Undressed (Undone by Love)

by Kristina Cook

  “Your wife?”

  “Precisely.” Colin nodded. “I won’t go into detail, but Brenna overheard a conversation between Sinclair and Ballard, one in which they openly discussed having the card planted and their motivations behind such a move.”

  “This is marvelous news, old man. Why don’t you bring her down to White’s straightaway to make a statement, then?”

  “Because she is my wife,” Colin ground out.

  “This is not a trial, Rosemoor. It’s not as if you’re asking her to testify on your behalf. This is only a matter of honor, and I’m certain Mr. Montgomery will take her claims seriously.”

  “No.” Colin shook his head. “I won’t allow it. Ballard and Sinclair will simply call her a liar and attempt to impugn her veracity. Her reputation is tenuous enough as it is, considering the fact that we were forced to wed rather hastily. No, I won’t put her under such scrutiny.”

  Nigel shuffled his feet, his gaze on the littered ground. Several seconds passed as he stroked his whiskers thoughtfully, considering Colin’s words. “I cannot say I agree with your decision,” he said at last, meeting Colin’s eyes. “But it is your decision to make. You know, Rosemoor, you might have told me you possessed the deed to such a valuable parcel of property in Scotland. You might have sold it and used the coin to pay for a Bow Street runner’s services. Someone trained in ferreting out the truth might have had better luck with it than you and I together.”

  Colin shook his head. “I cannot sell that land.”

  “Well, man, of course you can’t, not now. I ran into Ian Staunton this morning, and he says you’ve gone and lost it at the tables. I’ve no idea why you never thought of it before—”

  “What did you say?” All breath left Colin’s body in a rush.

  “I said I’ve no idea why—”

  “No,” he said, his voice strangled. “Before. Staunton said...”

  “That you’ve gone and lost it at the tables. Last night, I believe. A terrible waste.”

  Nigel continued to speak, but Colin could hear nothing save the roar of blood in his ears. God help him, no. No. He couldn’t have. He’d given her his word that he would secure the land, that it would never fall into careless hands.

  “Are you certain those were Staunton’s exact words?” he asked, desperation lacing his words. “That I’d lost the property?”

  “Fairly certain. Lost to Harold Mifflin in a hand of cards, he said. Still can’t imagine why you never...I say, Rosemoor, you don’t look at all well. You’re suddenly white as a ghost.”

  Colin’s stomach began to roil, the ground swaying beneath his feet. Brenna would never forgive him. Never. Struggling toward the side of the building, he fell to one knee and unceremoniously cast up his breakfast, there on the cobbles.

  When the painful retching subsided, he reached for his handkerchief and mopped his mouth with it. Closing his eyes, he summoned the strength to rise.

  “Good God, Rosemoor,” Nigel said. “Whatever is the matter with you?”

  At last Colin stood on unsteady legs. Nigel eyed him curiously, his eyes full of concern while he dug in his coat pocket.

  “Here.” He withdrew something from his pocket and held it out to Colin. “Have a peppermint drop.”

  “Thank you,” Colin muttered, taking the offered sweet and popping it into his mouth. “Do you suppose word of this...this loss has traveled around Town by now?” His stomach lurched once more in anticipation of Nigel’s answer.

  “Likely so, I’d think. Does it matter so much? It’s not as if—”

  “I will lose her.” His throat ached, the words nearly stealing his breath away.

  “What do you mean, you’ll lose her?”

  “I must go.” Colin took two stumbling steps away from Nigel, his vision slightly blurred.

  “I say, you still don’t look quite right. Perhaps we should find somewhere to get you a cup of coffee. Somewhere we won’t be recognized.”

  “No, I must find a hack at once and get home to Rosemoor House posthaste. I must find her and tell her what I’ve done, before she hears it elsewhere.” Without a word of farewell, he turned from his friend, hell-bent on finding Brenna as quickly as possible. Before it was too late; before his whole world came crashing down around him.

  Even if he did get to her first, would she ever forgive him? After he’d given her his word; after he’d accused her, just last night, of not believing in him, not trusting him?

  Not bloody likely. The certainty of it near enough killed him.

  Chapter 21

  Brenna stepped into Lord and Lady Danville’s sitting room, a forced smile upon her lips. In truth, she was uneasy. Why had they summoned her there? Couldn’t they have simply called on her at Rosemoor House if they’d been so eager to see her?

  “Margaret, dear, you must have a seat,” Lady Danville said.

  Brenna paused a beat before replying. “I confess I’m finding it increasingly difficult to answer to such an unfamiliar name. I really do wish ye could call me Brenna, instead.”

  Her parents simply frowned in reply.

  After an uncomfortable silence, she cleared her throat. “I’m verra glad to see ye both, but I must ask why ye summoned me here.”

  “Only to see how you are faring, daughter,” Lord Danville said. “You look well enough.”

  “I am well. Could ye not have come to Rosemoor House to see for yourselves? I’m certain you’d be most welcome there.”

  “But perhaps I would not be.”

  Brenna looked up in surprise as Hugh strode into the room, looking as smug and arrogant as ever. She rose from her seat and turned to face her brother. “Nor should ye be welcome in their home.”

  “What a dreadful thing to say to your brother, Margaret,” Lady Danville said, her eyes narrowed to slits.

  “’Tis deservedly so, Lady Danville. If I’d known he would be here, I wouldna have come.”

  “Whatever rift has come between you, I hope you will set it aside,” Lord Danville said, a frown creasing his brow. “You are bound by blood, after all.”

  Brenna looked her father in the eye. “I told ye what has come between us, Lord Danville. Only ye did not wish to believe it so.”

  He shook his head. “I’ve no idea what you mean. Anyway, Hugh asked that we call you here this afternoon. Begged us, really. He, at least, would like to see the peace restored and feared being refused admittance at Rosemoor House.”

  “By all rights they should refuse him admittance. After what he’s done to Colin—”

  “I’ve done nothing more than he deserved,” Hugh snapped.

  “How can ye say such a thing? Ye caused irreparable damage to an innocent man’s reputation, Hugh.”

  “Perhaps you’ll reconsider whose word to believe when I tell you what I’ve learned today,” Hugh added mysteriously, his eyes glittering.

  “’Tis not likely. I’ve listened to your lies before. Nothing ye say can be taken as the truth, especially where Colin is concerned.”

  Lady Danville rose, her cheeks flushed scarlet. “Are you calling Hugh a liar?”

  Brenna met her gaze, her chin tipped into the air. “Indeed I am.”

  “Oh!” Lady Danville exclaimed, sinking back to the sofa.

  “Say what you will, dear sister, but I have this as fact. From Ian Staunton, a close associate of your husband’s. It seems Rosemoor spent the entire night out last night, drinking and gambling in some seedy East End establishment. His losses were severe.”

  “As much as I hate to deprive ye of the enjoyment of telling me these things, I’m already well aware of how my husband passed the night.”

  “Oh? Confessed his sins, did he?”

  “’Tis really none of your business, but aye. My husband and I have no secrets between us. I’m well aware of his recent losses.”

  “I’m surprised you’re taking the news so calmly, then. He’ll no doubt clear the land. Mifflin, I mean. And so near your beloved Glenbroch, too.”


  Brenna’s breath hitched in her chest. “Whatever are ye talking about?”

  Hugh took out his watch and flipped open the case, studying its face intently as he spoke. “Perhaps your outrage about the Clearances was all an act. Now that you’re an English viscountess, perhaps you no longer care overmuch what happens in the Highlands. Perhaps you’ll even see fit to clearing your own land one day.” He shut the watch and returned it to his pocket, his gaze meeting Brenna’s once more. “No doubt your husband could use the funds,” he added.

  Brenna could not speak. She could not force her mouth to form a single syllable. Her blood ran suddenly cold, and for a moment she could barely catch her breath.

  “What are you talking about, Hugh?” Lord Danville asked. “I thought you meant a reconciliation with your sister today?”

  “Perhaps once she sees that I’ve been correct about her husband all along, we shall be able to reconcile our differences. It’s only too bad she didn’t listen to me before it was too late.”

  Finally, Brenna found her voice, however tremulous. “I havena any idea what you’re speaking of, Hugh, but I suggest ye get on with it and tell me. ‘Tis nothing but another lie, no doubt.”

  “If only it were. A few inquiries will surely confirm it, if you doubt my word. Anyway,” Hugh said, smiling maliciously, “in addition to losing a shocking amount of blunt at the tables last night, it seems the newly made Viscount Rosemoor wagered a deed to some property in Scotland. Land he’d only recently acquired at the tables himself from the Marquess of Hampton.”

  Brenna inhaled sharply. “Nay,” she whispered.

  Hugh nodded. “Yes, wagered and lost, I’m afraid. So very careless. The deed now rightfully belongs to Harold Mifflin, a man known to have no scruples. A mercenary, really. Anyway,” he said, waving one hand in dismissal, “if there are no secrets between you and your husband, then I’m sure I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know.”

  Could it be true? Nay, she refused to believe it. ‘Twould not be the first time Hugh had told a blatant and outright lie about Colin. She would not make the same mistake all over again—doubting Colin in the face of Hugh’s lies.

  She rose, her head held high. “If ye will excuse me, Lady Danville, Lord Danville. I’ve much to do today at Rosemoor House.” She did not spare a glance for Hugh.

  “Must you go?” Lady Danville asked. “Tea hasn’t even yet arrived. We’ve some delightful new cream cakes, too.”

  “Perhaps next time,” she murmured.

  “If you must go, I’ll see you out,” Lord Danville said, offering his arm.

  Brenna took it, grateful for the support as her fingers trembled against his coat. “Good day,” she said, offering her mother a nod.

  Minutes later she was on her way back to Rosemoor House, walking so briskly that Celeste, trailing behind her, could barely keep up.

  “Please, mum,” Celeste called out, her voice near breathless. “You must slow down. What will people think, you racing down the walk like there’s a fire at yer back?”

  Brenna paused just long enough for Celeste to catch up. “I dinna care a fig what people think.” She quickened her gait once more, the heels of her boots tapping against the walk in rhythm to her heart. It isna true, her mind repeated, over and over again. It canna be true.

  Jane was standing in the front hall of Rosemoor House when Brenna stepped inside, her cheeks warm and her breath coming far too fast.

  “There you are,” Jane said with a sigh, relief evident in her wide blue eyes. “Is Colin with you?”

  “Nay, why ever would Colin be with me?”

  “He came home not an hour ago, looking quite pale. He asked after you, and Mama told him you had gone to Danville House for tea. I vow, Brenna, his face went entirely white. He flew out in a rage, off to find you. I don’t mean to pry, but—”

  “I’m verra sorry, Jane. But I canna speak of it yet, not till I find Colin.”

  “Oh, dear.” Jane wrung her hands. “I cannot imagine what my brother has done now. I hope it’s nothing too serious.”

  “’Tis likely nothing, Jane. Dinna fret about it, not just yet.”

  Just then the front door burst open, startling her. Colin took two steps forward before he spied her, standing there with Jane. He froze, his gaze searching hers. He looked dreadful, his hair mussed, his cravat horribly askew. Worse still was his expression—the raw guilt she saw darkening his features, shadowing his eyes.

  “Nay, Colin,” she cried out. “Please. It canna be true.”

  “Ballard told you, didn’t he?”

  “Told her what?” Jane asked, her voice rising. “What’s going on, Colin?”

  “Aye, he told me. Such awful things. I refused to believe them. But now...” Brenna shook her head in despair, continuing to study his expression. Dear Lord, his countenance said it all—the look of defeat that haunted his eyes when he looked at her. “‘Tis true, isn’t it?”

  “Jane,” Colin said, his voice steady, “if you’ll excuse us, I need a moment alone with my wife.”

  After a pause, Jane nodded. Without another word, she left them. Brenna closed her eyes, the disappointment almost too painful to bear. Lies, all lies. He’d sworn he always kept his word when he’d known full well it was a lie. He’d broken his vow, and for what? A hand of cards. And he hadn’t even had the decency to own up to it before he’d... She let the thought trail off, her cheeks flushing uncomfortably. She couldn’t stand to look at him, to remember the way he’d held her last night, the tender words he’d spoken as he’d made love to her.

  At last she opened her eyes and met his unflinching gaze. “How could ye, Colin? How could ye do such a thing?” she repeated.

  “I was too far in the cups, Brenna. Too much so to realize what I was doing.”

  “Nay, ‘tis no excuse. Ye canna blame the drink. Ye hypocrite,” she tossed out. “Ye bloody hypocrite, accusing me of not trusting ye.”

  “You asked how I could do such a thing, and I’m answering you in all honesty. I’d no idea what I’d done, none whatsoever. Not till Nigel told me just now.”

  “Have ye any idea what you’ve done, even now?” she asked, shocked by the shrillness in her voice. “Have ye? He’ll clear the land. They’ll be driven off. I sent word that their fate was secure in your hands, and now you’ve proven me a liar. They trusted me, Colin. And now ‘tis my husband, my own husband,” she repeated, her voice rising, “who will cause them to lose their land.” She slumped against the wall, her legs suddenly unable to bear her own weight. “Jenny isna well. Where will she go when she and her husband are turned out? Where will any of them go?”

  Colin’s heart hammered so violently in his breast that he feared it might burst. The anguish in her eyes was tearing him apart, bit by bit. He wanted to make it right, but God help him, he didn’t know how. “I...Perhaps he won’t clear the land. It’s far too early to know his intentions.”

  “I must go home at once.”

  “You are home, Brenna,” he said in desperation. “This is your home. Right here, with me.”

  “With ye?” She nearly spat the word, her hands balled into angry fists by her sides. “To think I actually felt badly that I hadn’t trusted ye, hadn’t given ye a proper chance. What a fool ye must think me, believing ye a man of honor.” She began to weep, deep, gulping sobs. He moved to her side, reaching for her arm, but she backed away, shrugging off his hand as if repulsed by his touch.

  “Tell me what to do, Brenna. What can I do to make it right?” Anything. He would do anything to turn back time, to right the wrong.

  “Ye canna make it right, don’t ye see? Your word...Your word means nothing now. A drink or two and you’re willing to forget any promises you’ve made, even to me.”

  “I made one mistake, Brenna, terrible though it is. Only one.”

  “And people will suffer for it, dinna ye see? I trusted ye, Colin. I cared for ye—nay, I loved ye.”

  “And now?” he asked, barely able
to breathe. A wave of nausea washed over him, making his palms dampen. She loved him. She had loved him. And he’d ruined it. He’d gone and bloody ruined it.

  “I feel nothing for ye.”

  Exquisite pain tore through his gut, ripping his heart to shreds. He raked a hand through his hair, wondering if he might vomit for a second time in one afternoon.

  “I must go and pack my trunks,” she said, turning toward the stairs.

  “No!” he bellowed, his thoughts growing muddy. He could not lose her. He would not. Springing into action, he caught up with her, reaching for her hand and spinning her around to face him. “You remain steadfastly loyal to the Maclachlans’ memory, despite the fact that they damn well snatched you from your home, your family. Your tenacity knows no bounds as far as your people at Glenbroch are concerned. Yet your love for me—your husband, I might remind you—is fleeting. Strange, as you’ve never before had a fleeting thought or feeling in all your life. You’re a fraud, Brenna Maclachlan. A coward. You don’t love me; you never did. You only married me to extricate yourself from the contract with Sinclair, didn’t you? I’ll wager you planned to run off to Scotland without me all along.”

  “And what if I did?” she flung at him cruelly, her cheeks scarlet. “’Twould be no more than ye deserve.”

  “You are on English soil now, Brenna, where English law prevails. You are my wife. This is your home, and you will go nowhere without my permission.”

  She snatched her hand from his grasp and met his gaze, her chin tipped defiantly in the air. “Just watch me,” she bit out, her eyes flashing angrily.

  Up the stairs she flew in a flash of muslin, taking Colin’s hopes and dreams with her. She was lost to him, forever. And he’d no one to blame but himself.

  His reeling mind could suddenly think of nothing save finding a drink, and fast.

  ***

  A weary Brenna sat forward on her seat in the coach, straining to see through the familiar heavy mists that blanketed the rolling countryside, both brown and green this time of year. A light drizzle was falling, the air decidedly chilly. Wrapping her shawl more tightly about her shoulders, she peered through the wet glass, desperate for a glimpse of home. Home, at long last.