Undressed (Undone by Love)

by Kristina Cook

  “Curious, then, isn’t it?” His mother shook her head, her lace cap flapping against her ears. “It is not so surprising that Lord and Lady Danville would seek a hasty match, as Lady Margaret—or Brenna, as you call her, Jane—is a bit long in the tooth. Well past what one would consider a marriageable age. Still, she’s sufficiently attractive, if a little coarse, and I found her to be intelligent and positively charming. It would seem they could do better than accepting the first suit offered, especially when the gentleman in question is of dubious character. But I suppose if Lady Cowper had it from Lady Danville, it must be true.”

  Colin turned toward the window, a fierce rage welling inside him. He needed a drink, badly. Something far stronger than brandy. “If you’ll both excuse me, I have something I must attend to.”

  Jane rose abruptly to her feet. “As do I. Perhaps Colin can drive me. Yes?” She looked to him pleadingly.

  He hesitated for a moment. He wished to be alone with his thoughts, not stuck in his curricle with Jane, listening to her prattle on about Brenna’s so-called virtues. What sort of virtuous woman would kiss him the way Brenna did, allow him to touch her the way he had, when betrothed to another? The fact that she hadn’t mentioned her engagement made her actions seem all the more suspect. Devil take it, what was the girl about?

  He looked up and saw Jane watching him closely, a puzzled look darkening her features.

  “I suppose I can drive you,” he said at last.

  “Must you both go?” their mother asked. “Well, no matter. I’ll go pay a call on Lucy.”

  “What a lovely idea, Mama. Please tell her I’ll be around in time for tea. I’ve much to tell her.”

  “Very well, dear. Go on, then.” She waved one hand toward the door. “It looks as if your brother might perish for waiting.”

  Colin leaned across the sofa and planted a kiss on his mother’s warm, wrinkled cheek. “I’ve much pressing business, Mother. It’s unlikely I’ll return for dinner.” He’d be too far in his cups by then, if the rest of the day went as planned.

  “A shame, for Cook has a lovely side of beef today.”

  “Set some aside for my breakfast, then. I’m partial to cold beef.”

  “Hmm, if you say so.” She waved toward the doorway. “Well, off with you, then.”

  Jane had retrieved her bonnet and gloves and stood in the front hall, tying the ribbons beneath her chin as Colin crossed the marble tiles and reached for his hat and whip.

  “Need I ask where I’m driving you?” he asked as the butler pulled open the door and ushered them out. “Danville House, I suppose?” He handed Jane up into the curricle.

  “Of course. Poor Brenna. I can’t understand how this happened. What were her parents thinking? She must be terribly distraught.”

  “Perhaps.” He climbed into the conveyance beside her and took up the reins. “Or perhaps you know her less well than you thought. She might very well be satisfied with the match. Sinclair is, after all, the son of a duke. Fifteen thousand pounds a year, I’m told.”

  Jane shook her head. “No. I simply cannot believe it. Come now, does she strike you as the type to accept an arranged marriage, especially one with a man such as Sinclair?”

  No, she didn’t. But then, he’d mistaken a woman’s character on more than one occasion. In fact, it would seem that misjudging women was his specialty. He sighed deeply, chafing at the injustice.

  “Perhaps not,” he answered at last. “Truly, I haven’t any idea. Just how well do you know her?”

  A smile tipped the corners of Jane’s mouth. “Quite well, I’d say. I’ve spent many pleasant hours in her company—shopping, taking tea, enjoying a turn in the park. She’s spoken often of returning to Castle Glenbroch come autumn. You should hear the longing in her voice when she speaks of home, Colin.”

  “Then perhaps there’s your answer. Perhaps her home is in need of funds.”

  Jane shook her head, making the trimmings on her bonnet dance in the warm summer breeze. “No, I do not think so. Glenbroch sounds quite prosperous. She said they’ve turned a nice profit these past few years. There is simply no logical explanation, other than Lord and Lady Danville having a serious lapse in judgment. I will get my answers soon enough, I suppose. No use in speculating.”

  Colin reined in beside Danville House, his anger mounting as his thoughts returned to his last visit here. Had Brenna played him for a fool? She must have, for he could think of no other explanation.

  Scowling at his own stupidity, he leapt from the curricle, hurrying around to hand Jane down.

  “Thank you, Colin.” She took two steps toward the town house’s front steps, then turned to face him once more. “Might I ask just where you’re off to?”

  “I’d rather you did not.”

  “Just as I’d supposed.” Her displeasure was evident. “There’s no reason to earn the reputation you’ve been burdened with, you know,” she chastised.

  “No? You’d deprive me of all enjoyment, then?”

  “No, but surely you can find a more suitable way to spend your leisure time than by haunting seedy gaming hells and public houses.”

  A red-hot, suffocating rage rose in his breast, constricting his windpipe and causing his heart to pound furiously against his ribs. “Oh? Perhaps I should go to my club instead. Ah, but wait.” He smacked one palm against his forehead. “That’s right, I’m no longer allowed inside those hallowed halls. They’ve revoked my membership—indefinitely, they claim. Well then, shall I pay court to some respectable young lady instead? I say, I just remembered—I’m no longer received in respectable drawing rooms, am I?”

  “Colin, please—”

  “Please what? Tell me, Jane. Tell me what possible means I have to occupy my time besides drinking myself into a stupor at some disreputable establishment.”

  “Hush,” Jane hissed, reaching for his sleeve. “This is neither the time nor the place for such an outburst.”

  He wrenched himself from her grasp, his anger increasing. “Isn’t it? I must say, I don’t give a bloody farthing what anyone thinks anymore. Besides, if I don’t provide sufficient fodder for the gossip mill, they’ll just make it up instead.”

  Jane’s eyes flashed angrily. “Just go, Colin. Go.” She waved a hand in dismissal. “Do what you must. If you can drag yourself from your bed tomorrow, come by Rosemoor House and I’ll share what news I have from Brenna.”

  “I’ll do that,” he muttered, suddenly feeling contrite. He reached for Jane’s hand. “You are a gem, you know.”

  Her frown gave way to a weak smile. “As are you, Colin. You’ve only just forgotten it.”

  He watched as she turned and strode confidently up the front walk, looking as elegant and regal as always. As she rapped on the door, he leapt into the curricle and took up the reins, suddenly uncertain of where to go.

  Bloody hell, as always Jane had cut right to the heart of the matter. With a flick of the wrists, he flapped the reins across the horses’ backs, and they started off. But where to? Despite Jane’s cutting words, a part of him wished to head to Covent Garden, to some nameless establishment where he could get blissfully and mindlessly drunk on cheap gin. Yet another part wished to prove himself better, though the devil only knew why.

  Mandeville House. Yes, that’s where he would go. If Mandeville was absent, he could await him in his study and enjoy the marquess’s fine brandy, or, better yet, his smuggled whisky. Lucy would no doubt be busy entertaining his mother. Hadn’t she said she meant to call on Lucy? Still, just being in Lucy’s home brought him peace he could not find elsewhere. Perhaps there was something to be said for acceptance, after all.

  And then perhaps he’d return to Rosemoor House for dinner, to the promised side of beef and to Jane’s news from Brenna. An unexpected rush of hope surged through his veins, quickening his breath. Let my mother’s information prove to be false. The desperation sliced through his heart, nearly cleaving it in two.

  Last night he’d lain awake
in his bed till dawn, tossing and turning beneath twisted bedclothes as he’d recalled Brenna’s eager response to his kiss, his touch. Just the memory alone of her fingers sliding beneath his shirt, raking across his bare torso, had been enough to force him to hastily and efficiently see to his own needs. Still, even after he’d found release, he hadn’t found sleep. Instead he’d continued to savor the memory of her kiss, of her breasts beneath his hands, beneath his mouth.

  She was exquisite. The thought that that bastard Sinclair might soon possess her made bile rise in his throat. Sinclair didn’t deserve her.

  Not that he deserved her, either. No, in his current state, he would only bring her sorrow and shame. She should be allowed to return to Scotland, to the home she loves, free to marry some brawny, bearded Scotsman in kilt and sporran. Someone who loves the Highlands as she does, who shares her passions and convictions. She deserved that, and no less.

  He looked up from the street, surprised to see he had accomplished Mandeville House while lost in his thoughts. Reining in the horses, he leaned back against the seat and took a deep, calming breath. As he did so, a movement caught his eye in the house’s front window and he squinted against the sun. It was Lucy, her golden hair unbound. She stood framed in the glass, her back toward the street. As he watched, a shadow moved in front of her, arms encircling her slender waist. Lucy’s head tipped back, her arms reaching up in an embrace. In seconds, Mandeville swept her off her feet and carried her away, out of Colin’s sight. In the middle of the afternoon, for God’s sake.

  Couldn’t they cool their ardor, especially when standing in plain view of the street? He shook his head, a decidedly foul mood descending upon him. Damn it all to hell.

  His first instinct had been correct. He needed a drink—a strong one. “To Covent Garden,” he said aloud, slapping the horses’ backs with the reins and setting off once again.

  Toward further ruin, no doubt.

  ***

  “Like this?” Brenna tucked a single delphinium behind one ear, then sat on the white wrought-iron chair Jane had placed beside the rose-covered trellis.

  Jane nodded. “Exactly. There, drape one wrist over the chair’s arm, as if you’re in a state of repose.”

  Brenna did as she’d requested, feeling quite foolish.

  “Perfect,” Jane said.

  The scented breeze stirred, fluttering the hem of Brenna’s gauzy gown. Two birds chirruped gaily as they fluttered overhead, dipping and darting through the trees’ canopy. “Do ye really enjoy such an activity as this? On such a lovely afternoon?”

  Jane dipped her brush into the paints she held on her palette, then tipped her head to one side to more carefully observe her subject. “It isn’t something I’ve turned my hand at often, which is why I thought to practice. You have an interesting face; quite lovely, really. Can you tilt your chin down a bit? There.” Jane tentatively made her first strokes on the canvas as Brenna considered far better occupations for such a fine day.

  Of course, here in London her options were limited. There were no fields to ride, no fences to check, no tenants to visit. The closest thing to a loch was the long water they called the Serpentine in Hyde Park. It paled in comparison.

  On the other hand, Jane’s company was exceedingly pleasant. Brenna had no close female friends her age near Glenbroch now that Elsbeth had married and gone off to Edinburgh. In fact, most of the women her age, save servants, had married and dispersed throughout the countryside. Many had families by now. ‘Twas not something she had particularly envied—till now.

  Much as she hated to admit it, Colin had stirred something within her. A longing of sorts, one she’d never before felt but now made sleep elusive. After Colin had left her there in the garden last night, she’d been restless, unable to finish charting the skies. Instead, she’d retired, long before her parents’ return from Lady Welbourne’s musicale. Yet she’d lain abed for several hours, staring at the moon and wishing she could feel Colin’s arms around her once more. She’d allowed herself to wonder what it might be like to share his life, his bed, what their children might look like. Scandalous thoughts, aye. He wasn’t even a Scot.

  Besides, ‘twas irrelevant. She would return to Glenbroch soon enough, and she had plenty to worry her as it was, what with Lord Danville’s insistence that she wed Sinclair.

  “Don’t scowl,” Jane admonished from her seat before the easel. “You’ve a dreadful furrow in your brow.”

  “Oh?” Brenna endeavored to force her features into a pleasant expression. “I’m verra sorry. I was distracted by some disagreeable thoughts.”

  “Oh?” Jane laid down her brush. “Nothing too terrible, I hope.”

  “’Tis dreadful, really.” She considered unburdening herself to Jane. ‘Twas what a friend was for, after all, and perhaps Jane could offer some much-needed advice. She nodded, her mind made up, then took a deep breath before speaking. “My father has signed a betrothal agreement with Lord Thomas Sinclair.”

  Jane sighed, her mouth curving into a frown. “Oh, dear. I’d hoped the rumor was false.”

  Brenna sat up sharply. “Ye mean to say you’ve heard the news already?”

  “I’m afraid so. Mama had it from Lady Cowper this morning. I must say, we were all shocked. Colin took off in a huff of indignation and—”

  “Colin?” Dear Lord, what must he think of her? After last night? She should have told him, before he’d had the chance to hear it elsewhere. Only she hadn’t imagined that anyone would speak of it so soon.

  “Yes, Colin seemed more than a trifle disturbed by the news. I confess, I’m worried about him. He’s not been himself lately, and he’s become far more self-destructive than ever. He blames Lord Thomas for his fall from grace, and now this...” Jane trailed off, shaking her head. “You see, I believe my brother to be fond of you.”

  A flush heated Brenna’s cheeks.

  “Quite fond,” Jane added. “It’s only natural that he would not wish to see you wed to his sworn enemy. Might I be so bold as to ask if you’ve formed an attachment to Lord Thomas?”

  “Quite the opposite. ‘Tis fair to say I dislike him immensely. I’ve opposed the match, though my father makes it seem as if I have no say in the matter. He insists this is the way ‘tis done here in England. If that is so, ‘tis a barbaric practice, indeed.”

  “You have my agreement on that count. Did Lord Danville not consult you, ask your thoughts, before accepting Lord Thomas’s suit?”

  Brenna shook her head. “Nay. He simply sat me down and produced the contract that he’d already signed, waving it before me like a victory. Worse still, it seems that Lord Thomas claimed to have had my consent before going to my father.”

  “No!”

  “Aye. Dreadful, isn’t it? I’ve told Lord Danville I won’t honor a bargain made under such false assertions. Still, he insists I’ll marry him by Christmastime.”

  “That’s outrageous. I suppose it means Lord Thomas fancies himself in love with you.”

  “Love? Nay, Sinclair’s motivations are clear enough, and they’ve nothing to do with love. Judging by the sum named on the contract, Lord Danville has been extraordinarily generous with my dowry. Taken together with my holdings in Scotland, I suppose I’m worth a great deal to a rogue like Sinclair.”

  “Oh, he’s worse than a rogue. Much worse. What shall you do?”

  “I suppose I could simply return to Glenbroch and pretend the contract does not exist. I canna imagine that Sinclair would pursue me across the border and force me to wed him against my will. But I’d feel much better about it if I could see the contract broken before I left. I dinna want him to have any claim on me.”

  “I agree.”

  “Aye, but how?”

  Jane nibbled on her lower lip, her brow furrowed in thought. Brenna waited, holding her breath in expectation.

  “Well,” Jane said at last, “there is one way, though it will surely cause a scandal.”

  “Tell me,” Brenna entreated. “No
thing ye suggest can possibly be worse than being forced to wed that despicable man.”

  “If you were found in a”—Jane looked around furtively, then lowered her voice an octave—“a compromising position with another man, Sinclair’s pride would force him to withdraw his offer.”

  Brenna leaned forward in her chair, her hands gripping the curved arm. “A compromising position? I dinna ken what ye mean.”

  “If you allow a gentleman to...well, take liberties.” Jane arched her brow. “Make it seem as if your virtue is in question.”

  Brenna recoiled at the words. “But...but,” she sputtered, “what of the gentleman I allow such liberties? Won’t I simply be forced to wed him instead?”

  “True,” Jane answered with a nod. “I hadn’t thought of that. But, well...is there not a gentleman who you would consider wedding? If so, you would only be hastening it. It would not be the first time a girl used such means to hurry a reluctant groom to the altar.”

  Colin’s face swam into focus in her mind’s eye, but Brenna forced away the thought. Nay, she could never do such a thing. ‘Twas far too dishonest, too calculating. Brenna shook her head. “Nay, there is no one.”

  Jane’s hopeful expression fled at once. “No? You’re certain?”

  “I’m certain. And even if there were, I couldna do such a thing.”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Besides, when I do marry, I’ll marry a Scot. I dinna mean that as an insult, but—”

  “No, it’s perfectly understandable. But there are many Scottish gentlemen here in London, you know. I can make the proper introductions. There’s Angus MacDonnell, for one. A very fine man, if only a bit too old. And, let’s see.” She pursed her lips. “Oh, Lord Ian MacTavish. Not so handsome, but young and quite rich, I’m told.”

  “I dinna ken ‘tis such a good idea,” Brenna answered truthfully. “I’ll speak to Lord Danville once more about my objections, but perhaps I should just return to Glenbroch. ‘Tis best, I think.”