The Devil Wears Kilts (26 page)

“Glengask’s had his share of trouble since that fight,” he noted, stifling his brogue. “His stable burned down two nights ago.”

“Did it?” Berling’s eye twitched, and he reached for his glass of wine. “How unfortunate.”

“I would love to know who to thank for that,” Will took up, chuckling.

“I wouldn’t, necessarily,” the earl returned. “Glengask doesn’t respond well to threats—much less direct violence. I’m in no mood to get my nose broken again because some Englishman or other doesn’t like Highlanders and I’m easy to blame.”

Well, that was a surprise. Or a very clever statement. Arran touched Will’s shoulder. “I think that’s our table ready,” he commented. “Again, pleased to meet you, Berling. Gentlemen.”

Once they were out of earshot, Will slowed his retreat to the library. “What do you make of that?”

“I’m not certain. But I do mean to find out.”

Whether or not Berling had set that fire, he’d certainly done damage to the MacLawrys before, and as far as Arran was concerned, he needed to be dealt with. If he wasn’t the one burning buildings next to where his brother and sister were dining, though, someone else was. And that someone needed to be found. Which meant Ranulf needed to know what Arran had been up to today.

That wouldn’t go over well. The idea of anyone else taking risks on Ranulf’s part had never sat well with his brother. In fact, the only thing he was likely to be angrier about was when Arran advised him to leave the English lass alone before he got himself forced into a marriage he couldn’t possibly want. And to think, he might have stayed at Glengask.
Damnation
.

*   *   *

“Charlotte, may I borrow your pearl earbobs?” Jane asked, hurrying into her sister’s bedchamber.

“Certainly. They’re in the jewelry box.”

Seated at her dressing table, Charlotte glanced at her sister in the mirror’s reflection. While Janie had always seemed young—and after all, seven years separated them—since yesterday the difference had become even more marked. Janie had her dreams about beaux and breaking hearts, but she’d experienced none of the reality of it.

When James died, Charlotte felt that she’d abruptly and without reason been denied her dream of a happy life. Until yesterday she hadn’t actually known what a man, a marriage, meant. And the knowledge was rather … thrilling. Invigorating. Arousing.

“Oh, Char, you look so lovely,” her sister exclaimed, walking up for a closer look. “Are those onyx?” Jane touched a finger to the black ribbon threaded through black beads and braided into her blond hair.

“They are. It was Simms’s idea.”

Jane caught the maid’s arm. “Say you’ll show Maggie how to do that, Simms.”

“Of course, Lady Jane.”

Once her sister had pranced out of the room again, Charlotte turned her head to look at the lady’s maid. “Thank you again,” she said quietly. “I know yesterday was nothing you could possibly wish to find yourself entangled with.”

Simms curtsied. “I only hope no harm comes of it, my lady.”

“So do I.” And the fact that she’d thought of almost nothing but deep blue eyes and strong, warm arms and the gloriousness of that fit, hard body inside hers, couldn’t possibly bode well.

Their mutual attraction may have been dealt with to
his
satisfaction, but she wanted more. She wanted more sex with him, she wanted to fall asleep in his arms, and wake up to see him beside her. If he’d been anyone but who he was, she would call him perfect.

“That should do it,” Simms said finally, stepping back to admire the tumble of hair shot through with black, sparkling beads.

“You’ve outdone yourself,” Charlotte returned, standing.

“I wanted something to complement that magnificent gown.” A brief smile dimpling her cheeks, Simms busied herself with straightening up the dressing table.

Not even to herself could Charlotte pretend that she hadn’t dressed tonight with Ranulf in mind. The deep red gown with the delicate black lace over the bodice and dripping from the sleeves, the black beads sewn into the skirt—she had no idea why she’d ever had it made in the first place. But now, tonight, it seemed a perfect match to the way she felt inside.

The family was already gathering in the foyer when she left her bedchamber, and she steeled herself for more questions about who might have caught her eye, and did she know she stood a risk of putting the debutantes to shame. Well, tonight she felt like that woman. And it was nice—very nice—to simply be a wicked, wanton woman for a few minutes before she had to become Charlotte the older sister well on the shelf once more.

“Charlotte, do you have a moment?” her father said, emerging from his office just as she passed by it.

“Of course, Papa.” She followed him back inside, and he quietly closed the door behind them. “Has Jane begun writing bad poetry about some man again?” she asked with a grin.

“No, nothing as dire as that.” He faced her. “Lord Glengask.”

For a brief, horrified moment she thought Simms might have told. But her father wasn’t swearing, and her mother wasn’t even present, much less weeping over her older daughter’s ruination, so Charlotte pasted a frown on her face. “What about him?”

“The two of you went driving yesterday.”

She nodded, her mind racing ahead of the conversation, seeking for answers he hadn’t yet asked—but likely would. “He wanted to see some of the sights.”

“I thought he detested London.”

“I told him he was wrong to claim hatred of something he’d never bothered to experience.” That happened to be the truth, at least. The idea of lying to her dear, patient father made her feel ill; there were some things she couldn’t tell him, but as much as possible she intended to be honest.

“And has his opinion altered?”

“He did say several complimentary things, but I believe it’s still too early to tell.”

“I see.” He drummed his fingers on the back of a chair. “Is he courting you?”

Her breath caught. “Really, Papa. I’m English. You know what he thinks of us. And I told him that brawling with people was the basest resort of petty minds.” Abruptly it occurred to her that insulting Ranulf to her father was not the wisest way to endear one to the other—if such a thing was required. But jumping to his defense would make her father suspicious, and rightly so.

“Good.”

That made her frown deepen. “What’s good?”

“That he isn’t courting you.” The earl took a slow breath. “It’s one thing to have his sister lodging here. She’s young and charming and not political. He, on the other hand, has enemies caustic enough to burn down his stable. And there are rumors that his grandfather was a Jacobite. There’s even talk that
he’s
a Jacobite, given the way he keeps to the Highlands with an army of fighting men around him.”

She couldn’t disagree with any of it. “I don’t know about his politics,” she said slowly, her heart beginning to ache as though someone had squeezed it, “but I think you know how I feel about anyone with a penchant for mindless violence.”

Walking forward, her father kissed her on the forehead. “That, I do. And though I’m sorry you have a very good reason for your squeamishness, at this moment I’m rather relieved you feel this way. Because if I know one thing, it’s that being in the Marquis of Glengask’s company is dangerous.”

Charlotte wouldn’t say she felt relieved about anything, no matter how safe or perilous her predicament. It was likely a good thing that her father had reminded her of the negative parts of a relationship with Ranulf MacLawry, because on her own she might have decided to overlook what seemed to be a few brawls. But it was much, much worse than that. He was, quite simply, a man at war. And if she fell for him, and he was hurt or … killed, she didn’t think she would be able to stand it. Not again. Not after what she’d discovered in his arms.

It might have been different if he’d wished for a different sort of life, but she’d never seen any evidence that he wanted anything other than what he had. Well, she wanted something else for him. And she wanted him to at least acknowledge that another way existed, for heaven’s sake. Luckily for her, though, she’d learned long ago that wishes were as plentiful as clouds, and as impossible to grasp.

She followed her father out to the foyer, and Winnie grasped her arm as they all headed out to the waiting carriage. “You look so lovely,” the younger girl said with a grin.

“As do you.” Charlotte indicated the emerald-colored silk gown Ranulf’s sister wore. “You didn’t acquire this here, did you? I don’t recall seeing it before.”

“No, this is the gown Ranulf bought me for my birthday. Of course he thought I would be wearing it to my own party, and not to a London grand ball.” She swished the skirt, grinning excitedly. “I’m sure that having both my brothers in attendance tonight will make them more civilized, since they won’t feel so outnumbered. Though practically the only thing that could make Ran fight is a threat to his loved ones.”

“He punched Lord Berling for claiming a place on Charlotte’s dance card,” Jane pointed out as she settled back into the coach.

“No, he punched the earl because Berling shot my brother, Bear. Munro. Then the scoundrel fled to London to pretend to be civilized. I know I was furious about the fight, but I’ve been thinking about it, and I believe that Ran just reminded Berling that actions have consequences.”

“It was still an appalling show of violence, my dear,” Charlotte’s mother said from the opposite seat of the coach. “I know you love your brother, but thank goodness you were well clear of that mess. And I’m also pleased that you told him how ungentlemanly his actions were, Winnie. It wouldn’t have had the same seriousness to it, coming from other than family.”

“My brother’s a good man, my lady,” Winnie said stoutly. “And he learns from his mistakes. You’ll see.”

Charlotte just wished everyone would stop talking about Ranulf, both his faults and his manliness, and give her a blasted minute or two to think. She’d chastised him more strongly than his own sister had. Yes, he’d vanished for a week, but not because he wished to hide. He’d reappeared with a house and a civilized, amusing dinner. It had been charming.
He
had been charming.

According to her father, the fire that had ended the evening had been Ranulf’s fault for having enemies. At the time she’d been more concerned with the disaster than what had caused it, though she supposed now that if he hadn’t hit Berling, the fire might not have happened. But then what came next might not have happened, either.

“What if both your brothers wear kilts tonight?” Jane asked from the other side of Charlotte.

Winnie shrugged. “I don’t think they will. This isn’t a clan gathering, and I do believe Ranulf’s trying to fit in.”

“I certainly hope so,” Lady Hest said under her breath.

For the very briefest of moments, despite what both she and Winnie had told him, Charlotte hoped he
would
wear his kilt. Because she’d never seen a more magnificent sight in her entire life—except, of course, for when she’d seen him naked.

Chapter Twelve

“A man hesitates to accept responsibility for starting a fire and ye think that makes him innocent of it?” Ranulf slammed a fist against the wall of the coach, rocking the entire vehicle.

“I only said he didnae have the look of a man pleased to have acted against an enemy,” Arran returned, pulling at the sleeve of his dark brown coat as if he hoped it would come off at the shoulder.

“Of course he didnae, firstly because ye confronted him about it, and secondly because the man’s a yellow-bellied coward.”

“I dunnae—”

“Damn it, Arran, do I truly have to remind ye nae to go anywhere that’ll see ye outnumbered? Charles Calder is the bloody Campbell’s grandson!”

“I can take care of myself, as ye well know, Ran. And if ye thought it more important to go mooning after some proper Sasannach lass, someone else had to take a look at Berling.”

Ranulf glared at his brother across the coach’s seat. “I’m nae mooning after anyone,” he stated flatly. “And tomorrow ye can hie yerself back to Glengask.”

“Nae.”

“‘Nae’?” Ranulf repeated, lifting an eyebrow. “I wasnae asking.”

“And I’m nae leaving ye here to watch over Rowena while the wolves circle the lot of ye. Especially when yer mind’s on someaught else.”

That was twice Arran had accused him of distraction. What did his younger brother think he’d seen? Whatever his own intentions toward Charlotte, he wasn’t yet willing to discuss them. And certainly not with someone who’d just arrived the previous day.

“My mind’s precisely where it needs to be, Arran. As always.” He folded his arms across his chest. “But have
ye
considered what’ll happen tonight when all the duke’s guests see ye introduced as a MacLawry?”

Arran gave a grim smile. “I reckon we might be in for a bit of a row.”

Damnation
. “Nae, that willnae happen. Rowena wants a proper Season. And I dunnae want us seen as animals. Tonight we’re gentlemen.”

Rowena wasn’t the only one who wanted a fight-free soiree. The fact that he could attribute the request to her, though, certainly made things easier on him. His sister had given him some surprisingly sound advice, actually, and he intended to make good use of her counsel. He merely didn’t wish to explain to Arran why he was acting as he was.

“
Gentlemen
. Until she came here, Rowena thought we
were
gentlemen. And we’d nae have to worry over being outnumbered and burned out if ye’d brought her home to Glengask as ye said ye would. Do ye mean to stay in London all Season, now?”

Ranulf sent his brother a level look. Time was, no one would have spoken to him like that. Charlotte had done so, and everything had changed. Arran didn’t know anything of that, though. Had
he
changed, then? Was it something that others could perceive? If so, he needed to stop. Immediately. A perception of weakness might as well be a death sentence in his world.

“I’ll stay in London as long as I deem it necessary. If ye want to stay as well, then do so. But if ye think I mean to allow ye to continue stirring up trouble because ye dunnae like the way I’m dealing with things, ye’d be dead wrong. This is a different world, Arran, and we need to learn how to navigate it. Nae for Rowena, but for Glengask’s future. And we willnae be accomplishing anything by countering each other’s moves. Are we clear?”