How to Seduce a Scot (21 page)

The man she would love all her life slept the sleep of the just beneath her. She watched him sleep, his face relaxed as she now knew it rarely was. When he was awake, he was always watchful, always taking care of everyone around him—Mary Elizabeth, his brother, and her.

Catherine kissed his lips, feathering hers lightly over his face and across his eyelids. He shifted in his sleep but did not wake. Her stolen season, as beautiful as it had been, was over.

The knowledge of the mortgage money she owed Lord Farleigh bore down on her soul like the weight of the world. And now she would have this to hide from him, too—not only that she had lost her maidenhead, but that her heart would always belong to another.

She thought of her mother, of her sister, of her grandmother. She thought of her father, buried in the family chapel, and of how her mother would one day want to be buried there beside him. She could not renege on this deal, unspoken as it was. Lord Farleigh had bought back her childhood home, and now her future was his.

She kissed Alex one last time, then disentangled herself from his embrace. He was strong, but he was gentle, for when she pulled away, after the first reflexive clutching of her person, he seemed to remember his manners even in his sleep. Alex was never a man to hold a lady against her will, locked doors aside. Even in sleep, when she asked it of him, he let her go.

She dressed quickly and quietly after she used the chamber pot and washed herself clean. She smelled of bergamot soap after, and she savored the scent, though it also brought her pain. She filched the bar that sat by the washbasin, slipping it into her borrowed bag. She would return everything else to the Waterses once she was wed, but not that. The soap Alex used was something she would keep.

The window was silent and well oiled, which was to be expected in a duchess's house. Catherine raised it above her head and cast her borrowed bag down into the garden below. It was a good throw, for the bag landed far away from the house and did not ruin even one flowered bush.

She reached below the bed and drew out the hemp rope ladder that she knew she would find there. Mary Elizabeth had stowed such rope ladders all over the second and third floors of the house. When Catherine returned, she would tell her friend to stow some on the fourth floor, so that the servants might escape a fire if the duchess's house were to have the bad manners to burn down in the night.

She took one last look at the man she loved, sleeping peacefully where she had left him. He slept on his stomach now, with a pillow clutched close. Tears rose in her eyes, but she told herself to stop being a fool. She was a woman now, making a woman's choice. She had no more time or use for tears.

The rope ladder held steady as she climbed down the side of the Duchess of Northumberland's house. The wind was fierce and rising, but the great oak beside Alex's window sheltered her as she descended, just as he would have done if he had been there. Her feet touched the ground and she stood for a long moment, looking up at the room, at the life she had left behind. She said a prayer for Alex Waters, and all his kin, before she picked up her borrowed bag and left the ducal garden, where climbing roses of red and white were just beginning to bloom.

* * *

Lord Farleigh lived just two squares over, close by Hyde Park. She walked all the way, her steps slowing even as she approached her goal. The sun was rising through last night's coal smoke, and she could see a hint of blue begin to light the sky. It was going to be a beautiful day.

The pain in her heart stole her breath. But even so, she felt more alive than she had ever felt, save when she was in Alex Waters's arms.

In spite of the day and the night she had just spent, she was not tired. She felt instead as if it were her last day on earth, and every ounce of energy she possessed must go into memorizing the beauty of the day, the blue of the sky, the song of the lark from a nearby elm. She stood in front of Lord Farleigh's door. Once she knocked, her life would change forever.

She reminded herself that her life had changed for the worse the day her mother took out the mortgage on their family home, and again on the day she spoke of the debt to Lord Farleigh. The die was cast, and now she must pay the croupier.

“Good day, madam.”

Lord Farleigh's butler could not have shown more contempt if he had refused to open the door to her altogether. He stared down at her, his eyebrows rising, taking her in as if she were a fallen woman. Which, she supposed, was what she was.

“Might I inquire if Lord Farleigh is at home?”

The man drew himself up straight to an even more impressive height. “His lordship is at home, but he is unaccustomed to receiving visitors at such an hour.”

“Billings, let her pass, for the love of God. That is my future wife.”

The butler straightened his back even more, if such a thing were possible. His look of disdain did not waver, but his voice was bland and all correctness as he bowed to her slightly. “Very good, my lord. My felicitations, miss.”

He stepped back and let her inside, then closed the door behind her. Lord Farleigh stood at the foot of the staircase, dressed in riding clothes.

“Forgive me,” she said. “I have come too early.”

He smiled. The warmth of it was like a sunrise, and did a little to warm her bruised and battered heart. She had hurt herself, and badly, for few wounds bleed as much as self-inflicted ones. In Arthur's presence, she felt a slight lifting of her spirits. He was not dashing. He was not beautiful, as Alex was. But he was her friend.

“Bring tea and toast into the drawing room, Billings.”

“Very good, my lord.”

Arthur took her arm and hefted her bag. “You look as if you've run away,” he said, the smile on his face betraying how foolish such a thing would be.

“I have,” Catherine answered him. “I was hoping you might run away with me.”

Arthur's handsome face was marred with a frown as he seated her in a comfortable chair. The fire in the grate had not yet been lit, so he bent down with a flint to light it instead of calling for someone else to do it.

“Catherine, I am afraid I do not understand.”

“Yesterday, you asked me to marry you. Do you still wish to marry me?”

Arthur looked at her gravely as he stood before her. “I do.”

“The answer to your question then is yes. But with two conditions. I want to elope to Gretna Green, and I want to leave today.”

“You want to leave this morning,” he said, gesturing to the bag he had set down close by the hearth.

“Yes.” Catherine was amazed at herself. She did not blush, nor did her hands shake. She faced Arthur squarely without even feeling pain anymore. The pain would come back, but for now, all she could feel was the need to be gone.

“I must ask you first about your Scottish cousin,” Arthur said.

Catherine felt a pang of dread, and could not stop herself from foolish obfuscation. “Mary Elizabeth?”

Arthur smiled at that. “I think you know who I mean.”

She looked down at her hands where they were folded demurely in her lap. She realized for the first time that, in her haste to be gone, she had forgotten gloves and a bonnet.

She cleared her throat, and met Arthur's eyes. “I suppose you know he is not my cousin.”

Arthur sat down beside her. “I had gathered that.”

“I love him,” she said.

He waited patiently, and did not rise to his feet in anger, nor did he speak.

“I love him,” she said. “But we do not suit. I am going to marry you.”

Arthur was silent for a long time. The room was so quiet that she could hear the ormolu clock ticking from its place on the marble mantelpiece. The fire burned cheerfully, and she kept one eye on it, feeling a little fearful that it might leap the hearth and catch her bag, and the rest of the house, on fire. It was irrational, but she had never wanted so badly to be gone from any room in all her life.

“Are you certain, Catherine? The choice you make is a grave one, and once done, it cannot be undone.” Arthur took her hand in his. “You are not wearing my ring.”

“It is in the bag there.”

He smoothed the skin of her hand with his fingertips, then kissed it. “If you come with me now, know that you may turn back, even as we stand together over the anvil. I will honor your choice, whatever choice you make, between him and me. I am not the most handsome man in the kingdom. But I am a good man, and a steady one, who will care for you and yours the rest of your life, if that is truly what you wish.”

“Yes,” Catherine said. “I know it. And I honor you for it. It is why I have chosen you.”

He kissed her then, and his lips were chaste, like the touch of a cool stream on a windless day. He drew back from her almost at once, and rose to his feet.

“Eat a bit of toast and jam. Drink the tea Billings will bring. I will call for the carriage, and have the horses put to.”

“You will take me north then?” She felt a strange feeling of relief, coupled with a sorrow that she knew she would bear for the rest of her life. Arthur smiled at her, and she felt a little of the sorrow ease.

“Of course we will go to Gretna Green. If you are certain you wish to wed, I will see it done.” He turned to leave, but stopped at the door. His smile widened, as if he just realized that he would soon see his wedding day. “I am sorry you wish to flee, but there is no other woman I would rather run north with.”

He bowed to her like the gentleman he was, and she was left alone, with the dratted fire burning close beside her. She stood and moved her bag farther from the flames, wishing all the while that she did not feel as if she had thrown herself into a fire of her own making.

Alex woke to the scent of jasmine.

He stretched and smiled in his sleep, knowing even before he woke that the scent of jasmine meant that his love lay close beside him. He did not open his eyes but reached for her, and found only a soft pillow upon which her head had lain the night before. His eyes opened, and the room was bare.

“Catherine?”

He woke all at once, and was on his feet. The window stood open to the morning light. Someone, perhaps that damned Englishman, had somehow climbed in through the window and taken her.

Then he saw Mary Elizabeth's hemp rope ladder clinging to its place on the sill where his sister had driven nails into the duchess's expensive wainscoting. He swore, loudly and eloquently, for a full minute. Then he got possession of himself, and dressed in clean riding clothes.

He managed not to shriek like a fishwife in the middle of the ducal household, but walked all the way down to the breakfast room before venting his wrath.

“Mary Elizabeth,” he said, his voice cold. “You will tell me where she is, and you will tell me now.”

Robbie swallowed hard, almost choking on his toast. Mrs. Angel sat sipping her oversugared tea, regarding him passively. Mary Elizabeth was the only one who would not meet his gaze. His sister looked down at her plate, which held a single slice of barley bread with honey. She seemed fascinated with her favorite breakfast all of sudden, but he knew her well, for he had been foiling schemes of hers all her short life. As he watched, her thoughts flitted across her face as sunlight over a pane of glass. His sister was willful, headstrong, and difficult, but she was not a liar.

“She has gone to meet her Englishman,” she said at last. She faced him without flinching, her maple eyes showing no remorse, but a certain level of pity.

“God have mercy,” Mrs. Angel said. “That girl is determined to ruin her life.”

Alex did not speak, for he could not find his voice.

Mary Elizabeth found hers, as she always seemed to. “Alex, she loves you. I'm sure of that. But that Englishman has some hold over her. She feels bound to him, though I know not why.”

“She has not told you?” His question sounded like the grinding of broken glass.

“She has not confided in me,” Mary Elizabeth said. “All she told me is that she and her Englishman will be going to Gretna Green this day.”

“The folly of youth,” Mrs. Angel said at last. All the young people in the room turned to stare at her, but none of them contradicted her assertion. “Heaven save us from it.”

She lowered her teacup and filled it once more with the duchess's finest Darjeeling. After she had over-sugared it and added three generous splashes of milk, Mrs. Angel looked at him as if he were a simpleton.

“Why are you still standing here?” she asked him.

Alex did not know what reply to make, so he made none. She spoke on.

“There is only one road to the north, is there not?”

Alex blinked at her.

“Why are you not on it?” Mrs. Angel asked.

“I beg your pardon, ma'am?”

“I have told you more than once, dear boy, you must protect my daughter from herself. Kidnap her if you must, throw her over your shoulder if you will, but by all means, do not let her marry that man. It will be the ruination of her life and the devastation of her soul. If you love her, as the look on face suggests you do, hire the fastest horse you can, and lead on.”

“They can only be three hours gone,” Mary Elizabeth said.

His sister was right. His angel had slept quiet in his arms not three hours ago. They had not much of a lead at all. He would catch her and deal with the Englishman when he did.

He could not think of the bandy-legged bastard offering her more than a touch of a gloved hand. If he did, he would forget himself for the second time that morning when what he needed was his wits about him. He checked his waistcoat pocket and found the special license his uncle had sent still warm against his side.

“Are you armed?” Robbie asked.

Alex always wore his dirk, even when down south among the English—especially down south. “Of course,” he answered.

“Take a pistol, too,” Mary Elizabeth offered helpfully.

“Dear God, young man, don't shoot him. Just fetch my daughter back.”

He glowered at Mary Elizabeth and spoke politely to Mrs. Angel. “I will not shoot him.”

“He might stab him though,” Robbie said. “It all depends on what he finds when he catches up to them.”

Alex turned his glare on his brother. Robbie did not wilt under its heat but sipped at his coffee before freshening it from the silver ducal pot.

“Whatever you do, you must find her before nightfall,” Mrs. Angel said. “Otherwise, a bad situation will only become worse.”

“And then you will have to kill him,” Robbie said with good cheer as he buttered a fresh slice of toast.

Alex ate the buttered and honeyed slice of barley cake that Mary Elizabeth thrust into his hand. She kissed him, offered him coffee, and he drank it down in one gulp. When he had his own household, his coffee cups would be large enough to hold more than two swallows.

“Ride fast, but be careful,” his sister instructed him. “Watch out for robbers. The English are everywhere.”

* * *

Catherine had never been in as comfortable a chaise carriage as Lord Farleigh's. Arthur said nothing, and neither did she, allowing silence to descend. She had thought she might want to fling herself out of the carriage as it left London, but instead she fell asleep within half an hour. She found herself drifting almost at once, for she knew that while he was not her heart's choice, kind Lord Farleigh would look after her.

As she slept, she dreamed that Alex and her father stood together like friends beside the river Thames, where Alex had saved Margaret's life. Both men turned to her in her dream, and though they did not speak, the weight of their sorrow touched her.

She woke hours later, her heart heavy with the pain of loss, and the sorrow that she had disappointed her father, and left the love of her life behind. Dread threatened to overwhelm her as she blinked to get her bearings. She could not live with choice she had made, not for another moment, much less for the rest of her life. She had made a terrible mistake.

“Arthur,” she said. “Lord Farleigh,” she corrected herself. “We must stop the carriage at once.”

“Do you need the necessary?” he asked bluntly. “Fear not. We are close to the outskirts of Oxford. I took a first in literature at Queen's College, so I am quite familiar with the town and the university both. There is a place we might stop and refresh ourselves shortly—the Maiden and the Unicorn. Quite a lovely place…”

“No, my lord. We must stop now.”

“You've changed your mind, then?”

“I'm sorry, my lord. But I have.”

Lord Farleigh smiled at her and pressed her hand. She was not sure, but she thought that her runaway would-be bridegroom looked relieved.

He was a good man, to suffer her madcap ways with such patience. His blond hair was perfect, as were his traveling clothes of charcoal gray. Catherine felt foolish and rumpled beside him. She did not know how she would repay him, or how she would survive the complete and total loss of her honor. But she must climb out of that carriage within the next moment, or suffocate in its stifling confines.

As if by magic, the carriage stopped of its own accord.

Catherine had enough presence of mind to know that carriages did not stop on their own. Someone had stopped it. She reached into her reticule and closed her fingers around a throwing knife.

The driver shouted at someone outside, his voice filled with fear. Lord Farleigh looked not in the least perturbed, but merely curious, as if the idea that anyone might have the audacity to stop his conveyance without his consent was simply beyond the pale of thought.

She would have only one chance. She drew her knife out, and saw Lord Farleigh's eyes widen even farther. “Miss Middlebrook, please, put that away.”

She did not heed him or even look at him again, but kept her eyes on the door. As she heard the sound of the knob turning, she let her knife fly.

Unfortunately, the opposite door was the one that opened.

Her knife buried itself in the still-closed door across the carriage, while Alexander Waters filled the other with his Highland bulk.

She had never been so happy to see him in her life. A smile of unadulterated joy broke over her face, and she reached for him, but he shrugged her off. He did not look at her at all but hauled Arthur from the carriage unceremoniously, like a sack of grain.

“Alex!” she said. “Don't!”

She was not sure he even heard her. She climbed out after him, only to find Arthur up against the side of his lacquered coach, Alex's dagger at his throat. The driver had his gun drawn by this time, and had it trained on Alex's head.

“No, please!” she said, raising one hand to the driver in supplication. He did not heed her, so she drew out a second knife, ready to throw it at him. She was not sure she could even hit his shooting arm, much less strike before his bullet hit home. She started to pray.

Alex noticed neither she nor the driver nor the gun in the driver's hand. He only had eyes for Arthur.

“Did you touch her?” he asked, his voice strangely calm for a demented Scotsman.

“I beg your pardon,” Lord Farleigh said. “I don't know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do. Did you touch her?”

Catherine prayed then that Arthur would have the good sense to omit the chaste kiss he had given her in his drawing room.

“I handed her into the coach,” he said.

“With gloves on?”

“I am wearing them, as you see. She came to me this morning without gloves and a bonnet.”

“I didn't ask anything about her.”

“Mr. Waters, I am baffled. Why are you holding a knife at my throat? I had planned to escort Miss Middlebrook to Gretna Green, at her request, but she has since changed her mind.”

“She changed her mind, you say? How can you tell?” Alex asked.

Lord Farleigh smiled in the face of the angry Scot and his knife. Clearly, he had more courage than she had known. “She told me so just now.”

Alex dropped his knife hand, and slid the wicked-looking blade back beneath his coat. The driver did not lower his weapon, so neither did Catherine.

Alex looked to her then, and saw the blade in her hand. A smile flitted across his face. “Do you mean to skewer me, angel?”

“No,” she answered. “It is for him.”

She nodded to the driver, who still did not waver. Alex took him in, along with his gun, and just as quickly dismissed him. “Put your knife away, angel. I can't have you stabbing men over me.”

“Indeed not, Miss Middlebrook. There is no need for anyone to be stabbed.” Lord Farleigh turned to Alex. “You say you wish to marry Miss Middlebrook?”

“I do.”

“And you have her mother's consent?”

Catherine was beginning to respect Lord Farleigh more as each moment passed, but Alex's face darkened. “I do. Which is more than I can say for you.”

“Mr. Waters, you are in the right. True love is a rare and precious thing. It is time I retire from the field, and leave you to your fiancée.” Arthur Farleigh bowed to her as if they stood in her mother's drawing room and not in the dust of the roadside. “Miss Middlebrook, may I be the first to wish you happy.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

She reached into her reticule, slipped in her borrowed knife, and drew out his mother's ring. The pearls and silver gleamed in the sunlight. Lord Farleigh stepped forward, bowed from the neck, and accepted his ring back.

“I thank you,” he said, his hand closing around the ring convulsively, as if he was secretly glad to have it back. Catherine did not know him well, but there seemed to be a newfound joy in his face, as if he had just been released from prison. She wondered if she should feel insulted, but he smiled at her and she knew that she had found a friend. She would pay him back for the mortgage money somehow. Alex and his family would help her. Then she would set herself to finding the right girl for him—one who could make him forget his lost love as she had not. Perhaps Mary Elizabeth had some ideas of a girl who might suit.

Lord Farleigh seemed to remember Alex at last, for he nodded to him as well. “I bid you both good day.”

He climbed back into his carriage as if no one had drawn a knife on him in his life. His driver, satisfied at last that all was well, put his gun down and called to the horses. Catherine was covered in road dust as the carriage pulled away, heading still toward Oxford town. No doubt Lord Farleigh would take his ease at the Maiden and the Unicorn, and soundly curse her name.

“I must write him a note of apology,” she said. “And his mother, too.”

“And what of me, Catherine? By God, I told you last night you are mine, and no other's. That did not mean until the sun rose. That meant until the sun sets on my life.”

She stepped toward him, and pressed her hand against his heart. He did not stay still under her palm, but picked her up, much as he had Lord Farleigh. He swung her into his arms as if they were a sling, one behind her knees, another at her back, and hoisted her high onto his horse.

He did not speak again, but climbed up behind her, and turned his horse's head not toward London, but up the North Road, following in Lord Farleigh's carriage's dusty wake.