Lord Ruthven's Bride (2 page)

She didn’t wait, but hurried to the balcony and up the stairs. She entered the ballroom and forced her legs into a sedate walk. Dancers filled the middle of the massive room. She passed a cluster of women. One woman stared at her. Annabelle continued past, then slowed when a couple’s gaze followed her progress. Had they somehow discovered she’d been in the garden with Ruthven and...Annabelle swallowed. Over the heads of half a dozen guests, she noticed John MacFie’s gaze on her.

“Annabelle.”

Her mother’s voice stopped her. She turned and started at the narrowing of her mother’s eyes. Lady Montagu quickly closed the distance between them and grasped Annabelle’s arm.

Her mother started walking with her, then angled her head toward Annabelle and whispered, “What in God’s name have you been doing?”

Annabelle blinked. How had her mother discovered she was in Lord Harley’s study? She couldn’t know. Unless the earl told her. That didn’t make sense. He would fear Annabelle telling that he’d been with Lady Copeland.

“I took a short walk in the garden.” Annabelle glanced at her mother. Her mother’s pursed lips told her she’d said the wrong thing.

Her mother bypassed a group of guests and came face to face with David MacLennan and Lady Elissa.

“Good evening, Lady Montagu,” Elissa said.

Annabelle glimpsed the narrowing of her mother’s eyes in the instant before her features cooled to their normally civility.

“Good evening, Lady Elissa,” she said. “Mr. MacLennan. It is a pleasure to see you.”

He gave a slight bow. “It is always good to see you, my lady.”

Annabelle noted that, while David’s gaze remained determinedly fixed on her mother, Elissa didn’t take her eyes off Annabelle. A strange smile played at her mouth.

“If you will excuse us,” her mother said. “Annabelle and I were just leaving. During our walk in the gardens Annabelle took a little fall.”

Annabelle snapped her gaze onto her mother.

“Are you all right, Lady Annabelle?” David demanded.

“Yes, thank you. It was nothing.”

“Let me have your carriage brought around,” he said. “I’ll have your driver meet you at the front door.”

“That is kind of you,” Annabelle’s mother said.

“I shall meet you there directly.” He turned and brushed past a group of guests.

“Are you unhurt, Lady Annabelle?” Elissa asked.

“She skinned her knees,” Annabelle’s mother replied.

“Ah.” Lady Elissa nodded. “That explains the grass stains.”

Annabelle glanced down at her dress and gasped. Dark green stains marred the pale gold taffeta. One stain around the knee region, another in the hip region and—Good Lord—one on her bodice over the left breast.

“Yes,” her mother said. “That does explain the stains.”

“Of course,” Elissa said. “I fully understand.”

So did Annabelle. Her mother, the Marquess of Montagu, would dish out a set-down of the first order to anyone who dared speak a word of her daughter’s dishevelment. And Annabelle would be forced to confess what she’d really been doing in the garden.

David stood at the carriage when Annabelle and her mother stepped out onto the mansion steps. They reached the bottom step and he grasped her mother’s hand, then paused, his attention on something behind them.

“Lady Montagu. Annabelle.”

Her mother glanced sharply at her, and Annabelle winced. The Marquess of Northington. David MacLennan might accept her mother’s explanation about Annabelle’s dishevelment but Calum would be more persistent.

Annabelle turned with her mother to face her fiancé.

He had started down the steps and reached them an instant later. “You are leaving so soon. I—” His eyes snagged on Annabelle’s bodice and he stared for an instant before yanking his gaze up. Horror at the obvious impropriety of gawking at her breast widened his eyes.

“Calum.” Her mother extended a hand toward him. His gaze broke from Annabelle and he reflexively took the proffered hand and bent over her fingers. “Forgive us,” she said when he straightened. “Annabelle took a little fall in the garden. As you can see, she cannot remain at the party.”

“Of course.” His tone was polite, but his brow furrowed in worry. “I will escort you home.”

“That will not be necessary,” she said. “Mr. MacLennan has been kind enough to fetch our carriage. As you can see, we are ready to leave.” She looked at David. “Thank you for your help, David.”

He gave a slight bow. “Of course, ma’am.”

“You are certain I cannot assist, Lady Montagu?” Calum shifted his blue eyes to Annabelle. “You are unhurt, Lady Annabelle?”

Guilt assailed her. She was the cause of his concern. “My dress is soiled, nothing more.”

Her mother smiled. “You are very kind, Calum. Our driver will take us home. No real damage was done.”

“I shall speak with Lord Harley about cleaning up his gardens,” Calum said. “He cannot have guests falling and hurting themselves.”

“Don’t do that,” Annabelle blurted.

His frowned deepened.

“He is right, Annabelle,” her mother said. “Lord Harley can’t have guests falling.”

“I can speak with him,” David said. “He need not know the details of who fell.”

Annabelle feared the earl would easily deduce the truth, but she had no choice. “Do be kind, Mr. MacLennan. No harm was done.”

“You could have been seriously hurt,” Calum said.

Annabelle was startled by his anger. She’d never seen him even mildly upset, much less angry. He was genuinely worried about her. Affection rippled through her.

“My lord, really, I am unharmed.”

The tension in his expression seemed to deepen and Annabelle feared he would confront Lord Harley that instant.

“No need to worry, Lord Northington,” David said. “I will deal with the earl. You are right. He must see to his guests’ safety.”

Annabelle sent David a grateful glance.

Calum hesitated, then nodded. “Thank you, Mr. MacLennan.”

He assisted Annabelle’s mother then her into the carriage and closed the carriage door. He pounded on the side of the vehicle and the lamp flame in the corner above her mother danced. Annabelle held her breath the full moment before her mother finally spoke.

“Have you lost your mind? What were you doing unescorted in the gardens? Or were you escorted?”

“It isn’t as it looks, mother.”             

Her mother arched a brow. “It looks as if you were rolling around on the grass.”

“I truly did fall,” Annabelle said.

“That is obvious. The question still remains: why were you in the gardens without a chaperone?”

Better that than the question, ‘What were you doing in Lord Harley’s study?’

“I got lost in the mansion and found my way out through a small balcony near the ballroom,” she said.

“Annabelle—”

“It’s the truth, Mother. I did not slip out into the gardens for a tryst. You must know I wouldn’t do such a thing.”

“You have never done anything like that in the past,” her mother said.

“And I won’t. Even Calum and I haven’t taken such liberties.”

“That, I would at least understand. I can only imagine what he must think.”

“He thinks what you told him. You and I were walking and I fell.”

“If there is more to this story—”

“There isn’t.”

“Your father will not be pleased,” she finished as if Annabelle hadn’t interrupted.

No, he wouldn’t. He would kill Ruthven for kissing her and she shuddered to think how Calum would react. Until tonight, Calum had never so much as raised his voice. She wouldn’t have thought him capable of jealousy. But if he were this upset over a little fall, how would he react if he knew a stranger had kissed her?

Why had he kissed her? It wasn’t only that he’d kissed her, but the way he’d kissed her, roughly and without so much as a
how do you do
? More than that answer, she wanted to know why he’d been snooping in Lord Harley’s study.

“Your father will not be pleased to learn you were wondering around Lord Harley’s home.” Her mother’s voice intruded upon her musings.

“Mamma, must we tell him? You know he’ll make more of it than he should.”

“No, in this case, I think he won’t. Wondering about a large home like that when there are so many guests is dangerous. If the wrong gentleman—man—encountered you, well, I don’t want to think about what might happen.”

“It was an honest mistake.”

“You’re too old to make those sorts of mistakes. I’m surprised you were so foolish.”

“I simply made the wrong turn down a hallway.” Annabelle hated lying. Mother was no fool. But the thought of being confined to their home as punishment was too much.

“Annabelle—”

A shout from the driver cut her off. The coach lurched, then sped forward.

“What in God’s name?” her mother cried.

Annabelle grabbed for the handle over the door, but missed and struck the wall.

“Annabelle!”

Her mother reached for her, but Annabelle seized the handle and righted herself.

“Liam, what’s happened?” her mother called.

A shot fired and Annabelle gasped. Her mother jabbed at a wall panel near her seat cushion. The panel clicked open and she pulled out the pistol Annabelle’s father kept there. The front wheels of the carriage barreled over a large bump in the road and the rear end went air-born then crashed back onto the ground. The coach swayed around a curve and Annabelle gripped the handle with both hands, expecting the coach to tip.

The coach straightened with a violent jolt. A second and third shot blasted and men’s shouts followed. The carriage came to an abrupt halt.

“Get down on the floor.” Her mother blew out the lamp and the interior of the carriage plunged into darkness.

Annabelle scrambled from the seat onto the floor. A small pebble dug into her left knee. She dared not move. Her heart pounded. A muffled male voice spoke. The click of the hammer being pulled back on her mother’s pistol caused Annabelle’s heart to jump. The rustle of her mother’s dress and the bump of her knee against Annabelle’s shoulder told her that her mother slid forward on her seat.

“Lady Montagu,” Liam shouted as the door opened.

Annabelle glimpsed the man standing at their door, then Liam behind him, in the instant before the man’s arm shot out and a pistol roared.

* * *

James seized the marchioness’ wrist and shoved the pistol skyward. The weapon discharged. She twisted her arm in an effort to pull free while swinging her other hand for a blow. James yanked the pistol from her grasp and sent it flying as he grabbed the swinging arm.

“My lady—”

Lady Annabelle lunged from a crouch on the carriage floor. Her shoulder struck his chin, slamming his teeth together. Her weight and momentum drove him backwards. Both women fell with him. James struck the ground, Lady Annabelle sprawled across his chest. Her mother struck the ground beside him and shoved to her feet.

“My lady, he saved us!” the driver cried.

“Saved us?” the marchioness repeated.

“Aye.”

Lady Annabelle blinked down at him. Her eyes widened and she shoved against his chest so hard his breath whooshed from his lungs.

“Annabelle,” her mother said.

Lady Annabelle stumbled backward and he thought she would fall to her backside. But she steadied herself as he pushed up to one knee. James paused to draw a breath before rising.

“Are ye all right, my lady?” The driver lifted the lantern he held and peered at her.

“What happened?” she demanded.

“We were set upon by three men.” He motioned to James. “This gentleman chased them off.”

The marchioness turned a critical eye on him. “This gentleman nearly got shot.”

He should have known she would carry a gun. Any woman who gave birth to the little baggage that nearly got him—and herself—killed would do nothing less than try to finish the job. Like her daughter, the marchioness struck while he saved her.

Harley had to have orchestrated the attack on their carriage. Which meant the earl didn’t believe the story James told about him and Lady Annabelle meeting in the study for a tryst.  

“Forgive me, my lady,” James said. “Your carriage made such violent turns I feared the occupants were hurt.”

“That will teach you,” she snapped.

No remorse. James’s ears still rang from the gun’s discharge at such close range. He supposed he should be thankful she carried only a muff pistol. A larger weapon would have deafened him. She was right. He was at fault for opening the door without warning.

“Liam, please find my pistol,” she ordered, then focused on James. “We never have highwaymen in Inverness.”

“I beg to differ, my lady,” Liam said. “If ye recall not long ago, when you and Lady Josephine were—”

She shot him a withering look. “This is not that same road.”

“As ye say, my lady.”

“Where are the highwaymen?” Lady Annabelle asked.

“Ran like the cowards they are,” the driver replied.

Lady Montagu glanced at the shadow-filled road behind them. “A shame you didn’t injure one of them. Now they are free to prey on other travelers.” The driver’s lantern illuminated the lady’s intense stare, which she turned on James. “Who are you, sir?”

No
thank you, how do you do
, or
sorry I nearly shot you
. She was, indeed, Lady Annabelle’s mother.

“James Waterson, my lady.”

“Son of Sir Douglas Waterson?” Lady Annabelle asked.

James heard the interest in her voice. He gave a slight bow. “At your service.”

“I knew your father,” Lady Montagu said.

That surprised him. His father hadn’t spoken of the Montagus.

She surprised him again by saying, “I was sorry to hear of his passing.”

“Thank you, my lady.”

“Your uncle died as well, if I recall. You are the new Viscount of Ruthven?”

Another surprise, though it shouldn’t be. If he’d learned anything from his uncle, it was that the nobility jealously guarded their ranks—and he had been no exception. They liked to know who was who. That knowledge kept out the riff raff. He wondered how much this noblewoman knew of her daughter’s snooping.

“That is correct, my lady. My uncle died without heirs, so the title fell to me.” Though he could have done without the nuisance.

The driver appeared, Lady Montagu’s pistol in hand, and extended it toward her, butt first. She accepted the weapon, then turned and scooped her reticule off the carriage seat and stuffed the gun inside. James marveled at her steady hand. Annabelle had been the same, except, he recalled, when she lied. When Harley caught her in his study, her reason for being there was such an obvious lie that she came off as amateurish. James couldn’t decide if she truly was an amateur or such a practiced liar that she could appear innocent. She had further puzzled him by showing no gratitude, remorse or fear when he whisked her away from the study. She had been searching for something in Harley’s library. While hidden in the small closet, James had watched her riffle through the earl’s desk.

“We should be on our way,” the marchioness said. “If it rains before we reach home that bullet hole will cause a mess inside the carriage.”

James was certain the pistol had discharged outside the carriage—and the cloudless night indicated there would be no rain.

“Forgive me, my lady.”

“It isn’t your fault. My husband has often chided me for being too quick to pull a trigger.”

How many other triggers had she pulled?

She withdrew a card from her reticule and extended it toward him. “Will you call on us tomorrow, Lord Ruthven? Four o’clock?”

He took the card. “I am honored. May I escort you home?”

Something flickered in her eyes. Had that been approval?

“You are most kind,” she said.

If it had been approval, she wasn’t letting it seep into her autocratic tone. He took her hand and helped her into the carriage. Lady Annabelle stepped up and James discerned the dark stains on her dress. He hid a smile. Ah, perhaps here was the reason for the marchioness’ ire. Her daughter looked as if she’d rolled around on the grass. She hadn’t. Though, if she’d asked—nicely—he wouldn’t have turned her down.