Rose In Scotland (13 page)

Beside her Caroline felt Hugh tense. “Was he now?” he said, a hint of steel in his voice. “Then he shall have to learn to live with his distress. The general’s orders stand. If the earl should find fault with those instructions, notify me. I would be pleased to explain the situation to him. Is that clear?”

The butler bowed again a look of newfound respect softening his austere features. “Quite
clear, Mr. MacColme,” he intoned. “Will there be anything else?”

In response Hugh turned to Caroline. “I’m sure you must be feeling weary,” he said, his green eyes meeting hers. “Why don’t you go to our rooms and lie down? You’ll want to be well-rested for the ball tonight.”

His suggestion was all that was polite, but by his tone it was clearly a command. Caroline’s independent nature rebelled at such highhandedness. Trust a man not to realize there were a hundred things to be done, to settle in.

“Very well, sir,” she said, not wishing to wrangle in front of the servents. “I shall see you later this evening.” She turned to go, when he caught her arm in his hand.

“A moment, my lady,” he drawled, drawing her back against him. She frowned in confusion, guessing his intentions only as he bent his head and claimed her with a kiss. As if he were oblivious to the presence of the butler his warm lips clung to hers, and he flicked his tongue against her closed mouth with a daring sensuality that had her gasping. He took advantage of her shock to deepen the kiss, and she briefly tasted the potent sweetness of his mouth before he released her.

“To remember me by,” he murmured, the smug satisfaction stamped on his handsome features adding to her indignation. “Rest now,
annsachd
. I look forward to escorting you to our first ball as man and wife.”

Once she’d completed her tour of the house, Caroline spent the next few hours elbow-deep in work. In between sending out letters to friends
advising them on her new address, she arranged for her clothing and other personal effects to be brought from her uncle’s house. She also met with the housekeeper, going over even more lists and making tenuous plans for the remainder of their stay. She didn’t know how long they would be in London, but if they were going to be here more than a few weeks, she knew they would be expected to host some small entertainment.

It didn’t help that Hugh had abandoned her within an hour of their arrival, leaving no word as to where he had gone or what time she might expect him to return. The only message he had left was that if he wasn’t home by nine of the clock she was to begin preparing for the soiree without him. His casual treatment hurt her, a reaction she was careful to keep from the prying eyes of the servants. She had her pride, if nothing else, and she was hanged if she would allow them to pity her.

When the clock struck half by nine and there was still no sign of Hugh, her hurt gave way to embarrassed anger. This was their wedding night, she brooded, and although theirs was but a marriage of convenience, it was still a marriage. The least Hugh could do was to be there to escort her to the Greshams’ ball. So much for his fine vow to protect her from Uncle Charles, she thought, slamming her brush on to the dressing table.

“Is something amiss, my lady?” The middle-aged maid who had been her abigail since her coming out inquired, eyeing her anxiously. “Is your gown not to your liking?”

“What?” Caroline blinked, flustered at having
been caught woolgathering. “Oh, no, Helene, everything is fine,” she assured the maid, casting her reflection a quick glance. The gown she was wearing was cut in the French style, and the rich gold brocade robe with its low, square neckline and three-quarter-length sleeves lavishly trimmed with silver lace made her look quite the woman of the world. A woman, she told herself, reaching up to touch her pearl and diamond necklace, who would not sit about waiting for an errant husband’s return.

“Have my carriage summoned,” she said, her heart pounding as she rose to her feet. “I will be going out for the evening.”

“Out?” Helene’s dark eyes bulged in horror. “But—but my lady, ’Tis your bridal night! You cannot go out alone! What will your husband say?”

He can say what he pleases, and may he choke on the words
, Caroline thought, although she was too wise to voice such things aloud. For all she knew, the servants, Helene included, could be in her uncle’s pay, and she was not about to provide him with the fodder to have the marriage overturned. Thinking quickly, she gave the maid a haughty glare.

“As it was Mr. MacColme’s suggestion we spend part of the evening at Lady Gresham’s soiree, I assume he will say precious little,” she said, her voice edged with ice. “Now kindly have my carriage summoned. I do not have all evening.”

While the chastised maid rushed to do her bidding, Caroline fought not to feel guilty. She seldom spoke to servants so harshly, but in this case
she didn’t feel she had any other choice. Not for the world would she let anyone know she was going out because she refused to spend her wedding night meekly awaiting her husband’s return. And in the event Hugh did return and inquired after her, he would know she had gone ahead of him. Provided he even cared enough to ask, she thought resentfully, settling the folds of her scarlet domino about her shoulders.

Thirty minutes later, she was being helped from her carriage in front of Lady Gresham’s town house. The duchess was a vicious gossip whose company she usually eschewed, but unfortunately her soiree was the only function to come to mind. Hiding her trepidations she went inside, and had scarcely surrendered her cloak when her hostess was upon her.

“Lady Caroline, how utterly delightful to see you!” the older woman gushed, her welcoming tones at odds with the malice evident in her sharp eyes. “But I must say I am surprised you came. One would think a bride had better things to do on her wedding night than sip punch and gossip.”

Caroline stiffened at the taunting words. She was fairly certain the announcement had yet to be published, which left but one source for Her Grace’s information: her uncle.

“Indeed?” she asked, raising an eyebrow with cool hauteur.

An angry flush bloomed beneath the powder and paint on the duchess’s fleshy cheeks, but her insincere smile remained firmly in place. “But where is your husband?” she demanded, making a great show of peering over Caroline’s shoulder.
“I hear he is a soldier, and a Scotsman as well. Will he be wearing a kilt? He must look quite handsome in it, I am sure.”

Although she had yet to see Hugh in a kilt, it took little effort to envision what he would look like in one, his broad shoulders swathed in plaid and his muscular legs bared beneath the folds of the kilt. “Quite handsome indeed,” Caroline replied, willing herself not to blush. “But the last I saw of him, my husband was properly attired in a cravat and breeches.”

She knew the words to be a mistake the moment she saw Lady Gresham’s eyes fire with malevolent glee. “The last you saw of him?” she repeated in a voice meant to be overheard. “Poor child, do not say the beast has abandoned you already? You cannot have been married above twelve hours!”

Caroline could sense as well as feel the sudden silence that descended upon the room, and she mentally cursed herself for foolishly giving in to her impulses. “He had important business that would not wait, and he wished to dispose of it before joining me here,” she said, taking care to keep her own voice level. “But I shall be certain to mention your concern to him,” she added, smiling sweetly. “Not many hostesses would be so solicitous of a guest’s welfare.”

The uncomfortable titter behind her made it plain her point had not gone untaken. No hostess with any claim to gentility would dare attack a guest in her own home, and by doing so the duchess had displayed a shocking want of breeding. The tale would soon be on everyone’s lips, and Lady Gresham would be the one to suffer
most. Caroline took from that what comfort she could, her chin held high as she moved past the furious duchess.

The next hour passed in a blur as she was besieged by other guests pressing for more information on her sudden marriage. At first she remained rigidly aloof, saying as little as she could about the matter. But as the questions grew more pointed and her annoyance grew stronger, she became less reticent, a feeling of deep resentment destroying her usual caution. If society should think it so remarkable she would marry a man she’d known less than twenty-four hours, she thought, clutching her glass of champagne more tightly, how much more would they be amazed were they to think it a love match?

“Of course,” she said, interrupting one of the gentlemen, “I should never have been so amenable to Grandfather’s request had I not been so taken with Mr. MacColme. He is a most worthy gentleman.”

“Never say you are enamored of the fellow!” A dandy in pink silk Caroline recognized as an intimate of her uncle’s gasped, his quizzing glass held high as he gave a delicate shudder. “From all accounts he is naught but a rough and crude Scotsman! A common soldier who never rose above the rank of sergeant!”

That he knew so much about Hugh verified her suspicions that her uncle was already spreading his venomous lies, and she decided it might be wise to begin dispelling such untruths now.

“Sergeant Major,” she corrected, recalling her grandfather’s many references to Hugh’s rank.
“And he is not a rough and crude Scotsman. He is the laird of Loch Haven.”

“How passionately you defend your husband, dear Lady Caroline,” one of the women said, giving a low purr of laughter. “I find that simply enchanting. Perhaps there is something to be said for these arranged matches after all.”

“Your husband’s name is MacColme, did you say?” an older man in a powdered wig inquired, his brows wrinkling in thought. “I remember seeing his name in the dispatches while I was in the Foreign Office. He was decorated for bravery under fire for saving your grandfather’s life, as I recall. ’Tis said Lord Cornwallis himself offered him a commission, but he turned it down because he didn’t wish to leave his men.”

“Ah, but it would seem the good sergeant received his promotion after all.” The dandy who had first spoken simpered daintily, his thick lips twisting in malevolent pleasure. “Tell me, precisely what does one call a man who has married so high above his station?”

“A most fortunate man, I am thinking,” a cold voice said as a strong arm slipped possessively about Caroline’s waist. “What would
you
call him?”

A stunned silence descended upon the crowd and for a brief moment Caroline gave careful thought to swooning. She’d been hoping Hugh would come, but she hadn’t imagined his arrival would be quite so dramatic. Several of the ladies were gazing at him as if he were a devil sprung from the bowels of Hades to carry them off, and the dandy who’d made the snide observation looked close to engaging in a real swoon. Thinking
quickly, she moved out of his embrace and turned to face him.

“It is about time you made your appearance, Mr. MacColme,” she scolded, pouting as she offered him her hand. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten we were to meet here.”

He took her hand, his green eyes glittering with icy fury as he raised it to his lips. “Absent-minded I might be,” he said, his accent more pronounced than she’d ever heard it. “But I’m nae so forgetful as to misplace my bride on our wedding night. Are you ready to leave now?”

There were several nervous giggles behind her but she ignored them, determined to escape without creating an even bigger scandal. The terrified dandy was even now beating an undignified retreat, and several other men were moving away as well, not in the least fooled by his easy words. He had a hard-edged look of violence about him, and it was plain they wanted none of him.

“I am ready,” she said, her tone as nonchalant as she could manage given the circumstances. “Shall we go?”

He said nothing, his jaw set as he led her out of the crowded drawing room. There was a short, uncomfortable wait while their wraps were fetched, and then he was hurrying her out of the house and into the waiting carriage. The moment they were off, he turned to face her.

“It’s an explanation I am wanting from you,” he said, his voice as sharp-edged as a sword. “What do you mean by leaving the house without me? Do you nae have a care for your own safety?”

The arrogant demand had her bristling in instant defense. “I was hardly bereft of protection,” she retorted, furious he should dare lecture her after leaving her to her own devices for the better part of the evening. “I had a footman with me, and the coachman is carrying a pistol. I was perfectly safe.”

“Aye, a pimple-faced boy and a doddering old man who is as like to put a bullet through himself as through a footpad,” he shot back, plainly unimpressed with her escorts. “London is the most dangerous city in the world, and I will not have you going out alone again, do you hear?”

Caroline’s jaw dropped in astonishment. “You won’t have?” she repeated furiously. “May I remind you, sir, that I have lived the whole of my life in London? I am more than capable of getting to and from a soiree without being attacked.”

“And if you were attacked?” he demanded, leaning forward to grab her arm. “What then, my fine lady? What would you do to save yourself?”

The grip of his fingers hurt, but it was the waves of icy anger emanating from him that frightened her most. “Will you kindly let go of my arm?” she asked, seeking refuge behind a facade of cold pride. “You are hurting me.”

He released her at once, but didn’t shift away. “What you may have done before is of no matter to me,” he said, his voice all the more intense for its softness. “It’s what you do now that counts. You are my wife, Caroline MacColme; I took a sacred vow to protect you, and protect you I will, despite how you may feel about it. Is that plain enough for you?”

Caroline opened her lips indignantly, but then shut them without speaking. She’d been up since just after dawn, and the toll of the endless hours and the stress of the day’s events was suddenly overwhelming. Pride and protest would have to wait, she decided with a weary sigh. She was too exhausted to care.

“Aye,” she said stiffly, moving away from him to lean back against the seat. “It’s plain enough.”