Undressed (Undone by Love)

by Kristina Cook

  Jane hurried to Brenna’s side and reached for her hand, giving it a squeeze. “You must forgive me, Brenna. It’s my selfish nature that wishes you to remain here in London, when I know your heart remains in the Highlands.”

  Brenna gripped Jane’s hand, returning the pressure. “’Tis nothing to apologize for. Ye are a verra good friend, Jane. I’ve no idea how I would have survived thus far without ye.”

  “I vow, together we shall find a way out of this engagement. I will not see you treated so cruelly, so unfairly.”

  “Thank ye. Truly, I feel better just for having told ye. Now,” Brenna said, peering at the abandoned easel, “will ye finish this painting? Or shall we go inside and have some refreshments?”

  Jane returned to her seat before the easel and picked up her palette and brush. “Indeed I shall finish it, and it will be my finest work to date. Can you remember just how you were sitting?”

  Brenna did her best to strike the same languid pose as before, tucking the fragrant bloom more securely behind her ear. “Well?”

  “Perfect,” Jane replied with a nod, then set to work with obvious enthusiasm.

  Nay, there is no one I wish to marry, Brenna repeated silently, over and over again. If only she could make herself believe it.

  Chapter 13

  Brenna stepped out of Hatchard’s, humming a tune as she clutched her parcel tightly against her bosom. Oh, what a lovely bookshop! She’d never before been inside such a marvelous place—row after row of books, all shapes and sizes and covering every subject imaginable. She’d browsed for more than an hour and could have stayed many more. Why had no one brought her there before now? She smiled gratefully at Jane, who clutched her own parcel as she stepped lightly up into the carriage.

  Brenna followed suit, her fingers itching to tear the paper off her new treasure and leisurely flip through the pages, taking all the time in the world to examine each chart, each lovely illustration.

  “Shall we head to Gunter’s for an ice?” Jane asked as they settled themselves against the leather squabs. “It’s quite warm today, isn’t it?”

  Brenna looked down at the still-wrapped book in her lap, then back up to Jane. “Aye, ‘tis warm, indeed, but...would ye mind terribly if I went directly home instead? I confess, I’m so eager to read this I can barely contain myself.”

  Jane laughed. “Of course I would not mind. I’ve three new novels myself. We’ll take you home directly, but only if you promise to accompany me to Gunter’s tomorrow instead.”

  “Verra well,” Brenna said with a grin. “‘Tis agreed. I should love to.”

  Jane spoke briefly to the driver, then returned to her seat opposite Brenna. Seconds later, the carriage lurched forward, toward Danville House.

  Still smiling to herself, Brenna ran a gloved fingertip along the edge of the coarse paper, enjoying the feel of the book’s weight in her lap. It had been costly, aye, but worth every pence. All the latest astronomical findings in a single illustrated volume. She had nothing like this at home. Even her books at Glenbroch were horribly outdated, and none so fine as this.

  Minutes later, she bid Jane farewell and climbed down to the walk. Oddly enough, Alfred did not appear at the door, so she let herself in, still smiling happily and clutching the book to her bosom. The house was quiet; her father must be at his club and her mother out paying calls. Thank goodness. She could enjoy several hours of solitude, undisturbed in the sanctuary of her bedchamber.

  That thought in mind, she tiptoed across the front hall, nearly holding her breath as she reached for the carved newel post at the base of the staircase.

  Male voices, coming from the direction of her father’s study, made her pause on the landing. Blast it, it was Lord Thomas Sinclair. She recognized the sound of his laughter. “To marriage,” she heard him say.

  “To marriage,” Hugh echoed. Glassware clinked together, and the men’s voices grew muffled. Moving as quietly and stealthily as possible, Brenna hurried to the closed door, pressing her ear against it.

  “Though I still believe I got the better end of the bargain,” Hugh said, his voice now clear and distinct even through the heavy door. “Honoria is positively delectable. Perhaps I’ll have no need for a mistress once I have her in my bed. I think it might be time to send Josephine packing.”

  “I wouldn’t act so rashly, Ballard. Not till you’ve sampled Honoria’s wares. One can never tell, you know.”

  “True, true. Still, I’ve grown bored with Josephine, and she’s become far too costly to keep in the manner in which she aspires to, greedy fool. Anyway, how did Belinda take the news of your own upcoming nuptials? Have you any intact dinnerware left, or did she toss it all at your head?”

  “Oh, every plate, bowl, and glass is smashed to bits. She was in quite a pique this time. I’ve never heard a woman carry on like that, howling and weeping for hours on end. I finally placated her with promises of a cottage in the country for her and her brats. Another one on the way, if you can believe it. And she wonders why my interest fades.”

  “Not for too long, I’d say, judging by the number of bastards you’ve managed to sire.”

  Brenna’s blood ran cold. More than anything, she wanted to flee. She didn’t want to hear any more. Yet she forced herself to remain, listening to such coarse, vulgar talk. Perhaps she would learn something of value to Colin.

  “What am I to do?” Lord Thomas asked, his tone light. “The slut has the most marvelous tits I’ve ever seen, and she can perform miracles with her mouth. Ah, well. I’ll keep her around a bit longer. She’s not quite used up yet.”

  Hugh had the audacity to laugh—actually laugh—at such a vile statement. Brenna’s stomach pitched uncomfortably, and for a moment she feared she might begin to retch. Clamping one hand over her mouth, she swallowed the bile that rose in her throat.

  “Anyway, where is that sister of yours?” Lord Thomas continued, his voice now sounding bored. “I’ve a few things to discuss with her regarding our betrothal.”

  “She’s not likely to return for several hours. She’s gone out with Jane Rosemoor of all people, her constant companion these days. They’ve become near inseparable. I’ve no idea why my mother has allowed it.”

  “I’ll have a word or two with my bride-to-be about the company she keeps. I won’t stand for having my name tarnished by association with that family.”

  Hugh grunted his agreement.

  “Besides, I never liked Jane Rosemoor. She’s nothing but an uppity little cocktease. I think it’s high time she earned her comeuppance.”

  “Well, why not ruin her while we’re at it?” Hugh asked with a chuckle. “All in the family, I say. Cocktease or not, she is an exquisite little minx. Ruining her might prove enjoyable.”

  Rage surged through Brenna’s veins, heating her skin and making her pulse leap. The bastard.

  “Perhaps I’ll let you have the pleasure, but first things first. I’m not yet entirely satisfied with our current bargain.”

  “And why not? I’ve done my part. My father signed the agreement several days ago; soon everything she has will be yours. From what I hear, her estate in Scotland will fetch an enormous sum, especially if you first clear the land. Together with her inheritance and her sizable dowry, you’ll be a very rich man.”

  “Ah, but you’ve left out the best part, the icing on the proverbial cake. I had no idea I’d get a comely little tigress in my bed as part of the bargain. What fun I shall have brining her to heel.”

  “You’ll have a time of it, that’s for certain.”

  “Perhaps, though it’s not necessary that she come willingly to my bed.”

  “No?”

  “No, it’ll be good sport to drag her there by her hair, kicking and screaming all the while. Nonetheless, she must come willingly to the altar, and that’s where you’ve failed. I can’t very well hold her before the vicar in chains. Betrothal contract or not, she must consent to the nuptials. She needn’t be pleased about it.”

&nb
sp; “What would you have me do? Short of drugging her, I’ve done all that I can on your behalf. Perhaps you should have done a better job seducing her. I must say, I’m disappointed in you. That she would allow Colin Rosemoor to sniff about her skirts but not you—”

  “I did what you asked me to do, Ballard,” Lord Thomas spat out. “The card was planted in Rosemoor’s pocket, wasn’t it? It was no simple task, finding someone at White’s to accomplish it, yet it was done with aplomb. Rosemoor was tossed from White’s, cast from polite society, and now you’ve won the hand of the pretty little Honoria. Everything you desired has come to pass, exactly as planned. Now I expect you to make good on your part. Just as you promised, your sister’s hand is worth far more than our original bargain, and I will accept nothing less than her full compliance as payment. Do whatever is necessary to get her to agree. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Perfectly,” Hugh answered. “Have no doubt, she will acquiesce.”

  The devil she would! Brenna had heard enough. Slowly edging away from the door, she made her way back toward the staircase. She removed her slippers and carried them along with her wrapped parcel up the stairs. Holding her breath, she made her way down the corridor and into her bedchamber. Only when the door was closed and latched behind her did she exhale, her cheeks aflame as she leaned against the door, her shoulders heaving with rage.

  It was true; Colin had been right all along. How dare Hugh do something so despicable? How dare either of them—vile bastards, the pair. Yet her brother’s betrayal pained her most of all. His crime went far beyond plotting to ruin an innocent man. As if that alone weren’t bad enough, he’d then bartered off his sister to a cruel, deceitful, and monstrous man in payment. Was this Honoria worth so much to him? More so than family, a sister?

  She bit her bottom lip so savagely that she tasted blood. Now what was she to do? Confront him? Confess that she’d overheard their wretched conversation? Tell Lord and Lady Danville? Would they even believe her, or would they take the word of their son, the child they’d always known, over hers? She was naught but a stranger to them, after all.

  She wanted to scream, to keen with rage. Instead, she stormed over to the bed, peeling off her gloves as she did so. She deposited them, along with her slippers and the package, there on the coverlet, then viciously punched a pillow, wishing it were Hugh’s head instead. The pillow tumbled to the floor, and she kicked it with her stocking feet, ruthlessly, repeatedly, until feathers flew in the air.

  Hera came screeching out from under the bed, leaping into the air and swatting at the feathers as they floated back down to the floorboards.

  She had to tell Colin straightaway. But how? She hadn’t any idea where he lodged, and even if she did, she knew enough of the ton’s ways to know she could not go there herself, unchaperoned.

  “Stop it, Hera,” she whispered, watching as the cat began to chew on a feather. “’Tis not a bird, just a pillow.” She scooped up the cat and held her in her arms like a babe, tossing the half-chewed bit of feather to the ground. Hera regarded her with a steady, green gaze, her nose twitching in the air. If only Hera could offer advice. How sad that there was not a single other soul in the house she could trust. Only a cat.

  She set Hera on the bed while she attempted to collect the feathers from the floor. Hearing the familiar purr, she looked up, arms full, and watched as the cat rubbed the side of her face against the corner of the still-wrapped parcel. She’d all but forgotten about the new book, about her morning spent perusing the shelves at Hatchard’s with Jane.

  Jane. Of course. She’d have to enlist Jane’s help. ‘Twas no other way to get word to Colin, really.

  If she snuck out now, no one would even know she had been home. Quickly, she retrieved her gloves and slippers, casting one last glance at Hera before reaching for the door’s latch.

  “Just don’t eat them all,” she whispered. “’Twill make you sick, no doubt.”

  ***

  “I thought you were coming by Rosemoor House days ago,” Jane scolded as she untied her bonnet and tossed it to the credenza. The twin green silk ribbons resembled serpents, lying there on the polished wood, regarding him. His vision slightly blurred with sleep, Colin squinted, examining them more closely. Ah, just harmless ribbons, after all.

  At last he turned his gaze to his sister with a scowl, simultaneously glad to see her and wishing she hadn’t come. What was this, some dashed sort of female conspiracy? He’d just sent Lucy on her way, and now he had Jane to contend with. Devil take it, but his head throbbed.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve only now just arisen? Have you any idea how late the hour is?” Her voice was unusually shrill to his ears.

  He groaned, one hand reaching up to his temple. “Must you come barging in here, scolding me like a fishwife? Have a care for my head, will you?”

  “Too much to drink last night, I suppose.”

  “A likely assumption, indeed. Yet wholly incorrect. This time, at least.” God, if only he were suffering the ill effects of over-imbibing. He’d give his eyeteeth for a bottle of brandy right now. He’d had no spirits whatsoever for a full three days now, and it was near enough killing him. He was a damnable bloody mess.

  Jane eyed him critically, her sapphire gaze sweeping from his mussed head to his bare feet. “Whatever happened to you, then? You look dreadful.”

  “And you look beautiful as always.” Besides Lucy’s brief visit just moments before, he hadn’t laid eyes on a single soul save his valet and butler since his self-imposed exile several days ago, and he had to admit his sister was a sight for sore eyes.

  “Don’t change the subject,” she said crisply. “Shall I summon the physician?”

  “No, you most definitely shall not,” he grumbled, feeling peevish. “You just missed Lucy, by the way. In fact, she left her reticule here.” He pointed to the pale blue silk pouch that lay on the marble table beside the door. “So I assume she’ll soon return. Anyway, I’ll tell you just what I told her. I am perfectly well and in no need of a physician. Just tell me why you’re here, and then go on about your merry way, spreading cheer throughout Mayfair.”

  “Very amusing, Colin. Really. What do you think I’m doing here? No one has seen nor heard from you in days. You said you’d come by Rosemoor House to hear what I’d learned from Brenna about her betrothal, yet you never came. And now you stand there, in your bare feet, your face bruised, looking as if you’ve just crawled from bed even though it’s long past midday.” Her voice rose, and Colin resisted the urge to cover his ears with his hands. God help him, she was angry.

  If only she knew the truth—that he’d stumbled home from the East End at dawn three days past, his pockets empty and his clothing reeking of smoke and vomit. He’d had no memories whatsoever of what had transpired over the course of the night, but one of his eyes was blackened, and he had a cut on his right shoulder two inches in length, caked in dried blood. He might have slept in the street for all he knew. Perhaps he’d been robbed by some ruffians, and that would explain his missing ebony walking stick and pair of gold cuff links. Or perhaps he’d gambled away his valuables at the public house where he’d first gone after leaving Jane at Danville House.

  Either way, he had crawled into his bed as the sun rose and sworn he would never again touch spirits of any kind. He’d remained abed, alternately dozing and dreaming about Brenna and then awakening to wish desperately for a drink. His valet, after returning to the public house Colin had named and retrieving his employer’s curricle and horses, had silently and patiently cleaned up Colin’s vomit without summoning a chambermaid, and Colin had been grateful for the man’s discretion.

  Today he had risen from his bed, though his head still ached miserably, and he’d had some coffee and toast for breakfast. It was a good thing Jane had chosen this day for her unexpected visit. He might look dreadful now, but he no doubt looked a far cry better than he had the day before.

  “Well?” he asked. “Why don’t you tell me your ne
ws, then?”

  “First, you should sit. Really, you look as if you’re about to topple over. Whatever is the matter with you?”

  “I’ve been rather indisposed for the past few days.”

  “Indisposed?”

  “One might say. You’re right, though. I should like to sit. Should I ring for tea?”

  “No, don’t bother.” She reached for his arm as if he needed assistance. “Come, let’s sit, and then I will tell you my news.”

  He tugged his arm from her grasp. “Really, Jane. Despite appearances, I assure you I’m not an invalid.”

  “If you say so.” She followed him into the salon, a room he seldom used. He stood, leaning against the mantel, watching as Jane took a seat in one of the broad leather chairs that flanked the fireplace. It was a good thing he hadn’t grown too fond of these accommodations, as he could no longer afford the rent. By the end of the week, he’d either have to return to Rosemoor House with his tail between his legs or find himself some cramped apartments elsewhere.

  “Colin?”

  “Yes?” he snapped, running one finger along the face of an ivory clock. Perhaps he could get a fair price for it.

  “Sit,” she ordered, pointing to the chair opposite hers.

  With a sigh of defeat, he complied. “Well?” he prompted, slumped in the chair with his gut clenched in anticipation.

  His sister didn’t mince words. “It’s true, I’m afraid. Brenna’s father signed a marriage agreement with Sinclair.”

  “Damn.” He struck the arm of the chair with his fist, then met Jane’s steady gaze. “If you’ll pardon my language. And what are her thoughts on this arrangement?”

  “What do you think?” Jane snapped. “She’s furious, of course. She says she won’t do it, that she’ll flee to Scotland before she honors the agreement.”

  “Why would Danville do this to her if she’s so opposed to the match?”