The muffled strains of a harp reached her ears as she moved away from the linden tree and sank onto a nearby wrought-iron bench. Why ever had she agreed to come to London? This was madness; she didn’t belong here. Yet these people were her blood, her kin. How could she deny them? Especially the brother she’d always longed for?
The breeze stirred, balmy and velvety against her much-too-bare skin, and Brenna shivered despite the warmth. She glanced down at her gown in irritation. Why, she might as well be out in her nightclothes. She knew she’d been gone far too long, that she should force herself to return to the party. Yet she was loath to leave this peaceful spot where the moon and stars kept her company, as they always had.
The sharp crack of a snapping twig startled her, and she sprang to her feet. Pounding footsteps seemed to appear from nowhere, gaining speed, and Brenna took two long strides toward the house before slamming into something solid. The breath knocked from her lungs, she tumbled to the lawn with a yelp.
“Oof, what the devil?” a decidedly male voice ground out beside her.
Brenna blinked hard, attempting to regain her equilibrium.
“Dear Lord, it’s you again,” the voice said.
Brenna raised her gaze to find the very same tall, blond man she’d encountered earlier that day in the parlor now standing before her in the moonlight.
“I say, miss, are you hurt?” He crouched down beside her, his brows drawn in obvious concern. “You must forgive me. I didn’t see you there in the shadows.”
She shook her head. “Nay, I’m not hurt. Just a bit winded, is all.”
“Thank God.” His gaze drifted down, toward the broad expanse of her décolletage.
With a gasp, she tugged up the neckline, fearing she’d exposed far more than decorum allowed. Ridiculous frock.
Mercifully, he lifted his gaze. “Here,” he said, reaching for her hand, “let me help you to that bench over there.” He tipped his head toward the same bench she’d occupied only moments before.
Gaining her feet a bit unsteadily, Brenna swayed against him.
He put one arm about her shoulders, steadying her. “You must sit. No use fainting here among the roses. Thorns, you know. Messy business, thorns.”
Brenna couldn’t help but laugh. “I assure you, ‘tis no chance of my fainting. I’m not so delicate as that, Mister...ahem...I seem to have forgotten your name, sir.” What was it? Rosewood? Rosemont?
“Rosemoor,” he supplied. “The Honorable Colin Rosemoor, at your service, Lady Brenna Maclachlan. As you can see, I have not forgotten yours.”
A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “You’ve quite a memory, then, haven’t ye? After all, it has been what? Seven, perhaps eight, hours since our last encounter? Surely no more than that.”
“Ah, you jest. You must be well recovered, then. Here, sit.” He led her to the bench, where she plopped herself down rather inelegantly. His gaze raked over her, his eyes full of unmasked curiosity. “You truly are his sister, aren’t you? Hugh Ballard’s, I mean.”
Brenna nodded. “Aye, it would seem so.”
“Tell me, what proof have they? Besides the striking resemblance, that is.”
“Proof enough.” Brenna’s hand involuntarily moved to her thigh.
“Oh, yes. Ballard mentioned a deathbed confession. Still, I don’t understand how anyone could identify a woman they hadn’t seen since infancy.”
“Nay, I don’t suppose they could. Yet, circumstances seem to prove I am indeed their daughter.” The birthmark, of course. How many girls born on the ninth of October in any given year had a birthmark in the shape of a fleur-de-lis on their right thigh? Aye, it was proof enough.
“Your limb, is it injured?” He knelt down beside her, peering at her with knitted brows.
“Whatever do ye mean?” Her whole body tensed. He was only inches away from her—so close that she could smell his masculine scent above the floral notes clinging to the breeze. Tobacco and brandy mingling with sandalwood and leather. Pure male, and it made her a little dizzy.
“There,” he said, indicating her right thigh.
Had she been touching her birthmark?
“Are you certain you didn’t injure yourself? Perhaps I should carry you back inside.” He rose to tower above her, reaching for her elbow.
“Nay, I assure ye I am unhurt. I...” She swallowed hard. “’Tis just a wee twinge. Perhaps ye should return to the house, Mr. Rosemoor.”
“Colin,” he corrected. “And not till I’m certain of your well-being, Lady...” He trailed off, rubbing his chin. “What shall I call you? Is it Lady Maclachlan? Lady Brenna? Lady Margaret?”
“I suppose it depends upon who ye ask. I would say Brenna, Lady Maclachlan, as I supplied ye earlier. But if ye were to ask Lord and Lady Danville, they would insist on Lady Margaret, I suppose.”
“But if you aren’t yet wed, how can you be Lady Maclachlan? Wouldn’t you be Lady Brenna, just as you would be Lady Margaret?”
“For barbarians, the Scots’ laws are much more favorable to women than the English. My father—or the man I always supposed was my father—died without a male heir. He was a younger son, and our land, our estate, is unentailed. When he died, he willed his entire property to me. I am the Maclachlan of Glenbroch now, a position I was raised to.”
“You mean to say that your father raised you to inherit his estate? He instructed you in its management?”
“’Tis exactly what I’m telling ye, Mr. Rosemoor. Must ye sound so shocked? Ye canna believe a woman can run an estate as well as a man?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t say that.”
“But ye thought it, did ye not?”
“Perhaps I did.” He leaned indolently against the tree, one boot resting against the trunk. “It isn’t a woman’s place,” he said, carelessly brushing a blade of grass from his trousers.
“What, then, is a woman’s place? If ye don’t mind my asking, Mr. Rosemoor.”
He shrugged. “Well, to run a household, I suppose. To serve as a hostess. And, well...”
“Aye, go on. To serve as a decoration? An accessory? A woman should serve no more useful a purpose than that?”
“I didn’t say that.” He arched one brow, and Brenna saw a muscle in his jaw flicker.
“But ye thought it, no doubt.”
“That’s an unfair conclusion, based on our limited acquaintance. In fact, I thought no such thing. I can think of several ladies who have earned my esteem and admiration for their intelligence and competency alone, my sister Jane being one of them.”
“Then I must apologize, sir.” She shook her head, feeling foolish. “Ye must forgive me, as tonight has been rather trying, to say the least. I seem to be a source of disapproval for Lady Brandon, and—”
“Is that why you are out here, all alone? Has that dragon breathed her venomous fire on you already?”
Brenna laughed—the image was fitting, indeed. “’Tis safe to say she does not see me as fit company for her lovely guests. And what of ye? What brings ye out here, seeking naught but the moon for company?”
“It’s rather bright tonight, isn’t it, for a half-moon?”
“’Tis bright, indeed, but it’s not yet a half-moon. Give it two days time.”
“Really?” He turned and looked up at the sky beyond the linden branches. “I say, you’re right. There, near the bottom half—”
“The lower quadrant. Precisely.” She rose to stand beside him. “’Tis beautiful, isn’t it? On such a clear night as this.”
“It is. Look at that brilliant star above it.”
“‘Tis a planet. Jupiter.”
“Is that so?” he asked, squinting at the sky. “A planet? Fascinating.” He shifted his weight, his forearm just barely grazing her shoulder. “Anyway, it would appear that you and I are out here for much the same reason. But instead of the disapproval of one dragon, I’ve the disapproval of the entire ton. In the course of a day, I seem to have lost everything—my reputat
ion, my standing in society, my club affiliation, and the affections of the woman I’d planned to marry.” His mouth curved into a frown. “What do you say to that?”
“I say ye must exaggerate. It canna be as bad as all that, I should think.”
“I’m afraid it is as bad as all that,” he answered with a shrug.
She peered up at him curiously. If it were true, his misdeeds must be egregious, indeed. Yet her instincts told her that he was an honorable man, a trustworthy man. Something about his eyes... Yes, she felt safe in his company. Were her instincts so clouded, so marred?
“Whatever have ye done to earn such misfortune, then?” she asked at last.
“I assure you I’ve done nothing to earn it. Nothing but win a few hands of cards, that is,” he added a bit mysteriously, then pointed to the sky. “Look, what of that star there? Seems to be the brightest of all.”
Brenna nodded; he had a good eye. “’Tis Vega, in the constellation Lyra. The Harp. See, ‘tis a bit like a lopsided box? And look.” She drew a right angle with her finger against the sky. “Over here, Vega. Then here,” she said, pointing to the tail of Cygnus, “Deneb. And down here”—she moved her hand down toward Aquila—“Altair. They form a triangle, always visible in the summer sky.”
“A constellation?” he asked.
“Nay, an asterism.” She tilted her head to one side. “You canna even see it in the sky over Glenbroch, the summer nights are so bright.” She shook her head and felt a curl escape its arrangement to caress her cheek. “‘Tis lovely, though, is it not?” She turned to face him, to gauge his appreciation of the wondrous sight that filled her with awe and amazement.
But he wasn’t looking at the sky—he was looking at her. She held her breath as he reached up to brush back the errant lock of hair, his fingertips softly stroking her burning cheek.
“Lovely,” came his reply, spoken so softly that she wondered briefly if she’d imagined it.
Chapter 4
Devil take it, what was he doing? Colin shook his head, hoping to clear it as he took a step back from the intriguing woman. “I should escort you back inside,” he muttered.
Brenna nodded in reply, a faint smile tipping the corners of her rose-tinted mouth. Her eyes, shining as brightly as the stars above, boldly met his. “Perhaps ye should, though I’m finding your company immeasurably more comfortable than that of those inside. Must ye really?”
Colin nodded, a pang of regret startling him. He couldn’t help but admire her innocent candor, her guilelessness. She likely had no idea how severely her reputation would suffer were she found hidden away in the dark, shadowy garden with a bachelor, honorable though he might be.
Honorable? Colin silently cursed himself, his gaze traveling back toward the house where warm light spilled from open windows onto the lawn below. Blast it, no one in Lady Brandon’s drawing room believed him honorable, not anymore. Brenna’s reputation would be far more than tattered were she spied out here alone with him—she’d be ruined. Ruined.
“On second thought,” he said, his voice tight and controlled, “it’s probably best that we’re not seen in the same company. You’ve troubles enough without having your name linked with mine. I’d best take my leave from here.” He would speak with Honoria another time. Perhaps Lady Brandon’s drawing room was not the proper place to question her faithlessness, besides. The last thing he needed was to make a public spectacle of himself. Again.
“Verra well,” Brenna said at last. “I thank ye for your kindness, Mr. Rosemoor. You’ve done a fine job of distracting me from my unpleasant thoughts.” She tilted her head to one side, and he physically felt her gaze sweep across him, as if she were appraising him.
He straightened his spine and reached up to readjust his cravat, hoping he passed muster. “Yes, well, it’s good to be useful at something, I suppose.”
She laughed then, a full-bodied, melodious laugh that made him smile despite himself.
“Perhaps ye simply knocked the dour thoughts from my head when ye trampled me,” she offered.
“It wasn’t as bad as that, was it? In all seriousness, are you certain I didn’t injure you?”
“I’m certain, Mr. Rosemoor.”
“Your leg—limb, I meant—it isn’t paining you?”
“I assure ye my limb is fine, sir. Dinna fash about it.”
Colin’s mouth twitched. “You certainly are a Highlander, aren’t you?”
“Indeed, and proud of it.”
“God help Lady Danville. I believe you’ll give the woman quite the challenge,” he said with a chuckle.
“Do not underestimate her, Mr. Rosemoor. Wherever do ye think I got my stubborn nature? ‘Twill be a fair fight, no doubt.”
“No doubt it will be.” He blinked hard, forcing away the memory of Brenna’s silky cheek against his hand. The last thing she needed was him in her life, muddying her name with his association. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, then said, “Good night, my lady.”
“Good night, Mr. Rosemoor,” she answered, then strode purposefully away without looking back.
Colin stuffed his hands into his pockets and watched her retreating form till she disappeared within the shadows, leaving naught but her clean, lavender scent behind.
***
“Lady Margaret?”
It took several moments before Brenna realized the butler was addressing her. She set down her tea. “Oh, pardon me, Alfred. I do wish ye would call me Brenna, at least among family.”
“Humph.” The butler cleared his throat, clearly offended. He held out a crisp, white card. “Miss Jane Rosemoor is in the drawing room, and Lady Danville requests that you join them there at once.”
“Verra well, Alfred. Tell Lady Danville that I shall be down directly.” She smiled brightly at the elegant old man, but he seemed utterly incapable of showing any sign of emotion on his lined face. She shook her head; she would never understand the English.
Alfred bowed in reply and disappeared as silently as he had appeared moments ago, as if the soles of his shoes were covered with felt.
With a shrug, she headed toward the drawing room, conscious of the clicking sound her own slippers made against the floor. This Miss Jane Rosemoor must be Mr. Rosemoor’s sister, the one he’d recommended to show her around. She was curious to see just what sort of woman she was.
Pausing just outside the drawing room, Brenna smoothed her hands down the soft folds of her gown, marveling once again that so fine a frock was only meant for sitting about the house in. She pasted a smile on her face and stepped into the room at last, her eyes drawn to the elegant young woman in yellow silk sitting on the sofa across from Lady Danville. Somehow she had expected the woman to be fair. Instead, chestnut hair peeked out from under her lace cap, and sparkling deep-blue eyes—eyes full of friendly warmth—gazed back at her beneath finely arched brows. She rose gracefully and reached for Brenna’s hands.
“Lady Margaret, what a pleasure. I’m Jane Rosemoor.” She smiled down at Brenna from a considerable height, and Brenna returned the smile.
“Miss Rosemoor, the pleasure is all mine. Your brother speaks highly of ye. I’ve been so looking forward to making your acquaintance.”
Miss Rosemoor laughed. “Dear Colin. A girl couldn’t ask for a better brother. He had several flattering things to say about you as well. I admit, my curiosity was piqued. I was so sorry to miss your introduction at Lady Brandon’s soiree, but I’m afraid it was unavoidable. My sister Susanna was hosting a ladies’ musicale, you see.”
“And how is Mrs. Merrill?” Brenna’s mother asked politely.
“Very well, my lady. Marriage suits her well.” Miss Rosemoor returned to her seat on the sofa and clasped her gloved hands in her lap.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Brenna’s mother continued. “Still, such a shame you missed Lady Brandon’s soiree. Why, you’ll never believe who made an appearance, albeit brief.”
“Who? Do tell,” Miss Rosemoor asked, leaning forward expe
ctantly.
“Would you believe Hayden, Lord Westfield? Why, I could barely believe my eyes. Rich as Croesus, and single to boot. But one never sees him out in society, except in Ashbourne, near his estate in Derbyshire. A shame, I say.”
“Lord Westfield? I don’t believe I’m acquainted with him,” Miss Rosemoor said, shaking her head.
“Westfield is an earl, and sinfully handsome at that. But with a tragic past, I’m afraid. Why, I remember when—”
“Lady Danville,” Miss Rosemoor interrupted, “would you mind terribly if I stole your daughter away? My dear friend Lady Mandeville planned to join me this afternoon on an outing to St. James’s Park, but alas, she’s feeling unwell. I’d be delighted if Lady Margaret accompanied me in her stead so we might get better acquainted.”
“Of course, Miss Rosemoor. I’m sure Margaret would be delighted.” Her mother looked to her entreatingly, but she needn’t have bothered. Brenna was eager to escape the confines of the house and her mother’s constant nagging that she study the etiquette books and lady’s fashion magazines. Truly, she had very little interest in them.
Just that very morning her mother had brought her a well-worn copy of The Mirror of Graces, an etiquette primer penned by “A Lady of Distinction.” Just which lady, no one seemed to know, but said lady was eager to impart her wisdom on the female form, personal decoration, and deportment. Heaven forbid Brenna should commit the crime of wearing red morocco slippers in the morning. And whatever would she have done without the advice that the well-rounded ankle was best displayed in a plain silk stocking without any clocking?
She shrugged off the annoying thoughts of such frivolity and met Miss Rosemoor’s eager smile with her own. “I would be verra pleased to join ye, Miss Rosemoor,” Brenna said. “’Tis nothing better than due exercise on foot to aid in one’s shape and complexion,” she quoted with a wry grin, earning a nod of approval from her mother. She looked to Miss Rosemoor and saw her suppress a giggle.
Undressed (Undone by Love) Page 4
