The Pursuit (8 page)

L
INCOLN
arrived at the theater that night very eager to see Melissa again. It made no difference that he had seen her only hours earlier. That wasn’t enough.

It didn’t take much to realize that he didn’t like being parted from her at all, nor that he couldn’t see her whenever he liked. Just visiting wasn’t enough either—only marriage was going to give him the access to her that he found himself craving. He would have to ask his aunt exactly how long a courtship should last, and he would be asking Melissa to marry him the moment that time was reached.

She didn’t show up.

If Lincoln hadn’t brought Edith along with him, he could have left to find out why. But he was Edith’s only chaperon that night, and he didn’t have the heart to ask her to forgo the outing, when she was receiving a good deal of unexpected attention.

Apparently having someone like Justin St. James take to the floor with her last night had been precisely the sort of thing to give her that thrust forward she’d been needing. Several men came forward to introduce themselves to her before they found their seats, several more during the intermission, and one approached her twice and even asked if he could call on her the next day.

Edith was bubbling over with excitement on the way home that night. Lincoln made an effort not to dampen her mood, even though his own was filled with worry. Of course, any number of things could have happened to cause Melissa to cancel going to the theater. It wasn’t as if she were missing an actual event she’d been invited to, one that would require formal regrets sent to the inviter if she couldn’t attend. And he’d find out soon enough what had happened to change her plans when he called on her tomorrow.

So he thought. But he found out different when he arrived at the ducal town house the next afternoon, at precisely the same time as the previous day, only to be denied entry again, though this time simply because the duchess and her young guest were out of town. They had already departed for the country gathering that Melissa had mentioned to him and weren’t likely to be back before the end of the week.

“Whose gathering were they attending?” Lincoln thought to ask, since it might be one he or his aunt had already been invited to.

The man, eager to get the door closed, said simply, “I’ve no idea, sir.”

Lincoln found that doubtful, when most butlers made it their business to know
everything
involving their employers. But rather than making accusations that
would
get the door closed immediately, he asked, “Is Miss MacGregor’s uncle here? He might know.”

“No, sir. Master Ian accompanied the ladies.”

“And you really have no idea where this country party is occurring?”

A bit of stiffness now. “I’m sorry, sir, I’m not privy to such information. Her Grace’s secretary might know, but he was given a holiday while she is out of town and is no longer in residence either.”

That, at least, did sound plausible, so Lincoln nodded and left. In any case there was nothing for it but to wait for the promised invitation, the one that Melissa had said she would obtain for him.

It never arrived. The four days that had been mentioned for this particular gathering came and went. Invitations for the more exclusive events of the season were pouring in. But the duchess of Wrothston and her guests didn’t return to town by the end of the week, nor for the weekend that followed. And the St. Jameses’ butler steadfastly maintained each time he was asked, which was daily, that he hadn’t received word yet when they would.

Lincoln wasn’t dense. He realized that, for
whatever reason, he was being avoided. Melissa didn’t want to see him again, much less be courted by him. But why not simply tell him and put him out of his misery? He was kept wondering instead, and without much hope that he was mistaken, so it wasn’t surprising that he would attempt to take solace in drink, which would help him to stop thinking about it, however briefly.

There was a tavern not too far from his town house, a decent establishment he used to frequent with his old crowd. He’d spent the entire evening there last night, until the barkeep, whom he knew by name, finally closed down and assisted him home—at least, he had a vague memory of being assisted, had definitely needed assisting at any rate. And he’d blessedly slept away most of the day today.

But he was back there again tonight. The barkeep, Patrick—or Patty as he was more often called—rolled his eyes at Lincoln when he showed up again but brought a bottle of brandy over to his table without being asked. It had been a standing joke among Lincoln’s cronies that while they preferred to drink Scotch, he—the Scotsman—didn’t.

Patty had tried to get him to reveal his woes last night, being of the opinion that it would be good for him, but Lincoln wasn’t one to be talkative when he drank, no matter how deep into his cups he got. Getting deliberately foxed was serious work, after all. And he hoped that after a few
more days of such work he’d get sick enough to put this whole debacle behind him. That was possible. And he still had to find a wife….

The tavern had been somewhat crowded when he arrived. Five of the tables had been occupied, if not filled, and several more men had been standing at the bar. Lincoln had recognized none of them, which was good, since he didn’t want to be bothered with conversation of any sort. They were drinking quietly. He began doing the same.

He didn’t notice the new crowd arriving, since he had his back to the door. The other patrons did, however, and quickly began to vacate the place, anticipating trouble from such a large group of unfriendly-looking gents, every single one of them over six feet tall.

Lincoln did notice one new fellow who sat down noisily at the table on his left. Oddly, he somewhat resembled the oldest MacFearson brother, whom Lincoln remembered, not in his coloring but in his facial features, though Lincoln had to allow that his memory of that bunch of ill-mannered, ill-tempered louts was definitely cloudy after nineteen years.

It had to be the drink. He’d had enough bad luck recently that adding running into one of
them
would go beyond the pale. No one could get that unlucky.

“I ne’er would hae recognized him m’self” was said almost cheerfully.

Lincoln turned to the speaker on his right. This one he knew. Bloody hell.

“Nor I. ’Course he was but a lad in knickers when he left the Highlands.”

Lincoln turned his head around yet again. There were five more of them lined up at the bar watching him, a sixth actually sitting up on it. Poor Patty was standing nervously at the end, ready to bolt into the back room at the first sign of violence.

“There’s still nae resemblance, other than his eyes and hair, neither o’ which is unique.”

One more had straddled the only other chair at his own table. Three more were taking seats at the table beyond. A quick glance around showed other tables behind him filled with them, at least fifteen total head count. Besides himself and Patty, they were the only ones left in the room.

“Bloody, bloody hell.”

“Good tae see ye again, too, Linc,” one of them said with a chuckle.

“Is this where you all pound on me again?” Lincoln remarked sourly before finishing off his current drink and quickly pouring another.

“As long as ye dinna start throwing punches as ye sae often did afore, we’ve nae beating planned for ye,” came a new voice, contempt strong in it.

“To what, then, do I owe the distinct misfortune of seeing you all again?”

“We’ve come tae tell ye tae stay away from our niece” was the quick answer.

“What niece?” Lincoln snorted. “If you have one, I pity the girl for that, but since none of you had borne any children before I left Scotland, any
that you bore afterward would be decidedly too young for my notice—allowing I wouldn’t despise any relative of yours just by association, mind you,” he added with some of his own contempt.

“This niece was born tae our only sister, older than Ian One.”

“You didn’t have any sisters back then. If you did, you would have mentioned it, when you were so proudly gloating over how many there were of you.”

“She was one we didna know aboot, nor did our da,” one of the younger MacFearsons explained. “We only discovered her existence a month or so after ye left, and she bore the MacGregor a daughter aboot nine months later.”

Lincoln went very still upon hearing that. “No, she can’t be your niece.”

“She is.”

“Bloody hell! You’ve ruined every other thing in my life, you’re not going to ruin this as well.”

“Ye give us more credit than we deserve, mon. Ye were the one who wouldna leave well enough alone.”

“And who started it all tae boot” was added by yet another new voice, quite bitterly.

Lincoln turned to the last speaker. Strange how he knew exactly which one this was without having to be told, though he bore absolutely no resemblance to the lad who had been his friend for all of two years, other than sporting the dark green eyes many of them had.

A lot of them had had dark blond hair as well back then and still did, though this one didn’t anymore. His hair had apparently darkened to a true brown as he aged. Dougall MacFearson. Dougi. The only person Lincoln had ever been able to claim as his
best
friend—but by choice. He’d never allowed himself to get that close to anyone again.

“Dougi—”

He had only to say the name and two of the older brothers stepped in front of Dougall to protect him. Which was absurd. It might have been their habit when they were all growing up, to protect the younger ones whether they needed it or not. But they were all grown now, and Dougall was Lincoln’s age, quite able to see to his own defense.

“I see none of you have really changed,” Lincoln said in disgust. “Why does that not surprise me?”

“Insulting us already, lad?”

“Leave it go, Adam,” the eldest among them suggested in a calm tone.

Ian One, the voice of reason, the voice of decision—if not always the calmest voice. Whenever this bunch fought among themselves, it was always Ian One, the oldest, who was turned to in the end to decide the matter. The firstborn—or he had been, before they’d learned of an older sister they never knew they had.

He continued in the same vein. “Ian Six was right tae be concerned and send for us. Linc here
might hae behaved decently enough wi’ the lass, aside from the stealing o’ kisses, but if anyone hasna changed, ’tis him. If a mon canna ootgrow a foul disposition in nineteen years, he ne’er will. We hae seen what we came tae see. Now he knows she’s one o’ us, he’ll end his pursuit o’ her. He’s already said he’d despise any relation o’ ours. The matter ended wi’ that statement, I’m thinking, sae let us leave the mon in peace.”

That easily they all filed out of the tavern, just as quietly as they’d entered. Patty, wide-eyed, rushed over to Lincoln’s table the moment the door closed on the last one—after grabbing a bottle for himself first.

“I’ve heard of large families, but never that many siblings and all so close in age—and so big!” he said in amazement.

“One father, many different mothers,” Lincoln said in a tired voice.

“Ah, that would explain it, then.”

“And two were missing—the eldest I didn’t know about myself and the youngest, who must have finally figured out who I was when I met him last week and then sent for the lot of them.”

“Seventeen in all?”

“To my grave misfortune.”

“D
ID
you find him?” Ian Six asked as he entered the hotel room where his brothers were gathered for breakfast that morning, trays piled high with pastries and assorted hot drinks spread out all over the place.

They had rented five rooms for the lot of them but used them only for sleeping. The duchess of Wrothston would have opened her home to them, if she’d known they were in town. They had elected to keep their presence secret for the time being, however, since Melissa would be alarmed and want to know why they were all there, and they hadn’t decided yet whether to tell her or not.

Callum, thirty-two and one of the few brothers who had a couple of sisters who were unrelated to the rest of them, answered Ian, “He was easy enough tae find, though no’ sae easy tae deal wi’.”

The youngest brother was surprised. “Dinna tell me he tried tae take ye all on again?”

Ian Two answered, “Nay, he was actually verra calm and quiet, just sat there stewing in hate, is all. It was like seeing the lad all o’er again, just wi’oot the shouts and flying temper.”

Ian Two was the third oldest among them, but still three years younger than Ian One. He was the most adept with his fists, however, and tended to win any fights he got into, including those with his brothers. He had restrained himself with Lincoln due to being so much older and bigger at the time, which hadn’t stopped Lincoln from attacking him. He’d merely held him off at arm’s length, which unfortunately caused embarrassment that just added to the lad’s fury. He wouldn’t be inclined to restraint now, though.

“But he’ll back off, now he knows she’s one o’ ours?” Ian Six asked.

“There’s no telling wi’ a mon like him,” Callum replied. “Ye’ll need tae accompany her wherever she goes now, I’m thinking, just tae be sure.”

Ian Six groaned. “He’s no’ likely tae see me as a deterrent. He’s got three years on me, a few more inches, and a lot more weight.”

“That doesna matter,” Adam, the second oldest there, insisted. “Ye represent us, is what he’ll be seeing. If he approaches Melissa wi’ ye there beside her, he’ll be crossing us all.”

“As if that e’er stopped him,” Charles said with a derisive snort.

Charles, like Dougi and Ian Five, was the exact same age as Lincoln Ross, give or take a few
months. Their father had been quite fickle—and prolific—that particular year. Charles had also been somewhat jealous back then—of Dougi. Having an extraordinary number of brothers was one thing, but having your own best friend who wasn’t a brother was unique in their family, and Charles had envied Dougi Linc’s friendship—up until it ended. Then he’d just pitied Dougi and was perhaps relieved he hadn’t won the closer relationship he’d wanted.

“I’d say we hae nothing more tae worry aboot,” Ian Four put in confidently. “He willna want her for wife, now he knows who she is.”

This Ian was thirty-one now and, like many of them, had their father’s dark blond hair and green eyes. Malcolm, who was the same age, had the same eyes but bright red hair from his mother. Johnny was but a year older than these two and took completely after his mother, with coal black hair and light brown eyes flecked with gold.

“I agree,” Malcolm said.

“I disagree,” Johnny said.

“And that surprises who?” Charles snorted again.

“Quiet, ye.” Ian Three scowled, taking Johnny’s side, as he usually did. Those two actually shared the same mother as well as father. It didn’t make them any closer, really, than any of the others; it just added an additional protective instinct to this Ian, which he took seriously. “There’s two good reasons why he still might pursue her.”

George entered the discussion now. Thirty-three,
he was the only one of them with very light blond hair instead of dark, and his eyes were sea blue. He was also one of the few of them to have married, though he’d done so only recently to the mother of his three bairns.

He said simply, “For spite.”

That got a lot of nods, but Ian Three continued, “Aye, that would be one reason. The other is, he could already be in love wi’ her.”

Malcolm started to laugh. Ian Six, walking past him to grab a scone, kicked him to silence, remarking, “He’s right. Ye werena there tae see how Linc looked at our Meli, but I was. He’s a mon sorely smitten.”

“Was. But we all ken how quickly a finer emotion can turn foul,” Dougall said quietly.

There was a moment of silence, filled with sympathy, anger, and even some regret. They all knew how close Dougall had felt to Lincoln Ross—until that day so long ago that Lincoln started that fight with him for no good reason.

In all the years since, Dougall had never again trusted anyone outside his family. That event had caused much dissent among themselves as well. Some of them had felt sorry for Lincoln. Some didn’t want to fight him, even though he insisted.

Some, like William, who’d been there the day it started, felt a measure of guilt for beating Lincoln so badly he’d had to be carried home. That would have been the end of it, however—should have been. A wrong quickly dealt with. But Lincoln just wouldn’t let it go….

Ian One cleared his throat to break the silence. “Hae ye told her who he really is?” he asked Ian Six.

“Nae, I didna hae the heart tae. She was looking forward tae seeing him again here in London and was verra unhappy when it looked like she wouldna, then verra happy when he did finally show up. She likes him. A lot.”

“As long as it was just liking, she’ll get o’er it quick enough,” Johnny said.

“Will she? I’m no’ sae sure,” Ian Six continued. “But I refuse tae be the bearer o’ bad tidings for her. If she’s tae be told, one o’ ye can hae that honor. I did m’part, kept her away from London longer than planned, tae give ye time tae warn him off. Had tae break the duchess’s poor coach wheel four times tae do it. She nearly fired her driver, blaming him. Fortunately, the last time the wheel fell off was near a friend o’ hers, and she decided tae visit there, then got talked into staying o’er for a couple o’ days, which is why we didna get back until yesterday.”

Ian One nodded. “Then let’s decide the matter here and now. Either we tell her and hope she agrees that he’s no’ the mon for her or we dinna tell her and just make sure he stays away from her.”

“Ye dinna think our warning tae him sufficed?” William asked.

“When did he e’er back down from us?” Charles asked. He managed not to snort this time, though derision was still in his tone.

“Telling her could hae the opposite effect we’d like,” Ian Five mentioned casually. “She could as likely get annoyed wi’ us for warning him off, regardless that he’s no’ the right mon for her.”

“There’s that,” Ian One agreed, but he added, “And she willna be the only one. Her mother is likely tae shoot the lot o’ us if we dinna handle this right. There’s also the chance Meli will want him anyway.”

Since it sounded as though Ian One had already decided on secrecy to keep peace with the MacGregors’ womenfolk, and since most of them tended to agree with him just because he was the eldest of the brothers, Ian Six felt compelled to point out, “She’s going tae be miserable if he doesna pursue her, after he told her he was officially courting her.”

“Better a little misery now than a lifetime o’ it living wi’ a mon o’ such volatile temper,” Callum said.

“She’ll think we’re interfering if she finds oot,” Ian Six warned.

“We
are
interfering,” Johnny said.

“Aye, but this on top of scaring off her suitors at home? She’ll be seriously displeased wi’ us.”

“Och, ne’er mind them,” Charles said derisively. “They were afeared of a silly legend e’en afore they showed up. Merely looking at them wrong would hae sent them running. Cowards, those two. She wouldna hae been happy wi’ either o’ them, and she knew that.”

“Linc isna a coward,” William pointed out.

“Linc is sae far the opposite o’ that, he takes bravery tae extremes, tae the exclusion o’ common sense,” Adam said. “At least, he did when he was a lad. Now, did any o’ ye notice any difference aboot him last night tae suggest he’s grown oot o’ such foolishness?”

There was a quick round of naes. Ian Four sighed at the end of it. “And that suggests he’ll ignore our warning.”

“I say we’ve nothing tae worry aboot,” Neill said with more hope than assurance. He was the second youngest, and as such he rarely offered an opinion. “Now he knows she’s one o’ ours, he willna want her. He’ll despise her as he does the rest o’ us. He said as much.”

“He said that afore he heard exactly who our niece is,” William reminded them. “Besides, Meli is impossible tae despise. There’s no lass sweeter, kinder, more compassionate, charming, funny—”

“We’ve the MacGregor tae thank for that,” Callum cut in with a chuckle. “Sweetness doesna run in
our
side o’ the family.”

“Regardless, I say he willna give up the pursuit,” William continued. “And what I’m wanting tae know is, what are we going tae do then?”

“Short o’ killing him?”

“Now, there’s an excellent option,” Charles said, tongue in cheek.