My Highland Lord (Highland Lords) (22 page)

Kiernan passed the newspaper to him and poured coffee for his father, then refilled his and Regan's cups.

A moment later, his father folded, then laid the paper on the table. "A year's engagement is unreasonable. Every move you and Miss Wallington make will be scrutinized."

"Phoebe has expressed an interest in returning to Scotland," Kiernan said with caution. "We won't be under the critical eye of London society."

"Ashlund will be little better, and," he added when Kiernan started to reply, "Brahan Seer is out of the question."

"You've become a mind reader, Father." Though he knew his father was right. It didn't matter that Brahan Seer was crawling with servants, soldiers, and villagers, all of British Society would believe that he had whisked Phoebe off to the castle in order to continue their
affair
as portrayed in the
Satirist
.

"I can't force her to the altar," Kiernan said.

The duke reached for the platter of eggs. "A shame you didn't consider that when you forced your way into her carriage."

"I know. It's too bad, really. When I saw her at the party that night, I fully intended to make her acquaintance.  Had she not been in
that coach, I would have pursued her."

"The way you pursued her the other night at the Halsey ball?" The du
ke spooned eggs onto his plate.

"Damnation, Father." Kiernan broke off at sight of his father's brown eyes lifting to meet
his. "What would you have me do?" Kiernan asked.

"You may begin by not adding fuel to
that
fire." He motioned toward the paper and set the plate on the table.

"Then you might consider hiring a chaperone."

His father looked at him, nonplussed. "You're no rake."

"No. But I won’t lie. Phoebe…excites me." Kiernan w
inced when his father's jaw tightened. "I won't make love to her until we're married," he said. His father's expression turned speculative, and Kiernan shook his head. "No. I haven't taken that liberty—and neither has she offered."

"She likely won't."

"I seem to recall that didn't stop you with Elise." The words were out of his mouth and even Regan stilled. "Father—"

"That was a different time and a different place," the duke cut in—to Kiernan's surprise, without rancor. "And as you know, not all my choices were the wisest."

"I'm sorry," Kiernan said. "I shouldn't have said that."

"Nay," he replied. "But I knew you someday would. You might ask yourself why that time was now."

*****

Her Gra
ce, the Duchess of Ashlund, insisted that Phoebe avail herself of her dressmaker and Phoebe agreed. She had to choose her battles between now and the time she parted company with the Ashlunds, and she had, after all, been ordered to agree to the marriage.

Phoebe stepped from the dress
maker's shop behind the duchess, who was resolute that she be present for the final fitting. She had supervised the design of whitework embroidery with sleeves of puffed and ruffled mancherons, and had chosen the delicate ruffles for the skirt. Elise MacGregor had exquisite taste.

The duchess pointedly ignored her guard Niall, who stood beside their carriage on the bustling
London side street, and turned to Phoebe. "I'm relieved that is over with," she said.

Phoebe laughed. "I was afraid you would be offended if I said that."

"Not at all. I despise fittings—even when I love the dress. I imagine the gown will arrive at your uncle's home before you do."

"Oh," Phoebe said, and Elise laughed.

"I don't intend on keeping you out all afternoon. Mrs. Gilly will be quick about the final touches on the gown and will have it delivered immediately. Do you like sweets?"

"Why, yes," Phoebe replied.

"Good. There's a confectionary nearby. Well worth the walk. I visit every chance I get." The duchess didn't look as though she indulged in sweets and Phoebe said so. Elise patted her arm. "You and I are going to get along very well. Niall," she said, "Phoebe and I plan to walk to Madam Araquette's."

"Aye, Your Grace," he said, and motioned to the driver.

The driver snapped the reins and the carriage started forward as Elise and Phoebe began walking, with Niall following on foot.

"So, tell me the truth," Elise began, "what do you think of marrying Kiernan?"

Phoebe had wondered when she would ask this question. "I have agreed to a year's engagement. You might ask me six months from now or perhaps even nine months." Honesty was the best policy—as long as it was possible.

"If you find in the year you can't tolerate him, do you plan to call off the wedding?"

"I imagine few women would not be able to
tolerate
Lord Ashlund."

"He's a good man," Elise said. "But that alone isn't enough for marriage." She lapsed into silence for a moment. "You do seem to find him attractive." Phoebe cut her gaze onto her, and Elise said, "I have eyes."

Phoebe returned her attention to the sidewalk. "He is a…" A couple passed them and she felt her cheeks heat.

"A fine specimen of masculinity?" Elise finished.

Phoebe thought she heard Niall groan, and could only manage, "Indeed."

The carriage
stopped behind two other carriages that had halted to let other vehicles pass at the intersection, but Niall kept pace with them. Amidst a hackney driver shouting at a carriage driver that had veered too close, Elise said, "It's all right to admit you like him."

"I-well, yes, Your Grace," Phoebe sputtered.

They reached the intersection. "Turn right," Elise instructed. They started down the block and she added, "I should warn you, the MacGregor men are relentless. The only way he will give up the chase is if you can prove you…dislike him."

Or if I denounce him as a traitor, Phoebe thought, but said, "I suppose if I don’t dislike him, I may not want to call off the wedding."

"Exactly," Elise said. "And I don't blame you one bit for wanting to be sure he's worth having. Some of England's most respected husbands care nothing for pleasing their wives."

Phoebe looked at her. What was she saying?

"I suspect that isn't the case with Kiernan." The duchess looked Phoebe in the eye. "After all, the apple doesn't usually fall far from the tree."

Phoebe stared. Was the Duchess of Ashlund saying that the Duke of Ashl
und was a good lover; therefore, his son would be as well?

Elise cast a glance behind her and Phoebe couldn't help following suit. Niall had fallen back a few paces. Eli
se leaned into her and whispered, "The damage has already been done to your reputation. If you have any doubts about the marriage, it's only right that you investigate his suitability."

"Investigate
?" Phoebe repeated dumbly. "Suitability?"

"Try out the goods beforehand," Elise prodded.

Phoebe recalled Kiernan's words the night of the Halsey soiree,
"I will pursue you, court you, and, lastly, seduce you.”
By heavens, if she didn't know better, she would swear Kiernan had colluded with his stepmother.

"I see," Elise said.

Phoebe jarred back to the moment.

"Perhaps your investigation is already underway," she said
. "Or…," her gaze turned speculative, "Kiernan has begun a campaign of his own."

Phoebe realized her cheeks were flaming. "Ma'am," she began, but Elise cut her off.

"Here we are." She entered the shop with Phoebe following on unsteady legs. "There isn't a thing here you won't love," Elise said. She stepped up to the counter where various pastries were displayed.

The petite, middle-aged woman behind the counter looked up. "Your Grace," she said with a slight French accent. "How lovely to see you."

"And you, Madam Araquette. How are you?"

Phoebe watched them, lost in the wonder of what sort of duchess suggested that her stepson's future wife
should try out the goods beforehand
. Were Scots that…loose?

"Why, Miss Wallington."

Phoebe turned at hearing Jane Halsey's voice. "Lady Halsey."

Lady Wilmington stood alongside her with a look in her eye that Phoebe didn't like. Jane, too, looked self-satisfied and Phoebe had the sneaking suspicion she was about to discover why.

"Lady Wilmington," Phoebe said with a deferential cant of her head.

"You look well," Lady Wilmington
replied. "I suppose a Scottish marquess can do that for a woman."

"I am fond of His Lordship," Phoebe said.

"Fond?" Lady Wilmington exchanged a glance with Jane. "Is he fond of you?" Phoebe frowned, but before she could answer, Lady Wilmington added, "How long do you think his fondness will last now that all of London knows you made a fool of him by trapping him into marriage?"

"I beg your pardon?"

Lady Wilmington opened her reticule and produced a newspaper clipping and handed it to her. Phoebe's gaze snagged on the headline
London Heiress kidnapped by the Marquess of Ashlund
. She caught the word Green Lady Inn and her heart thumped so hard she couldn't hear anything save the rush of blood that pounded in tandem to the beat.

"What's this?"

Phoebe snapped from the horrible spell. Lady Wilmington and Lady Halsey's faces went white and they stared at Elise as she stepped up beside Phoebe.

"Your Grace," they murmured in near unison, and curtsied deep.

Elise took the clipping from Phoebe's hand. Her eyes flicked over the paper, then she looked at the two woman. "Jane, you will inform your mother that His Grace and I will not be attending your party this week as planned. I will send a note explaining why. As for you, Katherine, if I'm not mistaken, His Grace was recently considering a business venture with your father—shipping, I believe. My husband will not be investing as your father had hoped, and His Grace will send a letter of explanation. In fact, I feel certain His Grace will visit your father. It's only right, wouldn't you agree?"

"Your Grace," she began, but Elise faced Phoebe.

"Come along, Phoebe."

Phoebe's attention caught on the clipping as it fluttered to the floor in their wake.

*****

Phoebe waited until Gaylon had closed the door and left her alone with Alista
ir. The shock of seeing the article in the paper that afternoon had worn off, and now she was furious—for several reasons.

"I arrived home to find a note from Lord Briarden asking when my wedding date was," she said.

Surprise flickered in his eyes—barely.

"Don't toy with me, Redgrave," she said. "Does Her Majesty now expect British spies to marry their quarry?"

"Of course not."

"Then what is Briarden about?"

"Something's happened, but I have no idea what."

"None?"

He gave her a sharp look. "Now who's playing games, Phoebe?"

"All right. She pulled from a
drawer the copy of the
Satirist
she had had Calders purchase for her, and handed it to Redgrave."

His face remained impassive as he read the article and Phoebe wondered how many times throu
ghout their friendship he'd worn that same look while hiding something from her, something like the fact he knew her father was still alive.

His gaze shifted back to her. "You can't be surprised by this."

"Indeed, I can. There are too many intimate details in that story for this to be someone who happened to see Lord Ashlund and me in Scotland."

He lifted a brow. "You suspect me?"

"You have your reasons for wanting to see me married to the marquess."

"Once we are sure he's an honest man, yes, but even then I wouldn't stoop to these tactics."

She snorted. "You would."

"All right," he said. "I might. But I didn't."

"Briarden?" she asked.

Alistair shook his head. "He would
not
stoop to such tactics."

Phoebe wasn't so sure.
Briarden had made it clear that she was employed by the Crown to gather information, and as the future wife of a suspect she was in a perfect position to carry out that duty. But how much better would her position be as wife…and lover?

"The only ot
her person who knows enough is Calders, and he wouldn't do it," she said.

"No," Alistair said, "I don't believe he would. But he isn't the only possible suspect."

"My aunt and uncle, but they would never report to the papers." Or would her aunt?

"True," Alistair replied. "Remember, you stayed in that inn on the English border. From what you told me, the innkeeper's wife sounds like the type to sell such a story."

"But she would have to know there was a story to sell."