Fascination -and- Charmed (32 page)

“I’ve decided on a course of action with Stonehaven,” Grace announced.

Melony deared her throat and indicated Mairi. “Perhaps we should have a private little chat, dearest?”

“Mairi’s perfectly trustworthy,” Grace said.

“Of course.” Melony looked somewhat cross. “But there are things I would prefer to talk about between the two of us. I’m sure you understand.”

Before Grace could respond, Mairi pulled the load of accessories from the bed into her arms and made for the door. “I’ll away and see t’these,” she said, never looking at Melony. “It’ll take a while. Send word if ye need me for anythin’.”

As soon as the maid had left, Melony caught Grace’s hands in hers and peered anxiously into her face. “You appear pale.”

“I know.”

“Are you ill?”

“No.”

“Has anything been said about our departure for Edinburgh?”

“Mama said that Sir Mortimer said we’ll leave by the end of the week.”

“Ooh!” Melony squealed. “Isn’t that the veriest excitement?”

“The veriest,” Grace agreed, but her mind was elsewhere—on a tall, strong man with long black hair tied at his nape and eyes the color of deep-sea waters. “We are to buy my trousseau.” She wrinkled her nose, although the idea did bring flutters of anticipation to her stomach.

“You do not appear ... I see it now!” Melony exclaimed. “You are not yourself. The falling collar. The artless hair. The sorry expression.
Why
do you appear so ... so
dull
and old-fashioned?”

Grace smiled brightly. “Thank you, Melony. You have made me happy.”

“I have?”

“Indeed you have. Dull and old-fashioned—or at least exceedingly modest—is exactly as I wish to appear.” Whatever she said, she must not embarrass Melony by letting her know she had learned of Stonehaven’s behavior the other evening. “These past days have not been wasted. They have given me a much needed opportunity to analyze what it is that troubles Stonehaven and what I must do to help him.”

Melony dropped Grace’s hands.
“
Help
him.” She pursed her lips. “He is absolutely beyond the pale, and ... Oh, my, what am I saying? He is your fiancé, and I have no right to say anything unpleasant about him. Forgive me. I’m certain the two of you will manage well enough.”

Grace smiled at her friend. “You are not to worry further.” Melony must be afraid that Stonehaven’s strange humor would continue. “Please believe me when I say that the marquess is about to become a changed man. There will be no more exhibitions of ill humor. At least, there will be no more once he learns that happiness is within his grasp.”

“I surely cannot understand what you mean.” Melony walked smoothly to stand before the fire and jiggled her fingers before the warmth. Her rose satin was, Grace thought, a trifle overdone for early afternoon. Nevertheless, its richness became Melony’s white skin and auburn hair.

“He loves me,” Grace told her simply.

Melony swung around.
“
Loves
you?” She pressed a hand to her throat and laughed. “What can you be thinking of? Men such as Stonehaven do not
love.
”

“You are altogether too jaded. No doubt the result of your early bereavement. The sooner you find someone to love yourself, the better. I cannot bear to see your sweet, generous nature wasted on a lonely existence.”

“I am
not
lonely.”

“No, no, of course not.” Great patience and care must be exercised here. “And I assure you, my dear one, that no gentleman could look at you and not entertain thoughts of finding a way to make you his own. I believe you have been too distracted by grief, but you will soon be ready to entertain affectionate advances.
Sincere
affectionate advances,” she added with a meaningful glance lest Melony had any notion at all that Grace had learned of Stonehaven’s presumptuous visit.

“There is no need to concern yourself with me. You and your wedding are what matter. And I want you to allow me to help you with every aspect of the arrangements.” Melony smiled sadly. “After all, I have had the joy of going through the arrangements for my own, sadly short marriage.”

“Indeed.” Grace popped up and went to kiss Melony’s cheek. “And you are so generous to put aside the difficult memories to be a support to me.”

“What did you mean about Stonehaven?”

“It’s simple,” Grace said, swaying a little. “The first step was to change my style of dress—although I had not entirely formulated all of the reasons and results when I first made the decision.

“Stonehaven loves me. I told you of our early meetings and how we were carried away on an in-rushing tide of incredible
Passion.
”

“Yes.” The spots of color on Melony’s cheeks could only be caused by discomfort at Grace’s frank announcement.

“Forgive me for being so forthright on this subject. But we are women of the world, and I know you want to learn every detail.

“Those moments of extraordinary abandonment frightened him.”

Melony tilted her head.
“
Frightened?
”

“Indeed. Frightened. He is afraid such powerful love will make him weak and that he will not be strong enough to resist such episodes
all the
time.
”

A strangled noise escaped Melony.

“Shocking, I know, but true. There is such a ... a
thing
between us that I think it entirely possible we shall be unable to do anything at all but
Sit Together
if we do not find a means to control our impulses.”

“Sit together?”

“Oh, you know what I mean. I’ve come to understand so many things. Like the reason for chaperons. It is important for a man to maintain the notion that the object of his affections is pure. But when a man is alone with a woman and he can see and touch enough of her to cause certain
sensations,
then it is inevitable that he will soon be lost and have a desperate desire to
Sit With Her.
”

“Ah.”

Grace screwed up her eyes. There was something a trifle strange about Melony’s expression. Probably the result of too much stress of late.

“This in turn leads to the man feeling compromised—because the effect of the female makes him vulnerable to her. So the course for me to follow is obvious.”

“Do tell.”

“I shall. No doubt you will find the process useful yourself in the near future. Firstly, I am going to be so sweetly generous and charming and modest toward Stonehaven that he will become a calm and entirely satisfied man.

“Next, I intend to present an appearance to him that is so demure that not a single notion of
Sitting With Me
will ever enter his head.”

“How—”

“How shall I accomplish that?” Grace held out her arms and made a circle. “See? Skin is the problem, dearest Melony. The display of too much skin. Take it from me, that is absolutely the most dangerous element of all in this male-female thing. If a man can see and touch
naked
skin, he is lost!”

Melony shuddered and let out a small moan.

“Disturbing indeed,” Grace agreed. “So I stand before you as a solution to the dilemma. I need to see and smell and hear and eat—and use my hands. The rest, every inch of me, is covered in the most unappealing manner possible.”

“I see.”

“I knew you would. He will be forced to address matters of higher importance. Stonehaven will realize that it is my mind he loves, not my body, and that will cause him to become the sweetest-mannered of men!”

“You are particularly bloody this evening, Arran.”

“I am busy.”
And in no mood for brotherly advice.

Struan moved a chair close to the piano where Arran sat and picked up a violoncello. “Choose a fiddle, Calum. We haven’t done this in too long.”

“You play with Arran. I’m not sure I remember how.”

Arran spread his hands on his thighs. “You two don’t intend to go away, do you?”

“No.” Struan began to tune the violoncello, then stopped. “What ...?” He leaned the instrument into his lap and bent over. “What in God’s name is
that?
”

“The spike on the bottom? It’s my invention. Try it. You’ll find playing much easier. One day all violoncellos will be played balanced on the floor with a spike.”

“If you say so, then they probably will,” Struan said doubtfully. He swung the instrument this way and that, played a little, and swung some more. “I do believe you’re right. My brother the genius. When will you stop hiding and share yourself with the world?”

“Whatever little good I do will not be wasted. Someone will take it where it can be best utilized. Fuss bores me. I don’t want public recognition. This is where I want to be, and without intrusions.”

The unexpected sound of Calum stroking an almost forgotten melody from a fiddle silenced them both. That fiddle had been given to Calum by Arran’s father.

Arran caught Struan’s eye, and there was between them the old closeness, the ties of two brothers who had shared many interests, a love of poignant music well played being one of the best.

Calum played on. “‘The Heather Road,’” Struan said softly enough, only Arran could hear him. “He always played with his heart. He makes me see what he plays.”

“Aye,” Arran said, because it felt right. “Moors. High moors beneath a sky brushed free of cloud by the wind that bends the purple heather. He was always gentle inside that tough hide of his.”

“He needed the tough hide to survive,” Struan said. He lowered his voice even more. “Does he ever speak of—”

“No. But the day will come when he’ll have to confront the past.”

Struan rested his chin on the scroll and stroked the strings until they whined a little.

Calum’s eyes were closed. He drew the bow, and a muscle in his cheek flickered.

“Father gave us so much when he gave us the music,” Struan said. “I wish Calum had been our brother, too.”

“So do I.”

“Does Calum?”

Arran considered. “I think not. I think perhaps there’s something stronger that’s starting to call him now.”

“Call him to what?”

With a smile, Arran began to play with Calum. “Some things are inside us, Struan. You know that. Inside Calum there’s something as strong as the winds over the moors that he loves so much. And it’s wild—perhaps with anger. That troubles me. There may come a day when he’ll need us as much as he needed us as a small boy.”

“Perhaps, perhaps. He’s a man who ought to marry.”

“He almost did. Or have you forgotten. That brought him close to despair, and it may have been the beginning of this anger I feel in him.”

“Marriage could make him whole,” Struan persisted.

“You’re hardly a man to have strong opinions on that subject,” Arran said, leaning into the gentle music.

“And you are?” When Arran’s forgers grew still, Struan was already shaking his head. “Forget my careless tongue. I didn’t mean to say that.”

“Yes you did. You always were an irritating devil. And you’re right, so that’s an end of it.” Raising his voice for Calum to hear over the sound of the piano, Arran said, “It must be past your bedtime, Struan—and Calum’s.”

“Oh, we’re not at all tired. We’ve got a thing or two to discuss with you.”

Arran rested an elbow above the keyboard and regarded Struan. “Discuss away. My life is completely turned upside down. I am no longer master in my own home. My decisions are made for me. Discuss—” He stopped. Struan was looking past him and smiling.

Calum’s violin fell silent.

“Good evening, gentlemen.”

Arran gritted his teeth.
Grace,
for God’s sake. He turned slowly—in time to see her cross the gallery carrying a small tray upon which sat a delicate cup and saucer.

“My, my, all three of you,” she said, smiling as if it were four in the afternoon and this were tea at Marlborough House with the duchess presiding, not two in the morning in a place to which she had not been invited. “If I’d known you were together here, I would have been sure to bring enough. No matter. I’ll give this to Stonehaven and return with more as soon as possible.”

Arran caught Calum’s eye and saw a threat there. He, Arran Rossmara, Marquess of Stonehaven, was to humor this strange female who had been foisted upon him or risk his old friend’s wrath.

“You should have retired hours since,” Arran said, trying not to sound as truculent as he felt.

“Not at all,” Grace said lightly, and still smiling. “It has become obvious that it is your habit to be about in the night hours. Therefore, as your future wife, it is my place to adapt my habits to yours. You see, I am already learning to be awake at night. Sleeping in the day may be a trifle more difficult, but I shall conquer that problem.”

From the corner of his eye, Arran saw Struan put a hand over his mouth. Damn him—and Calum—they were enjoying this.

“It will not be necessary for you to change your habits.” Hell’s teeth, he could
not
abide thinking of her tripping in and out whilst he attempted to work.

“It certainly will be. Now, enough of that. I have brought you something I know you will enjoy.” She frowned down into the cup. “Oh, dear, I’m afraid it may have cooled. There is quite a stretch between my room and the gallery, you know.”

“It will be fine,” Arran said, reaching for the saucer. “What is it?”

“Hot chocolate.”

“I—”

“He
loves
hot chocolate,” Struan said. “Doesn’t he, Calum?”

“Oh, indeed. When we were boys together, he used to drink his own hot chocolate, then try to steal ours.”

Arran narrowed his eyes. Later there would be ways to extract his revenge.

“Melony is
such
a help,” Grace said, clearly delighted. “She said she was certain she had heard that you liked chocolate, and she was right, wasn’t she?”

Arran was still formulating a reply when Grace simply slipped from the room without another word.

“Pincham is a bitch,” he said through his teeth.

“She is sexually obsessed,” Struan commented, tightening pegs on the violoncello. “Isn’t she, Calum? Tell Arran how she tried to lure you into the butler’s pantry.”