Going Rogue (18 page)

“He’s here.” Ophelia whispered to Meredith before dinner.

Both Meredith and Alex had been shown their respective rooms upon arrival. They’d missed supper, but were invited to join the family in the music room after they’d settled in. Alex had complained about a headache—all the fresh air wasn’t settling well with her. So she wouldn’t be joining them. And Mrs. Nelson, her chaperone, was too exhausted from the day’s journey to venture far from her room, leaving Meredith on her own.

Initially, she was elated. No chaperone, no Alex. Such luck so early in the visit was surely a sign of good things to come?

Then Ophelia had said those two little words, and instantly she knew.

Derek Weston had somehow managed to weasel his way into her holiday with the Marshall family.

The nerve.

“Oh?” It was all she could muster.

“Mama invited him. I should have known she would.”

“Oh.”

“He’s brought his cousin, Lord MacCalistair.”

“Oh.” Meredith was at a complete loss for words.

She followed Ophelia into the music room, where Lady Marshall was entertaining the men with poetry.

Meredith took a deep breath, feeling as if she’d just entered the lion’s den. Garrett greeted her fondly, perhaps a bit too much so with his lingering touches and sugared words. Lord MacCalistair was the perfect gentleman, bowing appropriately and asking after her health. But Derek . . .

He stood and bowed, mumbled something that sounded like her name, then promptly sat back down and ignored her.

They made polite conversation for the better part of an hour. Meredith was her usual cheerful self, entertaining them with anecdotes and funny stories about the goings-on in London. Some women excelled at embroidery, some painted lovely works of art on tables. Her skill was entertaining.

“Miss Castle? Didn’t I hear something about you being quite talented on the pianoforte?” Garrett asked.

She hated to think just where he’d heard this information, especially after her little performance at Glastonbury’s, but obliged him anyway. “I wouldn’t say talented, but I do play.”

“She’s quite talented,” Derek interjected, not bothering to look at her when he said it.

The compliment surprised her, especially given that he hadn’t said two words to her since her arrival.

“Do play something,” Lady Marshall requested.

Meredith made her way to the pianoforte. It was a lovely instrument and in perfect condition. By the apparent lack of wear, she easily deduced that the music room was for appearances only.

“Are there any requests?” she asked the group.

“
Roses in Winter
?” Of course, Garrett would ask for a particularly romantic ballad.

“What about
Tom Bowling
? It’s one of my favorites,” Lord MacCalistair chimed in.

“What about a sonata?”

Meredith looked at Derek. Of course, leave it to him to request something challenging. “I’m afraid I haven’t had much time to practice as of late. How about I play something a bit more lighthearted?
Tom Bowling
sounds perfect.”

“It’s a shame,” Derek started, crossing his boot over his knee. “You used to be a fine musician.”

He stared at her intently, those blue eyes burning holes right through her.

She looked down at the keys, doubting her capabilities. He’d done that on purpose, challenging her to perform something that required actual talent and ability; ability she wasn’t quite certain she had anymore. She’d neglected her practice in lieu of more frivolous diversions, like shopping and gossip. A serious pursuit of music was no longer the priority it had been in the past. Granted, her talent was renowned, and she was still a favorite to perform at parties. But she’d found herself gravitating toward more simple pieces. She no longer had room in her repertoire for the great masters, since crowds at parties more often preferred a bawdy sailor’s ballad to anything Bach could provide.

She’d made it known that she was out of practice, and if he’d even the slightest modicum of actual manners, he never would have taunted her. Obviously, he meant to humiliate her. It was an intimidation tactic meant to send a message—Lord Sutherland would not be easily dissuaded and would use any means necessary to prove himself a worthy adversary.

But this was not the first time she’d faced such a challenge. Her relocation to London had been a great lesson in overcoming adversity. She used her natural abilities—her smile and wit, to charm her way past a modest origin and into the ballrooms of the
ton.
She’d earned her
Ribbon
, undoubtedly working harder than any of the others who came before her.

And as she saw it, this situation was no different.

“Mozart it is.” Meredith smiled confidently, splaying her fingers out on the keys, her knuckles cracking in protest. She closed her eyes, trying to conjure up an image of the sheet music she used to study so attentively.

She touched the first few keys, uncertainly at first. The sound resonated throughout the room, each correct note prompting her to play another. Soon, the song was flowing fluidly from her fingertips, lovely and lilting. She didn’t dare open her eyes, preferring to enjoy the sound of music through the visions it created in her mind and the memories it evoked.

Chapter 23

Derek didn’t just listen as she played, he watched.

Meredith Castle was undeniably beautiful. He dared any man to say different. From his vantage point, he could only admire her profile. Her high cheekbones, pert nose, full lips, and that graceful neck—she was perfection personified. But at that moment, he could have been blind and still thought her to be the most divine woman he would ever come across.

She played with every fiber of her being, pouring herself into the music. Her hands glided seamlessly over the keys, her elbows and shoulders elegantly following suit. It was a crime for someone like her to waste her God-given capabilities on sappy love ballads.

“I had no idea,” Brayan leaned over and whispered.

Derek simply nodded. Most people probably didn’t. They only knew the Meredith that she presented to the world. He was the only one who knew the true extent of the person underneath all the ruffles and superficial conversation.

She finished and the room erupted in applause. He chose not to clap, instead, bowing his head to show appreciation for her performance. She bowed her head in return, looking up from beneath her thick fan of lashes and locking her gaze with his, her green eyes flashing with anger.

He wanted to be angry, too, to show her contempt and scorn. But it was impossible after she’d played something like that. He was both awestruck by her talent and dumbstruck by her beauty. He’d give anything to hate her, but instead he felt drawn to her in ways that he couldn’t even begin to put into words. He wanted to touch her, to kiss her, and worst of all, he just wanted to be near her.

Derek abruptly stood up. “If you’ll excuse me? I’m afraid I have some work to do in the library before I retire for the evening.” He stormed out of the music room, seething.

Angry at himself.

Derek sat at the large oak desk, staring at the names on the page before him. He’d been reviewing the passenger logs, trying to align them with the financial ledger when he saw it—the woman he was looking for.

Something Meredith had mentioned about her mother’s ailment had struck him as odd. He’d never cared for the woman, she’d always treated Meredith abominably. Meredith would never say a word against her though, always blaming herself for not being enough to make her mother happy.

Which is why he’d recognized her the day she’d come in to book passage for a tour of the continent.

She hadn’t looked impoverished, nor did she appear to be suffering from any mysterious ailments. She’d been as fat as a Christmas goose, wearing the type of finery one couldn’t get in Middlebury. King’s Transport was not an inexpensive means of travel; passage on one of his ships required a substantial amount of coin. Meredith’s mother was nothing as she’d described.

Derek tapped the quill against the book, causing a large ink blot to spread on the page. Why would Meredith say such a thing? What did she have to gain by spreading stories about a sick mother?

The library door creaked open. He looked up from the stack of books to see Brayan trying to enter unnoticed, as if a man of his size could sneak in anywhere. “Did you really think I wouldn’t see you come in?”

Brayan smiled lopsidedly. “I didn’t want to disturb ye.”

Derek folded the letter and put it away in the drawer. “I think we both know you had every intention of disturbing me or else you wouldn’t be in here.”

“That friend of Miss Castle’s finally made it down and I couldn’t wait to be rid of her.”

“Lady Alexandra?”

“The hun,” he replied, strolling past the shelves that lined the perimeter of the room. “Ye made for a convenient reason to excuse myself.” He stopped at one of the bookcases and pulled out a large red book, briefly flipping through its pages, then setting it back on the shelf.

“Not to your liking?” Derek folded his arms over his chest.

Brayan shrugged. “It’s about plants, so no.”

“Not a big admirer of botany, I take it?”

He walked to another bookcase, eyeing the spine of a particular volume that had been partially withdrawn from the row. “I’ve never been much into science.”

“Ah.” Derek nodded. “More of the romantic sort, are you? How about
Miss Plumfield and the Highwayman
?”

Brayan chuckled. “Don’t confuse my preferences with yer own. Besides, all I see are books about plants. Wild plants, domestic plants, poisonous plants, English plants . . . there’s no adventure, no romance. There’s not even a token history book mixed in the bunch. How could anyone possibly find all this interesting? I’ve grown bored just reading the titles. I pity the poor wretch that has to read this dribble.”

Derek cleared his throat. “Those are Miss Marshall’s. She’s quite interested in plants and all that comes along with that. But I’ll make certain to relay your sentiments next time I see her.”

“I’m sorry. I never thought that these would belong to her . . . or a female at all. I’d rather thought they belonged to some cantankerous old man.”

Derek waved off the apology. “It’s quite all right.”

“Does she know how boring all this is?”

He smiled. “Miss Marshall doesn’t seem to think so.”

“Oh, she fancies herself a botanist then, does she?”

“Yes. She’s quite educated. Have you had a chance to visit the hothouse yet? They have the most diverse collection of plants I’ve ever come across at a private residence.”

Brayan walked over to a cabinet and looked inside. A moment later, he removed a decanter and two glasses, setting them on the desk in front of Derek. “All this talk about plants is making me thirsty. Besides, I think I’ll show a bit more interest after I’ve gotten a glass or two in me.”

“Make one for me, will you?” Derek nodded toward the brandy.

“Two fingers?”

“A bit more.”

“How much would you like?”

“How much does the glass hold?”

Brayan laughed, filling Derek’s glass to the rim. “Will that do?”

“For now.”

Brayan took his own glass and plopped down in one of the chairs located at the front of the desk. “Did ye ever find yerself a mistress?”

Derek relaxed in his own chair, putting his feet up on the desk. “There was one with potential, but she didn’t quite fit all my needs.”

Brayan nodded. “Just one? All of London’s finest at yer fingertips and ye couldn’t find more than one candidate?”

“Not really. I suppose I’m just picky.”

“Since when?”

Derek coughed in his fist. “I’ve always been rather selective where women are concerned.”

Brayan laughed so hard, the contents of his glass sloshed over the sides, onto the carpet. “Now that is the funniest thing I’ve ever heard ye say, Cousin.”

“I’m afraid I don’t quite understand what’s so hilarious. I’m not going to settle for the first woman I come across. These things take time.”

“Time?” Brayan repeated between snorts and chuckles. “It only took ye about ten minutes to find someone to take to yer bed before. As long as they were bonnie and willing—that was about as selective as ye got. What’s changed?”

Derek emptied his glass in a single swallow, wincing as the liquid heat burned a trail down to his stomach. “Surely, you exaggerate. And I assure you, nothing has changed. I’ve always been this way.”

“Always? It seems to me this is a rather new development. If memory serves me correctly, which I’m sure it does, ye’ve never been all that picky. Do ye want me to provide you with some of the names? If ye want, I could arrange them by port? Then ye could see just how selective ye’ve been in the past.” Having recovered from his fit of hilarity, Brayan refilled both their glasses.

“Why are you all of a sudden so concerned with my state of . . .
affairs
?”

“Because ye’ve been in a bit of a mood lately. I thought maybe ye were frustrated.”

“I’ll admit to being a bit tense, but I’m hardly frustrated,” Derek denied.

“When was the last time ye had a woman? Visited a brothel?”

He shrugged. “I’m sure I was with you, whenever that was.”

Brayan shook his head. “I don’t think so. The last time I invited ye anywhere, ye said ye had work to do. Ye haven’t been out with me for weeks. Months, even.”

Derek racked his mind for a specific date or time, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember the last time. Shortly after arriving in London, but after that . . .

“Well, I suppose I’ve been too busy to give the matter much thought.” Derek stared down into the amber liquid, swirling it up the sides of the glass.

Brayan nodded toward the stack of ledgers on the desk. “Reviewing the accounts? Don’t ye have men who do that for ye?”

“I prefer taking a look with my own two eyes every so often. Keeps my men honest.”

He hated being idle. In his spare time, he’d find himself reviewing the accounts and schedules to help keep busy during his trips abroad. He preferred doing the job himself, since he didn’t have a great deal of trust in other people.