How to Entice an Enchantress (2 page)

“There’s a Lady Kirk?”

“No. She died in the same accident that injured Lord Kirk. After her death, he locked himself away and has rarely graced society with his presence since.”

“Och, the puir mon. He’ll be a difficult case, yer grace.”

“More than you know. But his mother was a dear, dear friend, so I can’t turn away from his request for assistance, no matter how trying he may be.” The duchess looked at the doors, visibly straightening her shoulders. “I suppose it won’t help to put this off any longer. Please send Charlotte as soon as you find her.” Much like a general marching into battle, the duchess crossed to the Blue Salon, the pugs waddling after her.

Once inside, Margaret closed the door behind her and looked across the room at her guest. Tall and broad shouldered, Alasdair Dunbar, Viscount Kirk, stood by the wide windows that overlooked the front lawn. The bright morning sunlight bathed his skin with gold. His dark brown hair was longer than fashion
dictated, curling over his collar, a streak of gray at his temple. In profile he was starkly beautiful but bold, a statue of a Greek god.

She took a deep breath and crossed the room. At the rustle of her skirts, Lord Kirk’s expression tightened and he turned.

Though she knew what to expect, she had to fight the urge to exclaim in dismay. One side of his face was scarred, a thick, horrid slash that bisected his eyebrow, skipped over one eye, and then slashed down his cheek, touching the corner of his mouth and ending on his chin. It had been a clean cut, but whoever had stitched it together had done so with such crudeness that it made her heart ache.

Had he been in the hands of an accomplished surgeon, Margaret had little doubt that his scar, though still long, would not be so puckered or drawn. But Lord Kirk had been at sea when he’d obtained his injury and thus had been left to whatever “doctor” was available aboard ship.

His lordship inclined his head, barely bowing, the stiffness of his gesture emphasized by the thick, gold-handled cane he held in one hand.

Margaret realized with an inward grimace that she’d been staring far longer than was polite and she silently castigated herself even as she swept forward, her hand outstretched, the pugs dancing about her skirts. “Lord Kirk, how do you do?”

He took her hand and bowed over it, sending her a sardonic look through his lashes as he straightened.
“I’m as well as one can be while bearing a scar that causes even society’s most stalwart hostess to gasp in horror.”

“Pray don’t exaggerate. I might have stared, but I didn’t gasp. To be honest, I cannot see your scar without wishing I could have put my own physician on to it. His stitching is superb.”

Kirk’s smile was more of a sneer. “I assure you I am quite used to being stared at.”

“Nonsense. It was rude of me and few people have cause to call me such, so please accept my apologies.” She gestured to the chairs before the fireplace. “Shall we?”

He shrugged and turned toward the seating, leaving her to follow or not, as she deemed best.

Margaret bit back a sigh. A gentleman would have offered his arm or bowed and allowed her to lead. Kirk, however, continued, completely unaware of his gaffe.

The pugs, who’d been following her, scampered along. Elderly Randolph hurried to Lord Kirk and gave the man’s shoes a friendly sniff. Kirk threw the dog a frosty glance, brushing by with a hint of impatience.

Margaret discovered that her hands had curled into fists. Poor Randolph had done nothing to deserve such a sneer. The man was beyond rude.
What have I gotten myself into?

Kirk limped to the chair closest to the fire, leaning heavily upon his cane, as if one leg would not bend
properly. She watched as he dropped into the seat, not waiting for her to sit first.

She sighed in exasperation as she took the chair across from his. “I see you are in something of a mood. Your leg must pain you in this cold weather.”

He threw her a sour look, the lines upon his face even more pronounced. “A brilliant assumption. Will you next note that my eyes are brown, and that I favor my left hand?”

That did it. She fixed her iciest gaze upon him. “Alasdair, stop being such a beetle-headed boor!”

His eyes widened. After a short silence, he burst into a deep laugh that surprised her. “I haven’t heard that name or tone since my mother died.”

When he laughed, he looked so much like the young, handsome boy of her memory that Margaret’s heart softened. “Which name? Alasdair or beetle-headed boor?”

“Both.”

She had to smile. “Your mother would never have stood for you behaving in such a manner.”

“No, she wouldn’t have.” He eyed Margaret with something akin to respect. “I’m sorry I brought my poor temper with me.”

“And I’m sorry our meeting began in such a poor fashion.” She leaned back in her chair. “Now, come. What brings you?”

“You know exactly why I’m here; I’ve come because I am now ready to marry. Or remarry, I should say.”

He said it so matter-of-factly that she couldn’t help
feeling a small flair of hope. “Then you have secured the affections of a certain young lady? One you’ve mentioned before?”

His brows snapped down. “I thought that was your strength, to make a match between unlikely candidates.”

“Ah. So the match is now unlikely.”

“It’s never been anything but, which is why I’ve come.” Kirk leaned his cane to one side. “As you’ve noticed, I’m not very good at the niceties. Since my wife died—”

“Six years ago, I believe?”

“Seven. I married Elspeth when I was barely eighteen, and our union, though only three years in duration, was happy.”

That was promising, and it made her wonder what he’d been like in those days. He couldn’t have been the surly, ill-comported man he was today.

Kirk shifted in his seat and then winced and gripped his knee, his mouth white.

Margaret wisely didn’t say a word and after a moment, he relaxed back in his seat. “I’m sorry. My knee sometimes—” He grimaced and waved his hand impatiently. “As I was saying, since Elspeth’s death, I’ve lived alone and I rarely mingle with society.”

“Why is that, pray tell?”

His expression grew bleak. “I tired of the way people recoiled when I walked into a room.”

“Ah,” she said. “So you hid from those reactions.”

“Hid? Nay. I just refused to care. I was happy
enough among my books and music. Or I was until—” Something flashed in his brown eyes, but he looked down at his hand where it gripped his knee, his thick lashes shadowing his thoughts. “As much as I dislike it, it has become obvious that my isolation has ruined what few graces I once possessed.”

“So I’ve noticed. I can only be glad that your mother is not alive to witness your fall. She would have had you by the ear for letting all of her hard work disappear.”

His eyes gleamed with humor. “So she would have.” His voice, a deep rich baritone, warmed. “She wasn’t afraid to let her opinion be known.”

“Far from it. I always admired her for her ability to speak her mind.”

“She admired you, too, which is why she named you my godmother.” The humor left his face. “When I came to you some months ago, we spoke of a—”

The door flew open and Lady Charlotte flew into the room, a book tucked under one arm and one hand on her askew mobcap, the lace edge flapping over her ear.

The pugs barked hysterically, running toward the door.

“Hush,” Charlotte scolded as she hurried through the small pack.

The pugs lowered their barking to an occasional woof and wagged their tails, falling in behind her. “Lud, Margaret, I had just reached the part where Rosaline finally kisses Lord Kestrel and—”

“Rosaline? Lord Kestrel?” Margaret frowned. “Who on earth are—”

Margaret held up her book.

“Ah.”

“You should read it. It’s vastly entertaining. Anyway, as I was saying, Rosaline was just getting ready to kiss Lord Kestrel when a footman rudely interrupted my reading and practically dragged me into the foyer—which was horrible, for I am quite certain that Lord Kestrel is not the nice man that poor, dear Rosaline thinks him, despite his protestations of holding her in the deepest affection, and— Oh!” Margaret came to an abrupt halt. “Lord Kirk!” She curtsied. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t see you there.”

Kirk inclined his head, but made no move to stand and welcome Lady Charlotte.

Margaret had to fight the urge to reach out one of her slippered feet and kick him for his lack of manners. She had to make do with saying in a sharp voice, “Lord Kirk, you remember Lady Charlotte?”

“Of course.”

“How do you do?” Charlotte came forward, her hand outstretched in greeting.

He looked past her hand, his jaw tight. “I’m sorry, but I was in the middle of a private discussion with her grace.”

Charlotte’s smile never faltered, even as she dropped her hand to her side. “Of course,” she said in a soothing tone. “It must seem impertinent I’m even here.” Smiling sweetly, her soft blue-gray eyes gentle,
she ignored Kirk’s outraged look and instead crossed to the chair nearest Margaret and sank into it.

“Apparently I didn’t make myself plain enough. I’ve private business to discuss with her grace.”

“Yes, but I already know your personal matters.
All
of them.”

Kirk stiffened and Margaret hastily added, “Lady Charlotte is my confidante. Very little happens at Floors Castle without her knowledge.”

Kirk’s mouth thinned. “I do not like being a topic of discussion.”

“Oh, none of us do,” Charlotte assured him, her smile sunny. “But how am I to assist her grace if I don’t know what’s what? Consider it ‘gossip by necessity.’ Perhaps that will take some of the sting out of it.”

“I doubt it.”

“A pity.” Unfazed by Kirk’s chilliness, Charlotte placed her book on a side table and held a slippered foot toward the fire. “If it helps, you’ll be glad to know that it wasn’t a very long conversation and, to be honest, not particularly interesting, either.”

For a moment, Margaret thought they might be subjected to an outburst, but instead, a glint of humor warmed his lordship’s fine brown eyes and he gave Charlotte a very reluctant look of approval. “You’re honest, I’ll give you that. Painfully so.”

“I dislike people who butter their words until they’re too slippery to hold.”

“That’s understandable.” He leaned back in his chair, seeming a bit more at ease. “I don’t suppose it
makes any difference who knows what, so long as it stays inside this room.”

He turned his gaze back to Margaret. “I shall make this short. Several months ago you offered to assist me in fixing my interest with the lady I’ve an interest in.”

“Miss Dahlia Balfour, if I remember correctly.”

“Yes. You offered your help in exchange for a favor, which I found most curious.”

“Curious, but necessary.”

“What I did not know was that the task you requested turned out to be much more distasteful than I’d imagined.”

“Come. I only asked you to request that your neighbor, Sir Balfour, repay a loan you’d so generously made him months before. You did so, and your actions returned very positive results.”

“For whom?” he asked, looking none too pleased.

“Why, for Dahlia’s sister. It sent Lily flying to me, her godmother, looking for assistance. And with very happy results.”

“
Very
happy,” Lady Charlotte said. “The happiest of all.” In case Kirk didn’t understand, she leaned forward and whispered, “Marriage.”

An impatient look crossed his face. “You are saying that because I pressed for repayment of that loan, Lily Balfour attempted to contract an eligible marriage?”

“She didn’t ‘attempt’ to contract an eligible marriage; she did so. In fact, she’s blissful.”

“And wealthy,” Charlotte added. “Why, she’s now a princess!”

Kirk’s lips thinned. “While the outcome might have been happy for Miss Lily, it was less so for me.”

Margaret arched a brow. “Oh? Sir Balfour hasn’t repaid you?”

“Yes, he has. But my issue is not with the funds, which I never needed, but with Miss Dahlia’s opinion of me, which was already shaky at best. Because I pressed her father for the payment of that loan, she now thinks I’m the lowest, vilest, most reprehensible man to walk the earth.”

Margaret tried to look surprised, but must have failed, for Kirk’s brows lowered to the bridge of his nose. “You knew she’d be angry with me.”

“I didn’t
know
. I merely
suspected.
”

“And yet you
still
asked me to pursue that course, even though you knew my feelings for Miss Dahlia.”

“Oh!” Lady Charlotte clapped her hands together. “You are in love with Dahlia Balfour! How delightful!”

“Nonsense,” Kirk returned sharply. “I hold Dahlia in the highest regard, which is just as it should be.”

Charlotte couldn’t have appeared more disappointed. “Just regard? Nothing more?”

“A
sincere
regard.”

“But what about love?”

He waved his hand impatiently. “Love is a messy, chaotic state suitable for the youthful and silly. Now that I’m older, I’ve no need to bother with it again. I will be more happy—as will Miss Dahlia—if we instead seek compatibility.”

Charlotte looked astounded. “I beg your pardon,
but did you say you’ve no need to ‘bother’ with love again?”

“I’ve been married before. I’ve tasted the grand passion, as some call it, and I’m done with that chaos. Now, I want peace, quiet, and the enjoyment of a quality companion.”

Margaret had hoped that Lord Kirk’s feelings might have progressed over the last few months. She now realized that hope had been sadly misplaced. “Lord Kirk, you may see yourself as no longer youthful—which I question—but Miss Dahlia
is
young. Very young, in fact, and she may feel differently.”

“I’m sure she does. If there is one failing in Miss Dahlia’s character, it’s an inclination to over-romanticize life.”

Charlotte blinked. “So you— While she— Oh dear.”

Margaret shook her head. “Lord Kirk, before we continue, have you ascertained how Miss Balfour feels about you as a suitor?”