Amanda Scott (18 page)

Both Miss MacDrumin and Lydia were waiting in the hall with his stepmother when he emerged with Ryder from the library, and he gave thanks for the latter’s excellent manners when he introduced him to his guest, for although Ryder shot him a look that said he recognized her surname at once, he expressed no vulgar curiosity and said only that he was happy to make her acquaintance. If Miss MacDrumin looked a little pale at learning he was the attorney general, Rothwell hoped Ryder would put it down to simple shyness. Nevertheless, he knew that Ryder’s awareness of who she was, meant that little time remained before he would be ordered to explain himself.

Conversation at the table was desultory for the most part, although Rothwell noted that Miss MacDrumin was unusually silent, replying politely but succinctly and only when she was directly addressed. She wore a deceptively simple, light-blue silk gown, the snug bodice of which seemed to caress her gently curved breasts and tiny waist, but he thought the color was not as becoming to her as the mossy green she had worn the first time he saw her. The blue failed to bring out the green flecks in her eyes, making them look yellow, almost like a cat’s. She still looked pale, but her cheeks reddened when he caught her gaze and she looked swiftly down at her plate, making him wonder if she knew he would have more to say to her. She barely spoke to Ryder, but since that gentleman’s attention was mostly engaged by Lydia, Rothwell did not think he noticed any lack.

Lydia seemed determined to flirt with Ryder, and Lady Rothwell, in an excellent mood for once, interjected only one or two references to her oft-mentioned belief that James had as much right to at least one of the late earl’s titles as Rothwell did. Ryder, accustomed to such observations from her, paid them no heed, diverting her to other topics with long-practiced skill, and all in all, Rothwell thought the meal passed off more pleasantly than he had any right to hope it would.

When Lydia archly suggested that Sir Dudley might enjoy a stroll through the Privy Gardens with her and Miss MacDrumin after dinner, Rothwell said, “I have matters of importance to discuss with Miss MacDrumin, my dear, but no doubt Ryder will be delighted to stroll with you.”

He saw alertness replace anticipation in Ryder’s eyes and was almost grateful when Lady Rothwell said sharply, “Surely, you cannot want your sister to be so particular in her attention to a single gentleman as to stroll alone in a public garden with him!”

He replied calmly, “Ryder is entirely to be trusted, ma’am, I assure you, but should you have concern for Lydia’s reputation, I daresay he will be pleased to have your company as well, or she can take her maid.” Realizing that though Ryder was trustworthy, Lydia could not be trusted not to say something unwise, and hoping at least to prevent her from saying anything about her activities of the previous night before he had talked with Ryder himself, Rothwell said abruptly to the nearest footman, “Fetch Lady Lydia’s maid and a warm wrap for her.” Then he turned to Miss MacDrumin and added in much the same tone, “If you have finished your dinner, I will speak with you now in the library.”

“Certainly, my lord.” She rose gracefully to her feet.

Seeing that Lydia was watching him with visible alarm, as if she were debating the wisdom of yet again leaving Miss MacDrumin to his less than tender mercies, he managed a smile and said, “I trust, puss, that you will keep Tilda near enough to assure your mama that Ryder will not attempt to speak improperly to you.”

“As if he would!” But the worried look faded, and she grinned saucily at him.

Glancing at Ryder, who looked unamused, Rothwell smiled at him rather more mockingly, and said, “After you, Miss MacDrumin.”

She went peacefully, her head held high, and if her wariness returned when she found herself alone with him in the library, she nevertheless retained her dignity. Remembering how easily she had stirred his temper the night before, he was determined to control this discussion, and to remain calm if only because he knew he would learn nothing of importance if he did not. The cold anger he had felt when Ryder told him Charles Stewart had been at the ball had dissipated somewhat over dinner, but he was well aware that it lay just beneath the surface of his calm, ready to stir at the least provocation. It did not help that he had decided that for Lydia’s own protection he would have to send her home at least until the latest anti-Jacobite fever had subsided. He knew too that the time had come to send Miss MacDrumin home as well. He had not really had time to deal with the arrangements before—or told himself that he had not—but he would have to do so now, at once, and that thought pleased him no more than the others.

He was still collecting his thoughts when she said quietly, “I ought to have known you would count the attorney general amongst your friends, Rothwell. May I assume from his cordial manner that you have not yet told him about me?”

“I have not, though he recognized your surname, I believe.”

“What else will you tell him?”

“I have not decided.” He had not expected her to ask direct questions but thought she would remain silent as she had the night before, and let him lead the discussion. Her questions added to his guilt about not having spoken to Ryder and made him feel unusually defensive. It was not a feeling he enjoyed.

She drew a deep breath, turned away, and said with an odd little sigh, “What will happen when Sir Dudley discovers that Lydia attended a Jacobite masquerade?”

The provocative words proved more than he could stomach. Despite his resolution, something snapped, and without a second thought he grabbed her shoulders just as he had done the night before and spun her back to face him.

“How dare you attempt to blackmail me!” He snarled the words, furious with her in a way he could not recall feeling toward anyone in a decade or more. “Is it not enough that your actions force me to send Lydia home for her own safety? Now you dare to taunt me with the very danger into which you have carried her, even to threaten to betray her yourself to the authorities! By God, I never thought you could sink so low!”

“Faith, I did not!” Her face had gone white with shock, and he felt her shoulders tense beneath his hands. Tears filled her eyes, and her voice caught when she added, “I … I would not!”

“Do not think you can move me with tears,” he said harshly, but he released her at once and stepped away, angry with himself for so quickly losing the control he had been determined to keep. What power did this woman have, he wondered, that she could so easily infuriate him?

Choking back her tears, she said, “You must think me utterly despicable to accuse me of such a dreadful thing.”

He regarded her closely, his fury oddly suspended, and was quickly convinced that her distress was genuine. “I do not despise you,” he said, calmer now. “If I misjudged you, I will apologize. In my own defense I can only say that your question was easily misunderstood.”

“I suppose it was,” she admitted, “but I promise you, sir, I asked only because I assumed that Sir Dudley must eventually discover that Lydia was there. I would never betray her to secure my own advantage.”

“But you have already done that,” he said, in control again and determined to make her understand what she had done. “Your betrayal was in leading her into grave personal danger, and you certainly acted to gain advantage for yourself.” His voice was gentle, and he hoped it would encourage her to confide in him.

Clearly, however, she—like so many others before her—had already learned to mistrust that tone, for her eyes opened wide and the wariness flooded back into them. “Wh-what do you mean?”

Looking directly at her again, he said without equivocation, “For what purpose did you go to Essex Street last night?”

“I … I told you already. It was imperative that I see Lady Primrose.”

“To reassure her of your safety, no doubt.”

She bit her lower lip.

Reaching out, he put his hand under her chin, tilting her head up, making it impossible for her to look away, then said sternly, “You went to see someone else, did you not, Miss MacDrumin, someone far more dangerous than Lady Primrose?”

Was there a flicker of fear in her eyes? She certainly grew pale again, but she did not try to look away, and though her lips must have been dry, for she licked them, her voice was steady when she said, “I do not know whom you mean.”

“Liar.”

The color flooded back into her cheeks, and her eyes flashed, but even as she opened her mouth to deny the charge, she shut it again and squeezed her eyes tightly shut as well. Then, to his surprise, she looked at him again, clearly struggling with herself to do so, and said in a firmer voice, “I beg your pardon, sir. You are right to name me so, but I am bound by my sworn word to others to say no more.”

He found his respect for her increasing, and releasing her chin, he said, “I will make this easier for you. I know—as does Sir Dudley—that Charles Stewart was at that masquerade, seeking support for his lost cause.” He laid careful emphasis on the last two words, and waited for her to dispute them.

She did not. Her creamy brow furrowed for a moment before she said, “Will they all be arrested?”

He considered the question for a moment before replying, “I have no wish to misjudge your words again. Are you asking me if arrests were made or if you yourself stand in danger of arrest?”

She looked surprised. “My dear sir, I must suppose that the greatest threat to me lies with you. I should think, too, that your power is sufficient to protect Lydia and James, should accusations be laid against them. My concern is for the others who were present, of course, for Lady Primrose and her guests.”

“There have been no arrests at all,” he said, “but rid yourself of the notion that my political power is so great that it would override a charge of treason against anyone in my household. On the contrary, by advocating the release of certain once-powerful Scottish leaders, I have already annoyed certain persons in power, who would be only too happy to charge me with harboring Jacobites.”

“Were any leaders actually released?”

“MacKinnon of MacKinnon, for one,” he answered promptly.

“But that is wonderful,” she said. “Papa will be pleased, for he has been concerned for the MacKinnon’s health.”

“MacKinnon said he did not know your father.”

“You asked him?” When he nodded, she said quickly, “Why did you advocate his release?”

“Because I believe we can more quickly mend matters and strengthen the union between our two countries if we do not create more martyrs,” he said bluntly.

“Oh.” She digested his words for a moment, then with a wry smile she said, “I hoped you might have had a certain sympathy for our cause, sir.”

“I don’t. I have no sympathy for traitors.”

She flushed, but her eyes flashed, and he knew he had made her angry. She said, “Not all of us are traitors, Rothwell, though German George and your precious English government have seen fit to treat us all as such. They care naught for the horrors wrought by Cumberland’s armies after Culloden, or for the innocent Scottish men, women, and children who were turned out of their homes to starve, or murdered in cold blood. I know well that you English hate all Scots, but we are a proud lot, sir. You will never crush us.”

“Scottish pride is proverbial,” he said, “but it becomes ridiculous to more civilized persons when it is accompanied by abject poverty and plain jealousy. When you add to that the habit so many Scots have of resorting to base chicanery—”

“How dare you!” Her cheeks flamed, her eyes spat fire, and her bosom heaved with indignation, but he felt no compassion now. Once again, she had spoken out without thinking, and she needed a sharp lesson in civility.

“I speak no more than plain truth,” he said bluntly. “Your fellow Scots are best known for rash behavior, a savage taste for fighting, and a reckless disregard for law and order. And pray do not try to tell me you hail from different stock, for although your father was never
proven
guilty of his part in that devilish uprising, I have no doubt that he was as guilty as MacKinnon. The only difference is that he seems not to have taken part in the gathering of chiefs the day after Culloden, but that might well be because he is a coward as well as a scoundrel.”

She slapped him hard—and clearly without thought that he might retaliate—and snapped, “You know nothing about Scotsmen, Rothwell. You sit here safe and smug in London with your vast wealth and your powerful friends, never having had to fight for anything! You never so much as lifted a finger to acquire your fortune either, I’ll wager, but just inherited it from your father. No doubt you inherited your power as well. But my father has had the full responsibility of our clan to shoulder. He deals with every clan member’s problems, not just his own, but he has managed to support them all and protect them all despite every obstacle the English have thrown in his path. You English,” she went on, her words dripping contempt, “have broken every promise you ever made and have even defied your own Treaty of Unification in order to take property that is not rightfully yours and to justify murder, torture, and rape.”

“That’s enough,” Rothwell said sharply, the sting in his cheek exacerbating his temper even more than her words. He would not give her the satisfaction of acknowledging the pain, however, and kept his hands rigidly at his sides as he said, “Not only have you just proven my point about the violent nature of Scotsmen by your own action, my girl, but your argument carries no weight. There is no crime in inheriting position and wealth, or in enjoying the advantages of one’s birthright. Your father no doubt became a clan chief by that very same road, and if you try to pretend you have lived a life equal to that of other members of your clan, I won’t believe you for a minute. You are too well educated, for one thing, and too damned sure of yourself for another. But we are not going to stand here flinging insults at each other. We don’t have the time for it, and we have already strayed too far from the only point that matters.”

“The only one that matters to you, perhaps,” she retorted, but he read chagrin in her expression and was glad to know she was sorry now for striking him, if for nothing else.