by Tarah Scott
“A mere flesh wound,” he said.
“That does not change the fact she shot you.”
“To be fair, I was a stranger who broke into her room at night and, well…woke her.” His mother’s mouth twitched in either satisfaction or amusement, he couldn’t be sure, for nothing ensured a son must marry like getting caught in an unmarried woman’s bedchamber. “To make matters worse,” Erroll went on, “her father caught us in a rather compromising position.” Literally.
“More compromising then when you woke her?” his mother asked.
“To my discredit, yes. Like any good father, Tolland was enraged and, in self-defense, I began to beat him half to death. He is quite fit, for a man of his age.” Erroll recalled the baron’s fist in his stomach. “She didn’t intend to kill me. In fact, I suspect she intended to fire in the air.”
“What makes you think that?”
“It was close range.”
“And you are a large target.”
“Exactly,” Erroll said. “In any case, I have told my father that I will not marry the younger sister.”
“Why?”
“I believe it is my prerogative to choose a bride,” he said. “Is that not enough?”
“Yes—usually. But you will admit this case is unique.”
“Be that as it may, I am still within my right to exercise that choice, and I am quite adamant on the point.”
“Your choice is between a liar and a would-be murderess,” she said.
He shook his head. “No ocean shall hinder the speedy flight of gossip.”
“You are a sensation!”
Erroll couldn’t prevent a laugh. “And that pleases you.”
“It does. But on a more serious note, I will not like it if Miss Crenshaw develops a habit of pointing a gun at you.”
Erroll grinned. “The threat of facing your wrath may well stop her from trying it again. I daresay, the only difference between Miss Crenshaw and most other women is that she shot the groom before the wedding.”
“I am not saying you didn’t deserve it,” his mother said. “But I will not countenance it.”
“But of course,” he said.
Something flickered in her eyes and Erroll wondered if she remembered a time his father deserved to be shot.
She smoothed a wrinkle from her skirt. “So it is agreed, you will marry Miss Eve Crenshaw.”
“I wouldn’t say ‘agreed,’ but that is the case.”
“Ah, the marquess is not pleased.”
“No, but he didn’t have all the information. He’ll come around once he has time to consider.”
She snorted. “I suggest you don’t wait for him to agree, but make haste and marry.”
“The reading of the bans takes three weeks.”
“I will say no more,” she said. “If you feel certain he will change his mind in a short three weeks’ time, who am I to argue? Oh my, I had better contact the parson. He will begin reading the bans tomorrow, and we cannot have him marrying you to the wrong woman.”
“That would be a sensation,” Erroll said.
Her eyes widened in horror. “That would be a disaster! And if you think of doing any such thing I will shoot you myself.”
“I promise not to change brides at the last minute.”
“At this point, I do not doubt you are capable of it. Now that you mention it—” Erroll had the feeling what was to come did not bode well for him “—is not Grace Crenshaw under the impression she is to be your bride?”
“She was hopeful,” he replied. “But she knew I was not amenable to the connection. Did she say something?” He would strangle the girl.
His mother shook her head. “No, but given the latest version of the story—” Erroll had no desire to hear the latest version “—and the fact that I sensed she feels secure in the notion, I assumed it was true.”
His mother sensed Grace Crenshaw felt secure he would marry her? Would wonders never cease? “No such indications from Eve Crenshaw?” he asked.
“Not a one.” His mother’s gaze grew shrewd. “What an interesting turn of events. She does not wish to marry you.”
“Can you imagine?” he said.
“I am obligated to say, ‘no, what woman wouldn’t want you?’”
“For a mamma who has worked with such vigor this last year and a half to marry off her son, you do not seem to think he is very marriageable.”
“Don’t get me started on your marriageability. I know you too well.”
That she did. His mother had no illusions where he was concerned. Yet she loved him nonetheless.
Her eyes twinkled. “Has it occurred to you that if I had truly decided a particular lady would do that you could not have escaped me?”
“I think, madam,” Erroll said with care, “that I am glad not to have tested that theory.”
*****
Early that afternoon, a muffled, angry male voice filtered up the staircase as Eve descended. She slowed, discerned the indistinct reply of a quieter, more composed female voice, then another heated retort from the man. She yanked up her skirts and hurried down the stairs.
“I said he wasna’ here.”
Leslie.
“Out of my way!” the man ordered.
Eve took the last two stairs and whirled left. With her second step toward the massive foyer, Leslie said, “If you canna’ speak kindly, then leave.”
A large man towered over her, but she stood her ground, glowering up at him. His head jerked in Eve’s direction. “Who are ye?”
Eve hurried to the maid’s side. “Miss Eve Crenshaw, my lord.”
His gaze sharpened on her. “First a maid, then a Sassenach—where is the marquess?”
“I cannot say, sir. But I am sure we can find him.”
“I told him the laird is no’ here,” Leslie said with heat.
“I will speak with the marquess, damn you,” he snarled.
“Perhaps I can be of assistance.”
Eve and Leslie whirled in unison to face Lord Rushton, who emerged from the hallway directly ahead.
“Are you the marquess?” the man demanded.
The earl approached, and Eve grasped Leslie’s arm and pulled her back two paces as he passed them.
He stopped in front of the man. “I believe it is customary for the visitor to introduce himself.”
“I am Lord Burns, ye fool.”
“Lord Rupert Burns?”
His mouth twisted downward in a deprecating frown. “Rupert is a poor cousin.”
“I see, and to what do we owe the honor of a visit from his more worthy relation?”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”
Lord Rushton gave a slight bow. “Erroll MacLean at your service.”
“Where is your father?”
“Forgive me, he is indisposed.”
“I won’t be fobbed off to a bastard,” Burns spat.
“Ah,” Lord Rushton said. “You have me confused with my brother Ash. He is the one born on the wrong side of the blanket, not I. Sadly, he isn’t here either, so you are stuck with me.”
The man blinked, this time clearly a little more certain he’d been insulted. Eve, on the other hand, wanted to laugh.
“Where is Lady Hilary?” Lord Burns snapped.
“At last we make progress,” the earl said. “What do you want with my dear cousin?”
“I want her to stay away from my son. She is trying to get her hooks into him.”
“Hilary?” Lord Rushton laughed. “When last I saw the chit she had nothing resembling hooks.”
“She was free with her charms last night,” Lord Burns snapped.
“Indeed? I would have given a small fortune to see that. In any case, you cannot blame her. It is, after all, a lady’s job to display her charms. How else are we men to know what we are getting ourselves into?”
Lord Burns was struck dumb. Eve understood how he felt, though her reason was, no doubt, different. Butterflies flitted across the insid
e of her stomach with the memory of the charms Lord Rushton had so obviously noticed in her.
“My son is to marry a woman with strong Scottish roots,” Lord Burns said through tight lips.
“That goes without saying,” the earl said. “But what has that to do with the youngsters? Surely, you remember what it was like to be young and flirt with the ladies? And we aren’t in Edinburgh, after all. If she danced two dances with your son instead of one, no one here on Mull will notice, and I find it impossible to believe Hilary’s brother would allow anything more.”
“Her brother isna’ here,” Lord Burns said. “He’s off fighting the Sassenach war.”
A cloud passed through Lord Rushton’s eyes. “David gone to war?” He sighed. “Given that Bonaparte sailed to Prussia and marched from there to the Russian front in mere months, you might consider the possibility that if he succeeds in crossing the channel he will march into Scotland just as quickly. This war belongs to us all.”
“Bah!” Lord Burns burst out. “I’m not interested in your politics. If your father isna’ here, tell your mother to keep a better watch on the girl. She was at the ball with her last night.”
“There you are,” the earl said. “Lady Rushton is the embodiment of respectability. You have nothing to fear.”
“My son is betrothed, has been since he was a child,” Burns said. “The girl is wasting her time.”
“I see,” Lord Rushton nodded. “You’re afraid Hilary will misunderstand your son’s attentions. But what have you to fear? You know how these young people are, they go out of their way to aggravate their elders.”
Eve couldn’t escape the notion that his lordship referred as much to himself as his young cousin.
Burns’ brows snapped downward. “My son knows his duty.”
“Then count yourself lucky,” Lord Rushton said. “He is far wiser than many older men. As for Hilary, she isn’t old enough to be allowed to hook a man yet, and I never knew her to take the attention of a swain to heart. Now, may I ask what brings you to Mull?”
Lord Burns blinked, clearly caught off guard with the change of subject. “James Rose leased a house here. He invited us.”
“James, a good man,” Lord Rushton said. “Do you hunt?”
“Aye, quail, and deer, sometimes.”
“Excellent,” Lord Rushton said. “You must hunt on Ravenhall. We have an abundance of deer. I’m sure we can arrange a time. My father is an avid hunter, and an excellent guide.”
Lord Burns stiffened. “I may not have time.”
The earl nodded. “I imagine James will keep you busy. However, there is a matter that might be of great interest to you, and one in which I think you might be in a position to help. Bring James, he will want to be apprised of the situation.”
“Situation, what situation?”
“We have a press gang stealing our men.”
“Press gang?” Lord Burns’ eyes blazed. “By God, are ye sure?”
“Absolutely certain. We encountered their ship on the way here.”
“God damn.” His face reddened in embarrassment and he glanced at Eve and Leslie. “Beg pardon, ladies.”
Eve nodded forgiveness, careful to keep the astonishment she felt at Lord Burns’ change of attitude from her expression.
“I understand Aberdeen is a favorite hunting ground for the slavers,” Lord Rushton said, “but I suspect this band bypassed the city this time.”
Lord Burns nodded. “The new legislation will have the constables on the lookout for the brigands.”
“Ahh, you know of the new law.” The earl nodded. “I had a suspicion you did. Are you acquainted with any of the constables in Aberdeen?”
“Aye, several, as a matter of fact.”
“Very good. My brother has been tracking Johnson, the captain of the ship we encountered. His inquiries have not gone as far as Aberdeen.”
“The bloody—” He broke off and cast Eve and Leslie another embarrassed glance, then said to Lord Rushton, “I’ll speak with James.”
“I look forward to hearing from you.”
Lord Burns nodded. “Ladies,” he nodded to them, then left.
“I cannot believe you didna’ shoot him,” Leslie said when the door closed behind him. “You know he didn’t want Hilary fraternizing with his son because your mother is English.”
“Perhaps,” Lord Rushton said, “but if I fought every man who didn’t want his child fraternizing with the English, I would have dawn appointments from now until Kingdom Come. Where is my father, by the way?”
“I haven’t seen him since you arrived.”
“You told Burns he was not here. Leslie, you lied to a guest?”
She gave a disdainful sniff. “I knew if I went to look for the laird, that fool would begin his own search. I couldn’t let him run free in the castle.”
“You’re quite right.” Lord Rushton winked, and Eve had to bite back a laugh. “Then I would have been forced to challenge him to a duel. You saved me.”
The maid blushed. “You exaggerate.”
“I never exaggerate. I suppose you had better run along now.” She left and he faced Eve. “You look a little more the thing than you did when we arrived earlier.”
“I am somewhat rested,” she replied.
“Will you walk with me to the great hall? We might be able to scrounge up some tea.”
She would rather do anything than spend time with him—especially alone—but she had to speak with him. Eve smiled. “Tea would be heavenly.”
He startled her by grasping her hand and placing it in the crook of his arm. Eve’s heart leapt and the urge to cry unexpectedly rushed to the surface. Dear God, she had to find a way to stop reacting to his touch.
“I half expected Lord Burns to call you out,” she said in what she prayed was a half amused tone.
His hand fell away from hers and left her aware of the play of muscle in his forearm as he walked, which was little better than the warmth of his fingers.
“The marquess wouldn’t take lightly a challenge made to his son in his own home. I suspect Burns knew that and it squashed the impulse,” he replied.
“I wanted to shoot him myself,” she said.
“We really must do something about your penchant for shooting men, my dear.”
She laughed. “That has more to do with the men I have been associating with of late. You must admit, Lord Burns would have deserved a bullet in his leg.”
“Perhaps, but it is far less dangerous to be the one making the challenge.”
“That is nonsensical. There is no difference.”
He smiled indulgently. “You have clearly never fought a duel.”
They entered the corridor and Eve started to precede him down the narrow passage, but he laid a hand on hers, preventing her from pulling away. His fingers exerted gentle pressure and Eve fought the impulse to look down at his hand, which felt as if it had swallowed hers in warmth.
“I am surprised you would suggest I engage in another duel.” His deep voice caressed her like the soothing water of a brook. “You seemed quite overwrought when I challenged Neville.”
Her stomach somersaulted in response to the remembered fear that he would die in that duel. “You were so set on dueling with Lord Halifax that I assumed it was a hobby of yours.”
“Ah, but he deserved it. Burns, on the other hand, isn’t worth the risk I would have to flee the Continent.”
She looked sharply at him. “What?”
He smiled down at her. “Not every battle is worth fighting.”
Her stomach did another, harder, somersault. “You are a strange man.” Eve realized what she’d said and clapped her free hand over her mouth.
His eyes lit with amusement. “And you are a very unusual woman.”
She removed the hand from her mouth. “That is not a compliment.”
“But it is.”
They turned a corner and Eve watched the floor ahead of her. “Do you think Lord Burns will truly help a
pprehend the press gang? What is your plan? You didn’t tell me what happened.”
“Not my plan, Miss Crenshaw. Ash will deal with the slavers.”
“But you told Lord Burns you wanted to speak with him about them.”
“Yes. I will apprise him and James of what happened. They might be able to provide information that will aid Ash in discovering the slaver’s destination.”
A strange melancholy seeped through her. “Of course. You won’t remain in Scotland long enough to help.”
“Sadly, I will not.”
“I am surprised you can do without the pleasures of London long enough to marry.” The words barely passed her lips and she wondered what kind of idiot she was for opening that can of worms.
“I know my duty,” he said with such obvious amusement that she wanted to box his ears.
“You had better speak with Lord Burns before he has a chance to remember why he came here,” Eve said. Lord, she had to change the subject. “I saw what you did to him.”
“What did I do to him?”
“You turned him from a charging bull to a supporter.” A light began to glimmer in her mind. “Now that I think of it, you got Leslie to nigh worship you.” And all with a wink.
“Worship me?” He laughed heartily. “You have a way with words, Miss Crenshaw.”
Eve looked at him. “You—you are doing it to me! Good Lord, I see it now. You’ve been doing it all along. Oscar was determined to kidnap you, but he scarcely had you inside the carriage before you charmed him into chasing after me instead. Lord Somerset follows your commands without a whimper when only days ago he wanted to challenge you to a duel.”
“Challenge me to a duel?” Lord Rushton frowned. “Why on earth would he do that?”
“Don’t pretend you have forgotten when you walked in on him and I at—oh, whatever party it was. He was furious with you.”
“I do seem to recall he was overset, but surely it wasn’t so bad that he wanted to shoot me?”
“You know he wanted to shoot you.” As did she. Eve was beginning to feel the urge yet again, then the last piece of the puzzle fell into place and she understood the thought that had begun to form when she observed how the earl handled Lord Burns. “You are a diplomat!”
He looked at her in surprise. “I think you overestimate my abilities.”
