My Highland Lord (Highland Lords)

by Scott, Tarah

  Kiernan released her and when he took the necklace from the box, Phoebe stood stock still while he walked around behind her. As she had the first night he’d kidnapped her, she wore her golden hair up. He settled the necklace around her neck. The cold stones seemed to seer her flesh, to scream faker.

  While closing the clasp, he leaned forward and whispered, “One year, Phoebe. It would be wrong for me not to give you what is rightfully yours.” He grasped her shoulders and turned her, then reached for the earrings. Kiernan clipped one on each ear, then took a step back and surveyed her.

  “Perfect. Have you a cloak?”

  “In the hallway.”

  “Then we are ready?” Kiernan surveyed the group.

  “Oh, yes, indeed, sir,” Lady Albery said, dabbing at the moisture in the corner of her eyes.

  “My dear.” Lord Albery retrieved a handkerchief from his breast pocket and gave it to her.

  She took the handkerchief, again dabbed at her eyes, then pulled Phoebe into a hug. “Phoebe, my dear.” Lady Albery straightened, then paused and touched the necklace. “Breathtaking. You are most fortunate.” She blushed. “Do forgive me, everyone. I hadn’t realized how this would affect me.”

  Phoebe frowned. “You knew of this?”

  “Of course. Lord Ashlund informed us he would be presenting you with the family jewels tonight. I couldn't be more pleased.”

  Phoebe looked at her uncle. “And you, sir, are you pleased?”

  He gave a nod. “I am.”

  Kiernan took her arm. “Shall we go?”

  She looked at him. “It seems I am at your full command.”

  Or was that at his beck and call?

  *****

  "You received my letter?" Ty's mother asked as they sat on the couch in her chambers' anteroom the following morning.

  "I did."

  "My God," she exclaimed, "can you imagine? The marquess kidnapped Phoebe."

  No, he couldn't imagine.

  "Have you seen her yet?" Lady Albery asked.

  "I only just arrived and you waylaid me before I could find her."

  "Ty, what are we to do? Albery has ordered her to marry him. To make matters worse, Ashlund gave her his mother's jewels last night. Emeralds and diamonds."

  "Worth a fortune, no doubt," Ty commented.

  "Yes," she replied. "You must take action immediately. She can't marry him."

  Ty eyed his mother. "That's a new morning dress you're wearing. Madam Bellievau, if I’m not mistaken."

  "Well, yes," she said in a fluster. "This is one of her creations. You always did have a good eye."

  "That dress must have cost a king's ransom. What does Albery think of that expenditure?"

  "He can't balk over this," she said in a rush. "I must dress well. After all, I am the wife of a viscount."

  "So he has yet to see the bill."

  "I didn't ask you here to talk about my wardrobe," she shot back.

  "But you did. I tell you, madam, that when I come in possession of Phoebe's money, I no more intend to finance your whims than does your husband."

  "So you haven't given up hope. Oh, Ty, I can't tell you how relieved I am."

  "Mother," he began.

  "Don't discipline me, Humphrey. I am quite capable of staying within a budget."

  "On the contrary, you have never even seen a budget."

  "Never mind that, you must make haste if you are to marry her before the marquess."

  "I have no intention of marrying her just yet."

  His mother's eyes widened in horror. "How are we to survive if you don't?"

  "You will survive quite well," he said. "As for me, I have matters in hand."

  A speculative gleam lit her eyes. "Clive mentioned that the marquess might meet with an accident."

  "Clive will do well to mind his own business."

  "Still, isn't it taking a chance to wait?" she went on as if not hearing him. "How long would you have to wait before—"

  "No more expensive dresses, Mother, and more important, no more gambling. I don’t want your husband learning of your indiscretions—which includes Clive." She opened her mouth, but he cut her off. "Defy me, and I'll leave you to drown in your debt." He rose, dropped a kiss on her cheek, then left.

  Ty paused in the hallway, outside the door. So Clive was cultivating his own plans, despite Ty's warning to stay out of the affair.

  Perfect.

  *****

  Phoebe stared down at the card sent by Lord Redgrave saying how much he was looking forward to seeing her tomorrow. Her two-day reprieve had ended. Tomorrow evening, the Duke and Duchess of Ashlund were hosting an intimate dinner party of one hundred or so of their and her uncle's closest friends in order to officially announce her and Kiernan's engagement. Redgrave's note was a warning to be there.

  Guilt tightened her stomach. The duke and duchess were making a sincere effort to draw her into their family. She liked them. Heaven help her, she liked Kiernan—more than liked, if she was honest. How would she face the duke and duchess if she became the instrument of their son's downfall? How would she face them even if she simply cried off from the wedding? One way or another, things weren't going to end well.

  The pad of feet on the carpet snapped her attention in the direction of the door. She groaned. Not another visitor. The endless stream of well-wishers her aunt had allowed into the house had become a nuisance. Before she could think of an excuse to deny her aunt's latest visitor, the door opened and her cousin entered.

  "Ty," she said with relief. "I didn't know you were back in London."

  He crossed to the couch where she sat and lowered himself onto the cushion beside her. "You sound glad to see me."

  She laughed. "I am, of course, but I'm just as glad you're not another gossip monger come to see for herself how it's possible that the daughter of a traitor snagged a marquess."

  He draped an arm over the top of the couch. "As bad as all that?"

  She grimaced. "Worse. How have you been? I haven't seen you in some time."

  "The damn property Albery has in Coventry is giving me trouble," he replied. "I've had a devil of a time with the carpenter hired to reconstruct the walls in the blue bedroom."

  Phoebe frowned. "I was there three years ago and didn't notice that house was in such disrepair."

  He shook his head. "Wood rot. I only just discovered it myself."

  He couldn’t be any more surprised by the wood rot than she could by his caring about the house. Was her cousin finally accepting responsibility for the property that would one day likely be his?

  "I understand congratulations are in order," he said, and she was even more startled by the brotherly expression on his face.

  "Oh. Yes, thank you."

  His brow lifted. "You don’t seem ecstatic."

  "As I said, the never ending visitors have grown tiresome."

  "That'll end soon enough," he said.

  "Not nearly soon enough."

  "Surely that can't have you so disheartened? What's wrong? Has something happened with Ashlund? Is he getting cold feet?"

  Embarrassment rushed through her at the realization that Ty must know what had transpired between her and Lord Ashlund. Of course, that made sense. Her uncle might not tell him, but his mother, her aunt, would.

  "Not at all," Phoebe replied with light airs. "If anything, he's too ardent."

  "If he's giving you trouble, I'll pay him a visit."

  She snorted. "If he gave me any trouble, his father would deal with him." Damn the duke.

  Ty scrutinized her. "You're not keen on his suit."

  "You're aware that I am not interested in marriage."

  He shrugged. "I knew you weren't interested in any of your recent suitors, but surely you knew marriage was inevitable?"

  "I did not."

  "Ahh," he intoned. "You believed you would be left to amuse yourself with your inheritance."

  "Why not?" she replied irritably, then released a sigh. "Forgive me, Ty. Yo
u're being kind, and I'm not."

  "Ashlund is filthy rich. How could he possibly need your paltry fifteen thousand pound yearly income?"

  "He said I could keep the money," Phoebe replied.

  "There you have it. Once your new husband has his heir, you'll be free to go on as you always planned." Ty rose. "I'll see you tomorrow night."

  Frustration welled up in her, but she nodded.

  "Chin up, Cousin," he said. "You love a good party. Especially of late." With that he was gone.

  Phoebe stared at the door after he'd closed it, wondering what had inspired her cousin's familial interest in her, and what he meant by 'especially of late.'

  *****

  Kiernan looked up from the article in the Satirist. The newspaper wasn't his regular read, but he'd found it with his morning mail, sent from someone signed A Friend. He could well imagine the friend was any number of London society women who delighted in vicious gossip. Even a so-called gentleman or two might be the culprit. Either way, by now, all of London society would have read or been told about the article.

  Regan took a swallow of coffee, then set the cup on its saucer and picked a piece of bacon off the plate that sat alongside a platter of scrambled eggs. "Miss Wallington is going to be none to happy with this turn of events."

  Kiernan set the newspaper on the table beside his breakfast plate. "News of our time together in Scotland was bound to reach London. She was foolish to think otherwise."

  "True. But one wonders who filled in the intimate details."

  "Yes." Kiernan looked at the paper and the headline, London Heiress kidnapped by the Marquess of Ashlund.

  "Who do you think sold the story?" Regan asked.

  "No one in my household," Kiernan said. "It must be someone in Phoebe's house."

  "Her coachman, Calders?"

  "Perhaps, but it's just as possible one of her other servants got their greedy hands on my father's letter to Lord Albery."

  As if Kiernan had summoned the duke, he appeared in the doorway.

  Regan rose. "Your Grace."

  "Sit down, Regan," he said, his eyes on Kiernan, "What is it?" he asked as he seated himself at the head of the table.

  Kiernan passed the newspaper to him and poured coffee for his father, then refilled his and Regan's cups.

  A moment later, his father folded, then laid the paper on the table. "A year's engagement is unreasonable. Every move you and Miss Wallington make will be scrutinized."

  "Phoebe has expressed an interest in returning to Scotland," Kiernan said with caution. "We won't be under the critical eye of London society."

  "Ashlund will be little better, and," he added when Kiernan started to reply, "Brahan Seer is out of the question."

  "You've become a mind reader, Father." Though he knew his father was right. It didn't matter that Brahan Seer was crawling with servants, soldiers, and villagers, all of British Society would believe that he had whisked Phoebe off to the castle in order to continue their affair as portrayed in the Satirist.

  "I can't force her to the altar," Kiernan said.

  The duke reached for the platter of eggs. "A shame you didn't consider that when you forced your way into her carriage."

  "I know. It's too bad, really. When I saw her at the party that night, I fully intended to make her acquaintance. Had she not been in that coach, I would have pursued her."

  "The way you pursued her the other night at the Halsey ball?" The duke spooned eggs onto his plate.

  "Damnation, Father." Kiernan broke off at sight of his father's brown eyes lifting to meet his. "What would you have me do?" Kiernan asked.

  "You may begin by not adding fuel to that fire." He motioned toward the paper and set the plate on the table.

  "Then you might consider hiring a chaperone."

  His father looked at him, nonplussed. "You're no rake."

  "No. But I won’t lie. Phoebe…excites me." Kiernan winced when his father's jaw tightened. "I won't make love to her until we're married," he said. His father's expression turned speculative, and Kiernan shook his head. "No. I haven't taken that liberty—and neither has she offered."

  "She likely won't."

  "I seem to recall that didn't stop you with Elise." The words were out of his mouth and even Regan stilled. "Father—"

  "That was a different time and a different place," the duke cut in—to Kiernan's surprise, without rancor. "And as you know, not all my choices were the wisest."

  "I'm sorry," Kiernan said. "I shouldn't have said that."

  "Nay," he replied. "But I knew you someday would. You might ask yourself why that time was now."

  *****

  Her Grace, the Duchess of Ashlund, insisted that Phoebe avail herself of her dressmaker and Phoebe agreed. She had to choose her battles between now and the time she parted company with the Ashlunds, and she had, after all, been ordered to agree to the marriage.

  Phoebe stepped from the dressmaker's shop behind the duchess, who was resolute that she be present for the final fitting. She had supervised the design of whitework embroidery with sleeves of puffed and ruffled mancherons, and had chosen the delicate ruffles for the skirt. Elise MacGregor had exquisite taste.

  The duchess pointedly ignored her guard Niall, who stood beside their carriage on the bustling London side street, and turned to Phoebe. "I'm relieved that is over with," she said.

  Phoebe laughed. "I was afraid you would be offended if I said that."

  "Not at all. I despise fittings—even when I love the dress. I imagine the gown will arrive at your uncle's home before you do."

  "Oh," Phoebe said, and Elise laughed.

  "I don't intend on keeping you out all afternoon. Mrs. Gilly will be quick about the final touches on the gown and will have it delivered immediately. Do you like sweets?"

  "Why, yes," Phoebe replied.

  "Good. There's a confectionary nearby. Well worth the walk. I visit every chance I get." The duchess didn't look as though she indulged in sweets and Phoebe said so. Elise patted her arm. "You and I are going to get along very well. Niall," she said, "Phoebe and I plan to walk to Madam Araquette's."

  "Aye, Your Grace," he said, and motioned to the driver.

  The driver snapped the reins and the carriage started forward as Elise and Phoebe began walking, with Niall following on foot.

  "So, tell me the truth," Elise began, "what do you think of marrying Kiernan?"

  Phoebe had wondered when she would ask this question. "I have agreed to a year's engagement. You might ask me six months from now or perhaps even nine months." Honesty was the best policy—as long as it was possible.

  "If you find in the year you can't tolerate him, do you plan to call off the wedding?"

  "I imagine few women would not be able to tolerate Lord Ashlund."

  "He's a good man," Elise said. "But that alone isn't enough for marriage." She lapsed into silence for a moment. "You do seem to find him attractive." Phoebe cut her gaze onto her, and Elise said, "I have eyes."

  Phoebe returned her attention to the sidewalk. "He is a…" A couple passed them and she felt her cheeks heat.

  "A fine specimen of masculinity?" Elise finished.

  Phoebe thought she heard Niall groan, and could only manage, "Indeed."

  The carriage stopped behind two other carriages that had halted to let other vehicles pass at the intersection, but Niall kept pace with them. Amidst a hackney driver shouting at a carriage driver that had veered too close, Elise said, "It's all right to admit you like him."

  "I-well, yes, Your Grace," Phoebe sputtered.

  They reached the intersection. "Turn right," Elise instructed. They started down the block and she added, "I should warn you, the MacGregor men are relentless. The only way he will give up the chase is if you can prove you…dislike him."

  Or if I denounce him as a traitor, Phoebe thought, but said, "I suppose if I don’t dislike him, I may not want to call off the wedding."

  "Exactly," Elise said. "And I don't blame y
ou one bit for wanting to be sure he's worth having. Some of England's most respected husbands care nothing for pleasing their wives."

  Phoebe looked at her. What was she saying?

  "I suspect that isn't the case with Kiernan." The duchess looked Phoebe in the eye. "After all, the apple doesn't usually fall far from the tree."

  Phoebe stared. Was the Duchess of Ashlund saying that the Duke of Ashlund was a good lover; therefore, his son would be as well?

  Elise cast a glance behind her and Phoebe couldn't help following suit. Niall had fallen back a few paces. Elise leaned into her and whispered, "The damage has already been done to your reputation. If you have any doubts about the marriage, it's only right that you investigate his suitability."

  "Investigate?" Phoebe repeated dumbly. "Suitability?"

  "Try out the goods beforehand," Elise prodded.

  Phoebe recalled Kiernan's words the night of the Halsey soiree, "I will pursue you, court you, and, lastly, seduce you.” By heavens, if she didn't know better, she would swear Kiernan had colluded with his stepmother.

  "I see," Elise said.

  Phoebe jarred back to the moment.

  "Perhaps your investigation is already underway," she said. "Or…," her gaze turned speculative, "Kiernan has begun a campaign of his own."

  Phoebe realized her cheeks were flaming. "Ma'am," she began, but Elise cut her off.

  "Here we are." She entered the shop with Phoebe following on unsteady legs. "There isn't a thing here you won't love," Elise said. She stepped up to the counter where various pastries were displayed.

  The petite, middle-aged woman behind the counter looked up. "Your Grace," she said with a slight French accent. "How lovely to see you."

  "And you, Madam Araquette. How are you?"

  Phoebe watched them, lost in the wonder of what sort of duchess suggested that her stepson's future wife should try out the goods beforehand. Were Scots that…loose?

  "Why, Miss Wallington."

  Phoebe turned at hearing Jane Halsey's voice. "Lady Halsey."

  Lady Wilmington stood alongside her with a look in her eye that Phoebe didn't like. Jane, too, looked self-satisfied and Phoebe had the sneaking suspicion she was about to discover why.

  "Lady Wilmington," Phoebe said with a deferential cant of her head.

  "You look well," Lady Wilmington replied. "I suppose a Scottish marquess can do that for a woman."