by Jackie Ivie
“Surely. This can’t be. Aunt...Margaret?”
“Niall. My...dearest nephew.”
“Well. Your presence must mean you’ve recovered your malady and can join us this eve. How…fortunate for all involved.”
“Oh! You are such a flirt, Niall. Always were, though. Weren’t you, lad?”
The woman laughed. Batted her eyelashes. She’d coated them with a mixture of soot and lamp-black. Little specks of black dusted the woman’s cheeks. Ainslee had to look away before she did something disastrous. Like snort the giggle she held back. Niall answered with a slow drawl.
“Please don’t say you mean that.”
“What?”
“Surely I had better taste.”
Lady Margaret pulled her head back. “I beg your pardon.”
Ainslee snorted. Both Niall and his aunt looked to her. Niall moved her slightly forward. She had no choice but to take a step.
“Have you met my wife? Ainslee? My aunt, Lady Margaret Blair.”
Ainslee watched the woman give her another once-over. The woman’s expression markedly changed.
“We’ve met.”
“I certainly hope you amend your opinion somewhat, Aunt Margaret, before I’m forced to take medieval measures over it.”
Something about Niall had altered, getting larger and more menacing. It matched the steely note in his voice.
“How so?” Lady Margaret enquired, without the slightest difference to her tone or physical stance.
“I refer to my newly wedded state. Ghastly is not the description I would put to it.”
“Oh. That. Of course na’. I was referring to...well. I was speaking of the temperature of this room. I had to request a servant to light the fire. This room is ever cold, even in high summer. Most of the rooms are, but especially this one.”
“I hadn’t noticed.”
“Such a thing should have been checked.”
“We’ve not had time to check temperatures outside our chambers, Aunt Margaret. We’re but newly wedded. Last night, in point of fact. And I’ve made certain my wife isn’t cold. Haven’t I, sweet?”
The duke turned to her and bent his head. Ainslee’s heart thudded sharply. There wasn’t anything she could do to prevent it. She glanced up at him, but he was looking over her at something beyond.
“Well. It still should have been seen to afore requesting we assemble here.”
“Good point. Be certain to make a note of that, my love.”
Another endearment rolled off his tongue, stalling her breathing without any effort on his part. It didn’t match his expression. He had his teeth tightly set, or something else that sent a nerve into prominence along one side.
“You are not listening to a word I say, Niall.”
He faced his aunt again, hauling Ainslee closer to his side with the move. “Truly? How...odd. I do hope you’ll excuse us. We have other guests.”
“I am referring to proper etiquette. A real hostess always makes certain of her guest’s comfort, afore the event…not during.”
“Perhaps you should wear more.”
“Perhaps you should have wed the correct bride,” his aunt retorted.
There was a large gasping sound. Ainslee hoped it hadn’t come from her. Everyone had gone completely silent with the same inhaled breath, while somewhere out in the halls something fell, sending an echo into the room. Niall was as still as a statue, but he appeared larger somehow. His answer was in his deeper tone. There was a threatening thread beneath the words.
“If I’m not mistaken, the estate probably has something called a Dower House. I’m sure it’s musty. It may even require a bit of work, but I believe we can get it habitable within the week. I’d suggest you prepare yourself.”
“The...Dower House?”
Lady Margaret’s voice trembled.
“You heard me. It’s meant for the widowed duchess when a new one takes her place. It’s not usually given over to poor relations, but this isn’t a usual event, is it? I’d suggest you pack. And I’d take thicker gowns. The one you’re wearing would let any draft through.”
Lady Blair could be immune to the duke’s tone. She laughed, as if she wasn’t facing banishment.
“Oh, Niall. You are such a tease. This is the latest fashion from London. Surely you recognize it. You were just there. My maids ordered me all the fashion journals. They assure me this is what all the highest ladies of society wear.”
“Haute Couture requires the proper figure, dearest aunt. Perhaps your employees failed to mention that part,” Niall replied.
“Well!”
Ainslee was in shock. Her legs were trembling. Her fingers clenched on the duke’s arm to prevent her knees from giving out.
“But there won’t be many to note your fashion chops, or lack thereof, in the Dower House. Now. We really do need to move on, Aunt. We’ve other guests.”
Lady Blair stopped him with a quick move. Her body blocked their progress.
“Surely you are na’ serious? You expect me to live in that monstrosity? The Dower House?”
“Actually, I believe I’m merely offering the Dower House, should you fail to alter your current opinion of my wedded state. ’Tis a fair alternative. Would you like me to elaborate?”
“What of Garrick?”
“What of him?”
“Have you forgotten? He’s your heir. Are you sending him away, too?”
“Garrick’s a grown man. He can live where-all he likes. And I think...isn’t there something called a Grand Tour? Maybe I should send him on that. Although...wait. It’s 1803, isn’t it? That means Napoleon has restarted his war. That puts a damper on things in Europe. But there’s always London.”
“What of me?”
Lachlan joined them from the duke’s other side, acting as if the drama of the moment wasn’t happening. Maybe it wasn’t. Perhaps only Ainslee felt as if she’d taken a blow to the belly.
“Ah. You, too? Why not? London doesn’t have anything I want. Sounds like I’ll be rather busy here. As your mother just pointed out, I’ve a lack of heirs. You and your brother have been laboring under the false aspiration of inheriting for long enough. I’ve a wife now. Following that event, there are usually babies. Lots and lots of them.”
Ainslee had been wrong. It wasn’t a blow to the belly. It was higher and grabbed her heart. And then squeezed it. Babies? He was talking about creating babies?
With her?
Oh, dear God. It was play-acting, but she felt faint. Her hand gripped to his arm like talons.
“Well, Aunt Margaret?” An upward glance showed Niall’s attention still fully on his aunt.
“Well what?”
“You ready to proffer an apology?”
The woman pulled her face out of the scrunched look and attempted a smile in Ainslee’s direction.
“I spoke hastily…your graces. You have my sincerest congratulations on your...union.”
The words were false. Filled with an underlying acidic tone. Ainslee recognized it. She’d heard Lady Blair use it before.
“I believe it’s proper to curtsey when speaking to a duchess, Aunt Margaret. Unless one’s position in society is of a higher status...and that would only be a member of the royal family. Which you are not. Am I right?”
Oh no.
He wouldn’t.
He didn’t.
Lady Blair would never forgive such an insult.
Ainslee’s mouth opened and then shut and then opened again. Nothing came out. The duke must’ve known what she was about, for he sent her a look that instantly quelled any utterance. Then he turned to watch Lady Blair lift her diaphanous skirts and sink into a curtsey. Ainslee’s gaze kept darting from his aunt to Niall. The skin beneath her face paint was a purplish tone. Niall didn’t have an expression that Ainslee could decipher. He looked hard. It matched the rest of him. There wasn’t a gentle look to any portion of him.
“Well done, Aunt Margaret. Now. You truly must excuse us. We’re negle
cting our other guests. Come, darling.”
He pulled Ainslee’s with him. She managed a step. Another. She was having trouble walking?
“You’re shaking,” he said softly.
“I…know.”
“Buck up, love. We girded the dragon in her lair. And just look. We’re both still breathing. Nobody is bleeding. It wasn’t that bad. Admit it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Love.
The word carried a hint of emotion when said with such a depth of voice! She’d been wrong. It wasn’t her knees or her heart having an issue. Her throat closed off with the knot that formed in it.
“Would you like some champagne?”
She shook her head. It was the best she could manage.
“You really need to cease shaking. Someone is bound to notice. They might even think it’s me causing it.”
It is you!
“You’re not holding it against me, are you?”
“Wh…at?” The word was split it two, coming through lips so cold, they probably looked blue.
He bent toward her, whispering to her earlobe. The spot sparked. Tingled. And absolutely terrified.
“Requiring my aunt to show proper respect and abeyance. I won’t allow you to be treated as a pariah in your own home. Come along, Ainslee, it is not that frightening.”
“I’m...na’ frightened.”
“You’re shaking. Still.”
“I’m sorry.”
“In a moment, I’m going to haul you over my shoulder and return to our chambers with you. I may even jog.”
She pulled back and stared up at him before realizing that mistake. She darted her glance away. Toward the wall. The window. The doorway. Anywhere else felt safer. She didn’t dare lock gazes with him.
“You don’t believe me? Oh, come on. They already think I’m lustful and uncivilized. Might as well convince them. Besides…it’s a better alternative than allowing everyone to watch your reaction at the moment.”
“My…reaction?”
That idea was too horrid to even consider. The way he affected her was obvious to everyone? She didn’t know what to do. He’d championed her, called her all sorts of endearments, and added to it with that announcement of how he wanted to create babies with her. She was still reeling. Shocked. Awed. Stunned. Dazed. She was terrified of the giddy, effervescent feeling.
She didn’t know how to hide any of it.
“Try not to show it. Can we agree on that much?”
She nodded.
“I’ll attempt to stay away. Should be easier once they announce the sup. We’re on opposite ends of the table. The room seats twenty. Per side. You’re practically in the next village. You ready?”
“For what?”
His shoulders slumped slightly. And then went rigid again. “Helping me with this! For the love of—! You might at least look at me. Maybe give a lover-like expression with it?”
He didn’t know what he asked!
“Come along, Ainslee, play fair. Attempt a smile or something. You’re ruining a really great scene, and I’m trying to portray undying love here. The least you could do is act your part.”
Ainslee looked up at him, and couldn’t look away. The entire room about them blurred as it seemed to slowly rotate about them. Everyone disappeared into the kaleidoscope of form and color. There was just the duke and her, suspended somehow, his hand holding hers atop his arm, his hair pulled back, revealing his handsomeness. He had such intense gray eyes, sometimes as warm as a string of candlelit Scot gray pearls; at others, as cold and glossy as molten silver. They drew her, mesmerized. Made it impossible to hide what she felt for him. She might as well be floating.
She may not know much of love, but she knew she was in it. Deeply. Fully. Forever.
“Your graces? The dinner is ready.”
The announcement intruded sharply, breaking the spell. Niall blinked and then shook his head slightly. He looked almost as surprised as she felt. And then he winked.
“Much better. I’m almost fooled. If you weren’t still shaking, that is.”
She was listening but didn’t comprehend much. It had something to do with the feel of his hand still holding hers atop his arm. The closeness of his chest rising and falling with each breath right before her. The way a stray lock of hair slid down his forehead. The way he licked his lips...
“Perhaps now, no one will guess how much you abhor me.”
“Abhor…you?”
“You have a better word for it? Come on. You’re seated between the vicar and Lachlan. I don’t envy your conversation.” He steered her around the end of the table and down one side, and then waited while a footman pulled out her chair.
“Niall?”
He froze in place, whether at the use of his given name, or the frantic way she said it, his hand lifting hers from his sleeve.
“Yes?”
“I don’t—”
Ainslee stopped with her mouth still open to refute it. To tell him the truth. She didn’t abhor him at all. She loved him! Reality flared up from somewhere to save her from an embarrassment beyond comprehension. What was she thinking? Doing? She couldn’t blurt out something so personal and private! Something he’d detest hearing.
She’d rather die.
The large form of the vicar settled his girth into the chair to her right, making the wood squeak. Lachlan had arrived as well, and stood behind the duke, waiting. Ainslee shut her lips, shook her head, and dropped into her chair with an inelegant plop.
He put a kiss atop her fingers before releasing her hand. She watched his kilt sway as he walked to his own seat, so far away she wouldn’t hear anything he said. She could barely see the top of his head over the table centerpiece. This dinner was going to feel interminable.
But it was her doing.
She’d orchestrated it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“Well. You certainly set the servant’s hall a-twitter this evening, Neal.”
Neal looked down at Mason. The man was working at the fastenings of his ruffled jabot. They’d already removed his weapons, boots, socks, jacket, kilt, cuff studs and then the cuffs. The coiled bits of material sat atop a bureau at approximately Mason’s eye level. Menswear needed an update, but this Highland wear was really over-the-top. He’d thought Scots just tossed on a kilt, grabbed a sword, maybe dabbled on some blue paint, and voila! They were ready for anything. Shirts were optional. So were socks and boots.
Shows what he’d known.
“Really?” he finally answered. “Why’s that?”
The valet had finished with the jabot and probably would have started on Neal’s buttons, if he hadn’t gotten there first. Neal’s fingers flew down the shirt-front opening without looking as the valet watched him.
“Why...the way you handled the situation.”
“What situation are we referring to?”
“Lady Margaret will probably stay in her wing for a fortnight after the set-down you gave her.”
“That old bag?”
The valet snorted, and then coughed. He was probably trying not to laugh.
“Please don’t tell me I used to flirt with that woman. Just. Don’t. Good God. I mean. Surely I didn’t.”
“Well...you have changed markedly since your accident, Neal. I am na’ the lone one to have noted it.”
“For the better, I hope.”
“Perhaps.”
“Oh, come on, Mason. As far as I’m concerned the old me was a complete moron.”
“Moron?”
“You know. Dunce. Dork. Fool. Idiot. Twit.”
“Oh. I wouldn’t go that far, Neal. You had your moments.”
“Like flirting with an old woman who should know better than to wear next to nothing when she possesses a stomach-churning figure? Come on, here. That takes balls. And with her attire, I could almost spot them.”
Mason’s coughing fit lasted longer this time. Neal shrugged the shirt off, hung it from a post on his shaving stand, and reac
hed for another floor-length robe that rested atop his bed. These robes were all constructed of the same basic plaid color scheme, but this one had a black satin belt, and the same material for a lining. It slid onto his skin with a cool sensation that immediately started warming. It felt deliciously decadent.
“Lady Margaret has been the chatelaine of Castle Straith for many years. You’ve been here four days. I believe you flattered her as a method of keeping the peace.”
“Oh. I see. I was doing the ‘discretion is the better part of valor’ thing.”
“Oh. Neal. You know your Shakespeare.”
“Doesn’t everyone? So. I was keeping the peace, huh? I suppose I trusted Garrick for the same reason?”
“Now that, I can na’ say.”
“You know...now that I think on it, Garrick wasn’t at the supper tonight. I wonder what that portends.”
“Perhaps he’s come down with the same ailment as his mum.”
“Oh.” Neal snickered. “We can but hope. Right. Well, then. I don’t think you need to wait around tonight. You might as well seek your own bed.”
“You are certain?”
Neal walked to the door leading to the salon that led to Ainslee’s room. Rotated the handle. Pulled the door open. Turned back around to address his servant. Spoke.
“Well. Yeah. The duchess and I have other plans. We are newlyweds, you know.”
Mason chuckled. “Verra good, Neal. I shall wait for your call in the morn.”
“Good night, Mason.”
Neal stood in the doorway and waited as the valet puttered around, retrieving the discarded clothing. And then he started whistling. Neal sighed. Walked into the connecting room. Pulled the door shut behind him. He eyed the hard sofa he’d fallen from last night. Looked across the room to Ainslee’s door. And had an immediate reaction from his dick.
Great.
He shoved down on it as he walked past the hard sofa. Let up a little. That didn’t work. His problem was pretty hard to miss. Neal pulled both sides of his robe closer. Re-tied his belt. Looked down. Frowned. He could really use a sporran about now. Ainslee might not welcome the sight of him in her bedchamber as it was, but the last thing he wanted was her to catch sight of him and do something maidenly.
