariably spent the Season in his town house in Mayfair, riding in the park by day, or meeting friends at one of his many clubs. In the evenings he attended balls, or more often, visited a gaming saloon or played at cards with his cronies. He attended prize fights, and boxed at Jackson’s saloon, indulged in curricle races and, in general, participated in all the activities of a young and well-breeched man of fashion.
The usual run of the season had been thrown off this year by the fact of Hugh’s romantic pursuit of a very well-bred and correct young woman. Miss Clarissa Riding had been courted by every eligible bachelor in London. She was enchantingly lovely, and impeccably well-bred. Hugh had dangled after the blonde beauty, like most of his cronies, and his pretensions looked like being rewarded. Miss Riding and her family smiled upon the Earl’s addresses, and he had every reason to believe that his suit, if and when he proffered it, would be accepted from amidst the plethora of competing suitors. When this fact became apparent to Hugh, he somewhat guiltily realized that he had been following the fashion, more than following his heart.
The Earl’s acquaintances had congratulated him on his good fortune. He was the envy and the cause of resentment of every other bachelor in London. And yet, as the need to make a decision about marriage closed in, Hugh had felt a suffocating need to escape from London, from his good fortune and the envy of his friends, and from the fair Clarissa.
With the Season in full swing, Hugh used a trifling business need at Castle Kane as an excuse to go home to Scotland. His estate agent had indeed written to ask his advice about several issues on the home farm, and so the Earl had made his excuses and escaped.
As the weather grew heavier and the sky darkened further, his destination came in to view. His weary horse plodded up the tree-lined avenue, but instead of stopping at the entrance of the commodious brick manor, Hugh urged his steed around the drive and down to the stables. After he had brushed and watered Rufus, he lifted the cloak bag he had strapped to the saddle, and dashed between the raindrops back to the front door.
The heavily-carved oaken door was pulled open by Lady Waverly’s very correct butler, and the respectable retainer recoiled visibly at the sight of the bedraggled Earl.
“My lord, you are soaked to the skin!” the butler exclaimed, not so much in compassion as in horror.
“Yes, the rain will have that effect, Marsters. Good evening.” Hugh pushed into the blessedly dry entry hall, and stood dripping on my lady’s fine Aubusson carpet. He allowed the disapproving butler to help him out of his great coat, and relinquished his hat.
“We will have the Blue room prepared for you, my lord,” Marsters informed him, clucking his tongue at Hugh’s bedraggled appearance. “Your trunks, my lord?” he inquired hopefully.
“This is the sum of my luggage, Marsters,” Hugh replied, handing over the cloak bag. “I’m only here the one night, you know.”
The butler blenched further and shook his head. He thought very poorly of Hugh’s notion of proper luggage, not to mention his lack of a valet. And he was very aware that his mistress would expect the Earl to appear for dinner in knee-breeches and a long-tailed coat, and the likelihood that correct evening dress reposed in the small cloak bag was slim indeed.
“Dinner will be served in an hour, sir,” he intoned dourly as he handed the offending bag to a footman, and watched as Hugh trod quickly up the stairs to get ready to meet his Godmother.
Forty five minutes later, Hugh stood hesitating with his hand on the salon door. He was not a timorous man. He stood well over six feet in height, and his love of sports and athleticism was obvious in his well muscled frame. His hair was so dark as to almost appear black, and his handsome good looks had caused many a debutante a sleepless night or two. His eyes were brown and very direct, nose tending towards the aquiline. In repose his face had a harsh aspect, but his ready smile and quick sense of humor softened this affect, and lent a great deal of charm to his face. He was a bruising rider, a promising amateur boxer, and in short, was more used to intimidating than being intimidated. Grasping the door knob in his hand and squaring his shoulders he reminded himself that he was in fact six-and-twenty, no longer six years old. He took a deep breath and pushed the door open and stepped into his Godmother’s censorious presence.
The dowager sat before the fireplace, regal in a puce satin gown with a large and ornate headdress on her coiffed head. Looking at her, Hugh was immediately struck by how much older and smaller she looked than he had remembered. Her papery face was heavily lined, the hook nose dominating her face, and the hand that held her cane was thin and claw-like. Her eyes, which had been closed, opened at the sound of the door, and it seemed to Hugh as if she were momentarily disoriented. His expression softened and he felt a pang of compassion. Then she spoke.
“You look like a shag-rag, Hugh,” Lady Waverly proclaimed in her harsh voice. “No one would take you for a gentleman, let alone a nobleman. Come in and close the door behind you. You are causing a terrible draught.”
“Good evening, Godmother,” Hugh spoke calmly, as the world righted itself again. “I do apologize for dining with you in such casual attire. It was such a beautiful morning that I left my coach to continue the journey on horseback, and thus find myself separated from my luggage. I had not anticipated such a change in the weather.”
“Demned silly thing to do. Why you must needs caper about on horseback I will never understand. Your father never would have done such a thing; he knew what his station deserved. And according to Marsters, you are acting as your own groom and valet as well. Come in, come in, and let me take a look at you.” She raised her lorgnette to her eye, and Hugh repressed the compelling i
mpulse to straighten his cravat.
Her unnervingly enlarged eye scanned him from his boots to his head, from his gleaming Hessians, biscuit colored breeches that formed to his muscular legs, onwards to a plain waistcoat, innocent of any fobs. Hugh set his teeth as her scowl intensified, and the examining eye moved up over the blue coat of superfine that showed off his broad shoulders, and finally met his eyes. She observed the dark hair, still damp and trying to curl against the plain riband that confined it at the nape of his neck. Her scowl softened as her eyes rested on his handsome face and the rueful smile he could not keep from his eyes at her obviously disapproving scrutiny.
Lady Waverly dropped her lorgnette, and motioned towards the chair opposite her own. “Sit down, for the love of god, Hugh. I can’t imagine why you are standing there like a looby.”
A smile danced in Hugh’s brown eyes, and he obediently took a seat. The response on his lips, that she had not yet invited him to sit, was not even worth uttering.
“You are looking very well, Godmother,” he said, instead. “Are you planning on joining your daughter and her family in London any time soon? I hope they are all in health.”
“Do not speak to me of my daughter’s family,” she commanded harshly.
“Er, as you wish.” Hugh cast about in his mind for another topic of conversation, his first gambit, which had seemed such a safe subject, having gone awry. Before he could think of anything his godmother spoke again.
“That ninny of a granddaughter of mine has disgraced herself, and her family.”
“I’m sorry to hear it,” Hugh murmured politely.
“Dummy!” Lady Waverly spat. “Sorry to hear it? It’s a disaster! Here is the girl, preparing for her first Season, grown into a beauty apparently, possessed of a very handsome fortune, and she throws it all away for nothing.”
Hugh was silent, aware that anything he said would only turn his Godmother’s ire towards himself. He waited with a patience born of experience.
“I, of course, will be left to pick up the pieces, as usual,” Lady Waverly continued, with grim satisfaction. “The girl has thoroughly compromised herself. Spent the night in the company of a local buck and then refused to marry the cad. He was brought up to scratch, and the girl refused. My daughter has canceled the girl’s come-out and writes to ask what she should do with the chit. Wants to send her overseas with a companion or some such stuff. Hoping to rescue the family’s reputation by whisking the girl out of sight as quickly as may be.”
Hugh began to feel very sorry indeed for the girl in question.
“Never did I think to see such behavior,” the old woman continued, as if she had forgotten about Hugh’s presence. “In my day, a young gel would never think to go off alone with a man, and if she did, she would accept whatever fate her parents meted out. But not my hoity-toity granddaughter. Do you know what she told her parents? That she would rather die a spinster than accept the offer made to her.” She turned her baleful glare so abruptly upon Hugh that he jumped slightly.
“And what about you!”
“Me?” Hugh asked, astonished, and taken off guard. “I have nothing to do with the affair.”
“Of course you have not,” Lady Waverly snapped. “When are you going to make someone an offer? You are not as young as you were, Hugh.”
“I cannot deny it,” Hugh replied evenly. “I assure you, when I do make someone an offer, you will be the first to know.”
“I don’t suppose I will,” his godmother returned shrewdly. “You’d better not shilly-shally around, Hugh. You’re a rich, young man, and more handsome than is good for you. You’d do well to choose a bride quickly, rather than wait and fall into some match-making mama’s trap.”
For about one second, Hugh considered telling his Godmother about Lady Clarissa, but he quickly dismissed the notion. Knowing Lady Waverly, she would have him engaged, married and several children on the way, with letters sent out immediately to all her cronies. Until he knew his own mind, discretion would be a better course.
So he merely said, “Thank you for your advice, Godmother.”
“Hmph,” the old lady snorted. “I don’t have time to worry about your affairs now, anyway. I told my daughter to send me her disgraced chit, and I’ll teach the girl to mind her elders. She certainly can’t go to London; there isn’t a respectable family that would receive her. But I have no doubt that I can talk sense into her. The only thing to do is find someone to marry the wretch. And that reminds me. What are you about to be coming home just now? The Season is just getting into full swing, and here you are, returning to the country. You won’t find a bride if you spend the Season hunting birds at Castle Kane, Hugh.”
“I do plan to return to London in a week or two,” Hugh temporized. “I have some business to attend to, and admit that I had hoped to get in some hunting.”
“You’re a sad disappointment to me, Hugh. I would have expected to see you married long before now, and starting your nursery. What your father would say, I hate to think. Your father has only been a year in his grave, Hugh, and you appear to have forgotten every precept that he taught you.”
Hugh had not been an ungrateful son, but he knew a moment’s gratitude that his strict father, a noted sermonizer, was no longer here to favor him with his comments.
The glimmer of his rueful smile reappeared in his dark eyes. He had known this would be an unpleasant visit. All he had to do was make it through dinner, as his godmother always retired early, and then tomorrow he would be on his way to Castle Kane. This thought kept him going through the bitter monologue his godmother maintained through all six courses of the meal.
When his head finally hit the pillow much later that night, a fleeting, compassionate thought went through his mind for Lady Waverly’s unfortunate, compromised granddaughter.
Chapter Two
The next morning dawned crisp and clear. Hugh made an early breakfast, and was away from Waverly before his redoubtable godmother had left her chamber. Feeling like he had made his second lucky escape in as many days, he urged Rufus into a canter. He could legitimately stretch this trip out for at least a week, he figured with a feeling of optimism, maybe even two. His mind was caught up the pleasurable occupation of planning out a week of fishing, riding, and hunting, when Rufus rounded a bend in the road and came to an abrupt stop.
“Come on now, boy,” Hugh urged, but as he looked up he was met with an unexpected sight.
A small traveling carriage, having suffered some mischance while taking the corner, blocked the road, leaning drunkenly on one side, two wheels sliding into a ditch. There were too many trunks strapped to the top of the vehicle for balance, and one of them had fallen from the roof. A burly groom was trying to tug the heavy, corded trunk out of the ditch before it could sink into the fetid water at the bottom. He was being directed by an agitated older woman in a serviceable grey cloak. A younger woman in a blue cloak that billowed in the morning wind was struggling to calm the two horses, who were stamping nervously under the backward pull of the coach.
Hugh took the situation in with a quick glance, and sprang from his horse. He went first to the groom, and reaching down to grab a strap on the trunk, pulled it easily up onto the road.
“Thank ‘ee,” the groom panted, wiping his brow.
But Hugh was already gone, heading quickly to the frightened team of horses, who were trying to rear up in their traces. He approached from the side, pushing the girl in the blue cloak out of the way, and grasping the bridles firmly. Coaxing and cajoling the team, he backed slowly away, urging the team to come with him in a gentle, but compelling voice. Under the amazed eyes of the groom, the stamping horses quieted and pulled forward, straining to obey the soft voice, and bring the carriage with them.
“Step up, there you go,” Hugh urged, and with a final lurch of the team, the carriage righted, all four wheels on solid ground. “Well done, lads,” Hugh rubbed the long broad noses of the two horses, and they swished their tails, as if in res
ponse.
The groom approached, taking the bridles from Hugh with a grateful look.
“That was very well done, Sir!” he exclaimed. “Very well indeed! You have a way with horses, that’s as plain as the nose on my face.”
“Not at all,” Hugh replied easily. “The wheels were barely over the edge, and the carriage out of balance with all those trunks. Your team just needed a bit of encouragement.” He looked over at the young woman he had pushed away from the frightened team, and was astonished to meet an infuriated gaze.
The young woman had pushed the hood of her blue cloak back, and a flurry of red-gold curls had escaped and were whipping around in the cold, brisk wind. She was exceptionally pretty, and appeared to be exceptionally angry as well. Hugh raised one eye brow in a silent question, an action that seemed to inflame the girl’s ire.
“How dare you!” she exclaimed angrily. “Arrogant!”
“Now, now, Miss Sally,” the groom began. “He’s gotten the carriage out of the ditch.”
“I don’t recall asking for his assistance,” the young woman exclaimed angrily, her eyes sparked with rage. “I did not ask to be manhandled out of the way, either.”
Hugh eyed her appreciatively. She looked to be no more than eighteen or nineteen years old, tall for a girl, with red-gold hair that was escaping in tendrils from its knot. The expressive eyes that were shooting daggers at him were the exact same color as her midnight blue cloak. She had a small, straight nose, pink lips pressed together in anger, and Hugh caught a glimpse of an alluringly rounded figure as the cloak whipped about her.
“Should I have stopped to ask permission, ma’am, when it was obvious that the team was at risk of injury?” he asked, an amused smile hovering over his lips.
“Insufferable!” the girl stormed, coming perilously close to stamping her foot in anger. “I had the team well in hand, and I do not appreciate your arrogance in thinking you could do better than I can, sir.”
