Rose In Scotland (6 page)

He continued holding her gaze, making no attempt
to disguise his contempt of her. At first he thought she meant to brazen her way out of their silent duel; then he saw her eyes widen first in confusion, and then in horrified understanding.
Good
, he thought, his mouth curving with bitter satisfaction. At least she now knew he had not been fooled by her pretty performance. Taking from that what pleasure he could, he turned and left the room.

“Are you all right, dearest child?” her grandfather demanded the moment the door had closed behind the red-haired stranger. “Shall I send for the smelling salts?”

“No, Grandfather, that shall not be necessary,” Caroline assured him, annoyed he should think her so weak-willed a creature as that. “I am fine, I promise you.”

“If you say so,” he replied, his tone anxious as he continued hovering over her. “But at least let me send for some tea, eh? You are looking dashed pale.”

“As you wish, sir,” Caroline agreed, more out of the desire to placate him than out of any genuine desire for food. And, she silently admitted with a guilty sigh, because it would give her a few minutes in which to compose herself. A few minutes she realized she desperately needed.

While the duke was off seeing to the food, Caroline hurried over to the mirror hung above the mantelpiece to repair the damages to her appearance. Her first glimpse of her reflection did little to improve her spirits, for she looked a perfect fright. She’d fled from London with little more than the clothes on her back, and the long
and dusty ride had had a detrimental effect upon her person. Why was it ladies in novels could indulge in such adventures and emerge looking dewy-eyed and delicate, while she looked as if she’d been pulled through a hedgerow backwards? It simply wasn’t fair.

When she’d done what she could to restore her appearance to some semblance of order, she returned to the settee to gather her thoughts. Now that she’d achieved the first part of her objective and had won her grandfather’s promise to help, all that remained was convincing him to become her guardian. Certainly he seemed sympathetic to her plight, she thought, recalling the concern on his thin face. If she but continued playing upon that sympathy, she was certain he would agree to whatever she suggested.

Such machinations were foreign to her usual direct nature, and her pride burned at being forced to employ the feminine posturings she’d always disdained. But during the long ride from London she’d had a great deal of time to think, and she decided it might be best to immediately impress the duke with the desperation of her situation, rather than attempting to reason with him. Her grandfather was all but a stranger to her, and she had no way of knowing how he might respond. She knew she had to be very clever in her approach, and had planned each word and gesture with the studiousness of an actress preparing to walk out upon a stage.

At first she feared she’d overplayed her hand with her startling bluntness, but to her relief he had believed her at once. Which was more than could be said of the hard-faced stranger who’d
been with him, she brooded, remembering the contempt she’d seen gleaming in his silver-green eyes as he’d held her gaze with a boldness that was just short of insolence.

Grandfather had called him “Sergeant,” she recalled, and surmised they must have served together. Certainly he had the look of a battle-hardened soldier, and there was a cold, menacing air of danger about him that made her grateful he was not her grandfather. Had she attempted such a ruse on him, she had no doubt he would have sent her packing back to London without so much as a flicker of remorse. Ah, well. She dismissed the memory of his tall, muscular form with a shrug. She had more important things to think of at the moment than some arrogant stranger.

Her grandfather soon returned, accompanied by a maid pushing a cart laden with food. They chatted while the servant laid out the food, but the moment they were alone, her grandfather turned abruptly serious.

“Now tell me what that rakehell son of mine has been about,” he said, his directness taking Caroline by surprise. “Not really attempting to force you to the altar, is he?”

Caroline lowered her gaze to her hands, doing her best not to squirm. What she knew as fact and what she could prove were not the same thing, and she struggled for the right words.

“He informed me yesterday I am to accept the viscount’s offer of marriage,” she said, deciding it would be best to start with the truth. “I told him I hate—am afraid,” she amended, deciding that sounded better, “of Sir Gervase, but it does
not seem to matter. Uncle Charles says I will marry his friend, or he will have me locked away.”

“I see.” The duke steepled his fingers together and looked grave. “Have you any idea why he has set upon such a course of action? You must be all of twenty now, and it seems to me that if he was determined to see you wed, he should have done so by now.”

“I am one and twenty, Grandfather,” Caroline corrected, feeling a sharp pang that he did not even know her true age. “And as for why he has now decided to marry me off, I think I know the reason for that as well.”

“And what reason might that be?”

“My fortune. I’ve recently discovered that although the majority of the money is entailed directly to me, Uncle Charles has still managed to steal several thousand pounds from my funds. He has also been affixing my name to various documents granting him further powers, and he was attempting to gain possession of some properties belonging to my mother when I was warned of his actions by my man of business. It was shortly after I began my inquiries that Uncle Charles announced I would wed Sir Gervase or pay the consequences.” Her lips twisted in a bitter smile. “It would seem if he cannot obtain my fortune one way, he is determined to obtain it in another.”

There was a long silence before her grandfather finally spoke. “I greatly esteemed your grandmother,” he said, a look of resigned pain crossing his face. “But it is at times like this that I cannot help but wonder if she played me false
all those years ago. I find it incomprehensible that such a devil’s spawn should have sprung from my loins.”

Caroline’s fingers twisted together. “Then you believe me?” she asked, cautious hope stirring in her breast.

“Alas, knowing my son as I do, I fear I have no other choice,” he replied with a heavy sigh. “It sounds precisely the sort of thing he would do, and in all fairness to the wretch, it
is
clever. By marrying you to his friend, a man I assume he controls completely, he will have all of your fortune rather than the bits of it he has managed to grab. Yes,” he went on, nodding his head with reluctant admiration, “it is most clever of him, I vow.”

Caroline was not certain how to take that. “But you will help me, won’t you, Grandfather?” she pleaded, wondering if she ought to squeeze out another tear or two just to be safe. “You will not allow Uncle Charles to marry me off to Sir Gervase?”

“Eh?” He gave her a blank look, and then his blue eyes, so very like her own, began to sparkle with excitement. “Of course I shan’t allow such a thing!” he said, sending her a reassuring smile. “In fact, I have in mind the perfect plan that will put an end to your uncle’s evil designs once and for all. Yes, yes, it is the very thing.”

“What is it, Grandfather?” she asked, all but weak with relief. “Will you petition the courts to become my guardian?”

“That is one way, to be sure,” he agreed, frowning thoughtfully. “But given my advanced age, I fear it would be a temporary solution only.
Were I to die before you were safely wed, your uncle would be upon you like a crow on a rotting piece of carrion before I scarce cocked up my toes.”

“Then what shall we do?” Caroline demanded, horrified as she accepted the truth of what he was saying.

In answer, he folded his hands and leaned back in his chair. “Why, the solution is as plain as a pikestaff,” he said, looking smugly pleased with himself. “We shall marry you off to someone else as quickly as it can be arranged.”

H
ugh was surprised to find a message from General Burroughs waiting when he came down to the taproom the following morning. He’d steeled himself to be kept dangling a good day or more, and the note ordering him to report to Edward Street at one in the afternoon was welcome news indeed.

To his surprise the slovenly innkeeper personally fetched his food, bowing and scraping as he set the plate of beefsteak before him. The food was even hot, and Hugh was hard-pressed to hide his cynical amusement as he tucked into his breakfast. Corresponding with a duke had its unexpected benefits, it would seem.

As it was scarcely ten of the clock, he decided to while away the rest of the morning exploring the city. He’d been too long in the out-of-doors to relish the thought of returning to his cramped, airless room, and in any case, he thought it might be worth his while to visit the Pump Room. Aunt Egidia had told him it was the best place in Bath to see who was in town. Before his conversation with the general had been interrupted by the pretty blonde, General Burroughs had mentioned
that Colonel Margate was also in Bath. The affable man had been his last commanding officer, and Hugh was most anxious to see him again. The more power he had behind him, the safer he would feel.

The Pump Room was crowded when he arrived. At Angus’s insistence he’d left his sword at home, a fact for which he was most grateful when he saw the notice posted beside the door banning the wearing of all weapons. He thought about the dirk he had tucked in the pocket of his fine coat, and gave brief thought to surrendering it. A man was a fool to go anywhere completely unarmed, though, and unless he was attacked, none would ever have cause to know he was carrying it.

After purchasing his tea and biscuits, he joined the crowds circling the elegantly appointed room. There were easily three times as many people as there were tables and chairs for them, and Hugh shook his head at the folly of it. Trust the English to turn the taking of medicinal waters into an excuse to pack as many people into a place as possible, he mused, wincing as a lady in a hooped skirt squeezed her way past him.

While walking, he took the opportunity to surreptitiously study the well-dressed throng, paying special note to what the other men were wearing. For himself he cared not a whit whether they rigged themselves up like a group of painted macaronis, or went about as naked as a band of savages, but for the sake of Loch Haven he knew he had best care. He wouldn’t risk the future of his clan because some self-important
prig of a magistrate didn’t care for the cut of his coat.

To his relief he noted that his new coat and breeches were more than acceptable, and he felt the touch of more than one admiring glance from the ladies as he moved past them. He was also relieved to see he wasn’t the only man in the room who had foresworn the wearing of a wig, nor was he even the only one with unpowdered hair. He heartily disliked the ritual, although as a soldier he’d been required to keep his hair meticulously powdered, a practice he’d considered impractical and even dangerous. White hair made a far easier target for American marksmen than plain hair, and in any case, he’d never seen the sense of a young man trying to look like an old one.

By his third turn about the room he decided he’d had enough, and was about to leave when he saw General Burroughs entering. At his side was his granddaughter, looking even more beautiful than before in a stunning ensemble of French blue silk and blond lace. Hugh admired her beauty, even as he cursed her presence. How was he to conduct his business with the general in private if the chit meant to cling to him like a limpet? he wondered crossly. None of these dark thoughts showed on his face, however, as he crossed the room to make his bows before them.

“Your Grace,” he said, inclining his head with grave courtesy. “It is a pleasure to see you again.”

“Ah, Sergeant, what a delightful surprise to find you here!” the general responded, looking
genuinely pleased. “Did you receive the note I had sent round to your lodgings?”

“Yes, Your Grace, and I am looking forward to our meeting,” Hugh answered, noting the blonde had gone rigid as a pole. Evidently her aristocratic sensibilities were offended at being introduced to a common soldier, he decided with dislike.

“As am I, Sergeant, as am I,” the general replied, a mischievous light dancing in his blue eyes. “As a matter of fact, I have a rather interesting proposal to put to you that I think you may find worth the hearing.”

To Hugh’s surprise the blonde gave a jerk, her face first growing pink with color and then paling. She swiftly lowered her gaze, but before she did Hugh thought he detected a flash of resentment burning in her eyes. What the devil? he wondered, giving her a questioning look in return.

As if just recalling her presence, the general turned to his granddaughter and drew her forward. “You must forgive me, my manners have gone to lack,” he said, smiling at Hugh. “Allow me to make you known to my granddaughter. Caroline, my dear,” he said, giving her arm a paternal pat, “this handsome young gentleman is Hugh MacColme, the laird of Loch Haven, and the man to whom your grandfather owes his life. Sergeant MacColme, this stunning creature is my granddaughter, Lady Caroline Burroughs.”

A
lady
, Hugh thought with a derisive sneer; he might have known. He made an elegant bow, and acting on the hope of disconcerting her, reached out to take the hand she had stiffly offered.

He captured it in his, his fingers curling about hers with just enough strength to have her eyes flying open. Their gazes met, and when he was certain she wouldn’t glance away, he raised her hand to his lips for a mocking kiss.

“My lady,” he drawled, his mouth curving in a slow smile at the anger he could see flashing in her eyes. “It is an honor to make your acquaintance.”

“Mr. MacColme.” Her voice was every bit as rigid as her posture as she jerked her hand free. “My grandfather has spoken of you.”

“Has he?” Hugh wondered what the older man might have said to have put that note of loathing in her voice. It had always been his impression the general held him in some esteem. But what did he care what some well-born chit thought of him? He turned his attention back to the duke.