Beguiled

by Arnette Lamb

  “I met him in India about twelve years ago. I went there to learn more about the cotton industry. For centuries the Napiers have dealt in textiles—I now manage our Glasgow mill. Elliot convinced me to invest in the East India Company, and together with Cameron Cunningham, we’ve done very well in the trade.”

  “ ’Tis a small world. Cameron promised to marry my sister Virginia—when she grows up.”

  “The lost sister.”

  “She is not lost, only misplaced. I’ll find her.”

  Remembering the friction between Lord Lachlan and Agnes, Edward thought it best to change the subject. “I hope you do. Now let’s have a peek at that wound.”

  She parted the robe enough to show him her injury.

  The star-shaped wound flitted into focus, but his attention was drawn to the thin shoulder strap of her white silk gown. Against the pale fabric her skin glowed like ivory satin.

  “It itched frightfully all day,” she said, “but the hot towel you sent up took care of that. Thank you.”

  Hannah squirmed; Agnes soothed her with soft words.

  Edward forced himself to concentrate on the wound. He found the surrounding area bruised but only slightly swollen. “The muscles adjacent the clavicle and the covering tissue are healing nicely. Your powers of recuperation are remarkable.”

  “How remarkable?”

  She was mocking his professional speech; she’d done it several times in Edinburgh. Her father had been present during those visits. But the duke wasn’t here now, and thank the saints for that small favor.

  Edward caught her gaze. “Most remarkable—like that of a healthy child or an animal in the field.”

  She tensed. “An animal?”

  “Aye,” he said with zeal. “Vixens are the most adept.”

  “Thank goodness.” She huffed with disdain. “You could have compared me to a cow.”

  “Only were I daft would I liken you to a bovine.”

  Apprehension flashed in her eyes. “Tell me about your other patients.”

  Satisfied that he’d made a subtle point, he relaxed. “I only treat the poor, for they do not mock me.”

  She radiated confidence. “I did say that you overburdened my injury. You would not listen.”

  “ ’Tis better said that I underestimated you.” Actually he’d underestimated his own attraction to her. “You come from good stock.”

  “So my mother says.”

  “Your mother? I was speaking of the MacKenzies.”

  “The duchess of Enderley swears that my heartiness comes from her kinsmen, Clan Campbell.”

  Edward was shocked to learn the identity of her mother, he hadn’t expected her to be so forthright. But why not, considering how bold she was. “Bianca Campbell gave birth to you? She must have been very young at the time.”

  “And very much in love with Lachlan MacKenzie. ’Twas a flourishing malady in ’61.”

  She spoke candidly about what would have been a scandal in any other family. But the ducal MacKenzies had managed to hold themselves above gossip. Almost above, for the duke’s four illegitimate daughters had made their own mark on society. “No more so than the season you shared with your half sisters at court. They say you lifted the value of every Scots maiden in the marriage market.”

  “None of us found husbands there.”

  She had not mentioned her father’s role, but everyone knew that MacKenzie’s lassies could select their own mates. Edward had to admit that Sarah had chosen well in her pick of Michael Elliot. “No, but you turned the Hanoverian court tapsal-teerie.”

  “They needed a bit of excitement. Too starchy and boring, those Germans.”

  Again his attention moved down. The robe had slipped aside, revealing the darker outline of her areola through the silk. As he watched, it puckered, making a tent of the fabric. He glanced up at her neck, and her pulse quickened. She turned her head to follow the line of his vision, and their cheeks touched. The slight drag of his stubbled jaw rasped against her smoother skin, sending currents of sensual friction to his loins.

  Her lips were a quarter turn away, and without conscious thought, he moved closer. The first touch of her mouth on his only whetted his appetite for more. The kiss was tender but not tentative, yet something in the intimacy told him that she had not anticipated it and was as surprised as he.

  In the blink of an eye, spontaneity turned to earnest discovery, and Edward laid into the kiss. Startled, she grew still. “Shush.” He whispered the word, and to his delight, she yielded, moving beneath him in a graceful, if unskilled, effort to deepen the exploration. Like a midnight fog obscuring the stars, need clouded logic, and as he thrust his tongue between her lips, he noted that Agnes MacKenzie was a woman who could free his mind of all thoughts save those of her.

  Too soon to suit him, she pulled away. “I will not fall in love with you, Edward Napier.”

  The words sounded like a pledge, letting him know that she’d uttered it before. In doing so, she made the mistake of grouping him with men he’d never met. She didn’t know Edward well enough to box him in with a horde of swains eager to clap hands on her dowry and gain favor with the powerful duke of Ross.

  Pride stinging, Edward said, “Love?”

  She acquiesced beautifully. “Perhaps you’re just grateful to me for saving your life.”

  A slap would have hurt less. “What I feel for you at the moment is desire, base and raw.”

  That statement fixed her attention, and she studied him so closely, Edward almost looked away. She lost the advantage when she said, “Then you would feel the same for a milkmaid?”

  They were sparring words on dangerous ground. To end the battle, he said, “Were you a milkmaid, I’d learn to monger cheese.”

  He might have patted her head, so quickly did she settle down. “I think perhaps—” she hesitated, then grudgingly said, “I did encourage you.”

  His manly control restored, Edward spoke from the heart. “A treasured invitation, to be sure, but one I should have declined sooner. My apologies.”

  As fast, her ire returned. “You are sorry? Didn’t your father tell you that a gentleman never apologizes for being attracted to a woman?”

  “Aye, but my father never had a patient of your like.”

  “He was a doctor?”

  “To barnyard animals.”

  “You despicable rogue—”

  He put his hand over her mouth. “Careful or you’ll awaken Hannah.”

  She relaxed, and he withdrew his hand. “Be careful yourself, or I’ll find another physician.”

  Weariness weighted him. “You should not have been injured at all.”

  “Are we back to that, Lord Edward?” She laid her hand on his arm. “Please, put it behind you. I have no regrets, and rest assured, I would do it again.”

  Rather than soothe, her touch provoked him to say, “I should have left you in Edinburgh.”

  She glanced down at the soundly sleeping Hannah. “The safety of this angel should be reason enough to keep me.”

  He remembered the fierce argument between her and Lord Lachlan. “That and your father’s threat to banish you to China.”

  “Speak no more of the duke of Ross. Tell me about Napier House and your life in Glasgow.”

  “You’ll find it dull and parts of my home ancient.”

  “In the carriage today, Christopher told me you were an inventor of machines. Where is your laboratory?”

  “In the old dungeon. I’ll put something on this and then let you get to sleep.”

  He treated the wound with a soothing salve, applied a bandage, and bound her arm to her chest. “That should do it.”

  “Have you a balm for bruised pride?”

  Would she never leave it be? He felt like a lad called to task for finishing his studies too quickly. “Will you please forget my unfortunate choice of words?”

  “Certainly. If you will forget the kiss.”

  He hadn’t played a courting game in years, and
certainly not with a woman as bold as she. “You’re setting another verbal trap, and I refuse to stumble into it. I should not have kissed you. I enjoyed it. I wish I had not.”

  “Will you promise never to kiss me again? Honestly?”

  “That depends on how long you stay in Glasgow.”

  “There’s no mystery to that. I’ll stay until I find the man or woman who is trying to kill you.”

  “A woman?”

  She yawned. “Women are more than capable of murder or its solicitation. Surely you’ve read about the Borgias, and everyone accepts the guilt of Lady Notorious of Kent.”

  In a fit of anger, the Kentish lady had poisoned all of her in-laws. “I’ll ponder it tomorrow.” He leaned down and kissed Hannah’s cheek. “Sleep well, Button.”

  Speechless at his tenderness and unfeigned affection for his daughter, Agnes closed her eyes. But she would not sleep, not until Auntie Loo awakened at the prearranged hour of two o’clock. Then Agnes would sleep for a few hours. From this day forward, until the assassin had been captured, neither of the children would be left alone. Staying awake posed no difficulty for Agnes; awareness of the kiss lingered, and she wanted to explore the feelings a little longer.

  * * *

  The next morning as Agnes lay on a canvas pallet beneath the Napier carriage, checking for signs of tampering, she was thinking about the intimacy. She was attracted to the earl of Cathcart. What woman would not find him appealing? But more was involved than admiration. She felt a rare comfort—even a promise of companionship in his presence.

  Why? What set Edward Napier apart from other men who had courted her? She didn’t know but suspected his vulnerability was the cause. That or the fact that she’d temporarily lost sight of her own mission: finding Virginia. On a favorable note, she could more easily conduct her inquiries from Glasgow. But she must forewarn him that if news of Virginia reached her, she’d leave immediately.

  With a last inspection of the undercarriage, she satisfied herself that no one had tampered with the conveyance. Elbowing her way under the vehicle had been easy; getting out proved much more difficult. After several tries, she gave up and called for Jamie, the driver, to help her.

  The pallet began to move, and she was pulled free, not by the driver but by Lord Edward himself. A very disgruntled Lord Edward.

  From her vantage point, being flat on her back, he looked too imposing. He wore riding boots, the distinctive Napier kilt, and a tailored frock coat. Were she a hand’s length closer, she’d have an unobstructed view of his manly assets. She fought a blush at the unladylike thought and looked away. Staring at his bootprints in the soft earth, she noticed a band of wear in those impressions. From experience she knew that stirrups had caused the marks on the soles of his boots.

  Encouraged by this small example of her special insightful gifts, she again gazed at him, only to find him surveying her unconventional attire. Before her eyes his sheer exasperation turned to outright fury.

  He reached for her.

  Prudence made her yield her hand.

  Through clenched teeth he said, “A wise choice, Agnes MacKenzie.”

  His tone sparked her defiance. To prove her fitness and capability, she pushed herself to her feet and even did a little hop. With her free hand, she dusted the leather breeches she had donned for the dirty job of examining the carriage.

  “You cannot even dress yourself in proper clothing, and yet you crawl about on the stable floor.”

  “I’ve only begun, and these clothes are perfectly suited to what I was doing.”

  “You cannot possibly be well enough to toil ’neath a carriage.”

  “Have you ever treated a woman with a bowshot wound?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then explain to me how is that you know precisely at which rate I or any other female heals from such a wound.”

  “I know because you are weaker physically.”

  “Weaker? I’d cherish seeing you give birth.”

  “Have you given birth?”

  In most circles the question would be considered slanderous, but she’d broached the subject herself. “Nay, but I held Lottie’s hand through the daylong ordeal. Travail you call it. Ha! ’Tis a flowery word coined by men to describe a tribulation they cannot fathom.”

  “Fathom this, Lady Agnes.” He pointed a finger at her. “If I ever again see you on your hands and knees while you are under my domain, I will save your father the price of passage and personally put you aboard the next ship to China.”

  He’d sprout gills and fins first, but telling him so would only heighten the dispute. She’d risked her life to save his. The challenge of finding his enemy beckoned, a task she was more than qualified to meet. Her father could curtail her movement, but he would not send her to China. What this Glaswegian nobleman would do was a mystery as interesting as the identity of his assassin.

  A graceful retreat was her only option. “You see me at my most foolhardy, Lord Edward.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  Good intentions fled. “May I suggest you concern yourself with helping me find out who tried to kill you?”

  He threw up his hands. “Driving a man to madness only scratches the surface of your abilities. Curse me for thinking Lord Lachlan exaggerated.”

  Agnes couldn’t help but say, “He often does.”

  “Not about you.” Lord Edward pivoted and yelled, “Jamie! Saddle my horse.”

  If he preferred a mount to the carriage, who was she to argue. She grasped his arm. “Have the farrier examine the harnesses.”

  “Why?”

  She gave him a crooked smile. “Because I doubt you’ll want me to do it.”

  “Your intuition grows by the moment.”

  The subtlety in his reply surprised her. The muscles in his arm felt like steel beneath her hand. “Why are you so angry?”

  He looked at her and sighed. “I do not know.”

  At least he was honest. For her part, she thought it best to change the subject. “I’ll summon back the farrier.”

  “How do you know that he will not sabotage my mount?”

  “Because he is trustworthy. He belongs to a respectable guild, and his wife thinks well of him. She also bakes the best oatcakes I’ve ever tasted.”

  “You know the farrier and his wife?”

  “As of half an hour ago, aye.”

  “You interviewed him—in his home? This morning?”

  “Of course. I always rise before dawn.”

  “You are no ordinary female, Agnes MacKenzie.”

  “Why, thank you, Lord Edward.”

  His expression grew blank, but an instant later he again became the determined earl of Cathcart. “Go and ready yourself. It’ll be nightfall before get home.”

  That said, he strolled toward the sorrel gelding that Agnes had earlier admired.

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, as Agnes secured her hat she heard footfalls in the private parlor. From the quick pace and lightness of the steps, she knew that children were approaching her door. She didn’t need her sister Sarah’s mathematical mind to suspect who was coming to visit.

  A knock sounded. “Come in,” she said.

  Christopher pushed Hannah through the door before him. The girl’s determined expression told Agnes that they’d come with a mission in mind. She’d seen it often on Lottie’s face, because Lottie couldn’t hide her feelings.

  Christopher’s eyes did meet Agnes’s, but then he searched the room until he located her traveling bag. “We came to see if you’re ready to go.” Moving toward it, he said, “I’ll carry this.”

  “Thank you, but I can manage it myself.”

  “Oh, but I must. If you carry it, my father will send you someplace faraway.”

  “Stay with us,” Hannah pleaded.

  “Did your father send you here?”

  “Nay, and I was hoping you’d say we happened upon each other and I was . . .” He shrugged.

&nb
sp; “Merely being a gentleman?”

  Nodding vigorously, he said, “Yes, exactly.”

  “ ’S’good. ’S’good.” Hannah clapped her hands and chirped, “Then Papa will be happy.”

  Considering how angry the earl had been at their last meeting, Agnes awaited his good humor. “What if we each carry a handle?”

  Christopher stared at his boot tips. “Any compromise on the matter will be seen as disobedience.”

  “Your father said that?”

  “Aye. I think you should know that he always gets his way.”

  “You discussed it with him?”

  “Of course.” Squaring his shoulders, he looked very much like his sire. “I argued my point most fiercely.”

  An exchange she hoped to witness one day, for it reminded her of discussions she’d had with the duke of Ross. “Where is your father now?”

  “He’s offering the farrier a position in our stables at Napier House.”

  She took great satisfaction in the news. With that came the realization that even unbeknownst to one another, the Napiers worked as a team. An admirable practice, she had to admit, and one she’d grown up with.

  Pleased with herself, she allowed Christopher to act the porter.

  He hefted the bag to his shoulder and motioned them toward the door. “On the way home we’ll play every game we know.”

  * * *

  Hannah was taking her third turn at “What’s in the big dipper” when the carriage approached a horseshoe-shaped drive that was lighted by at least a dozen post lamps.

  “Haggis and hashes!” the girl declared.

  “There’s no food in the sky. You’re a Piscinarian!”

  “Dishclout.”

  “Capricornified!”

  “Cribbage face!”

  “Haud yer wheesht!” Agnes stared out the window and counted to ten, hoping they would obey. Their good behavior had ended at the gates of Glasgow. Nudging had turned to pinching; separating them had brought on the name-calling.

  The carriage slowed. They passed a brick column bearing a shield emblazoned with a hand holding a crescent, a heraldic symbol Agnes recognized as that of the Napiers. Against the night sky she could discern the shape of an ancient stone tower rising behind the elegant Georgian entrance.