Ian was angry with himself.
Furious.
He was equally furious with her—naturally. Especially now, as she sat before him, skeins of golden hair free and tangling about his chest and face as they rode hard against the wind.
If she and Peter O’Neill had picked another time and place to play their games, none of this would have happened. He wouldn’t be married to one woman, when he had been all but engaged to another.
Yet no matter how it infuriated him that Alaina McMann had shed her clothing in his pool, he couldn’t deny—to himself, at least—that they both might have been out of the water and decently clad before Peter and Lavinia had come upon them if he hadn’t been quite so consumed by the sight of her and so irrationally irritated to discover that so lush a beauty as Alaina had been seduced by so wretched an excuse for humanity as Peter O’Neill.
Had it been a strange form of jealousy? The time during which he had actually touched Alaina intimately had been brief; yet the impressions of all that he had felt were forever embedded in his memory. He thought wryly that God had created woman—and so man had wound up cast from Eden. How ironic, for God had created a perfection in Alaina McMann that was surely the worst temptation of man. Her breasts were firm, rounded globes, her waist was wasp thin, her hips flared. She was slender, but, dear God, was she shaped. Maybe that was why he had not recognized her. The last time he had seen Alaina, she had been reed-thin. A devilish little hoyden, running free on the sand. But he should have recognized her face, though her features, too, had matured to a delicate beauty quite different from the time he had seen her last. Still, those eyes, those golden eyes, cat’s eyes… sensual eyes, taunting eyes. He had seen that beautiful blend of color only in her eyes. How had he forgotten?
Time.
And his irritation with Peter O’Neill.
Which had now damned them both to this charade, as Alaina had called it.
Well, just what had he intended? He still didn’t know, except that he’d been obsessed that they must marry, and determined that he must somehow force her to his will. He’d be damned if he’d let Peter O’Neill have the opportunity to slander him, or any of the McKenzies.
And as to Alaina, well, it was easy enough to twist her arm when her father was threatened. Still, he had rushed forward with little thought of the future; he’d only known that he’d not let Peter O’Neill return to Cimarron and destroy everyone there. Yet now the deed was done. He could mock himself. What now? He’d shackled himself to a woman O’Neill had known; perhaps she was still in love with Peter, despite Peter’s treatment of her. If she went near Peter, he thought with sudden fury, he’d slice them both to ribbons.
The thought suddenly astonished him, and he gave himself a furious shake. What in God’s name was the matter with him, that he could find himself seized by such overwhelming thoughts of violence?
“What now?” she whispered suddenly, and he realized that he had reined in at the lawn’s edge, that he just sat there waiting, feeling the last golden rays of the sun beat down upon them.
“Well, now, my love, we play out the charade,” he told her.
She twisted slightly, her face rising to his. Cat’s eyes questioning… perhaps just a little uncertain, delicate face strangely grave and very beautiful. He thought about the way she had teased and flirted on the lawn—and the cunning power with which she had bested her opponent at swordplay. A burning tension tormented the length of him, and for the first time since he had begun with this obsession, he reminded himself that she had grown into a rare beauty indeed, perhaps one of the most beautiful women in all his acquaintance. Then he mocked himself, wondering if he hadn’t realized it all the time, if he hadn’t been as obsessed with the feel of her flesh, the curve of her breasts, as he had been with his fury against O’Neill.
Marriage.
A damned stiff payment for obsessive desire.
She looked forward again, long blond hair tousled from the ride and teasing his nose. He gritted his teeth and leaned low against her to whisper against her ear, “We face the barracudas.”
He felt a slight trembling within her.
“Afraid?” he mocked.
Her shoulders squared. She twisted again, cat’s eyes narrowed as they fell on his.
“Of what?” she demanded.
“Facing them all down.”
“No,” she assured him flatly.
“Ah, then, are you afraid of me?” he demanded.
“Never,” she assured him coolly, yet she looked quickly back to the house and he thought he felt the slightest trembling within her again….
He suddenly nudged his heels hard against his borrowed horse and they bolted across the lawn. One good thing, he thought: Alaina McMann could ride like the wind, swim like a fish, run like a deer. She was nature’s own child, her father’s daughter all the way.
He reined in at the house, leaped down from the horse, and reached up to help her down. Cat’s eyes touched his. He swept her down before him, close against him. She slid against the length of his body to the ground and he whispered to her, “Remember the game, my love.”
Rich honey lashes fell over her cheeks; she was still shaking. Whatever game he was playing, this was not so easy for her.
Was she in pain? Because of Peter O’Neill? The thought was enough to give anyone apoplexy.
He caught her hand. He gave her no more chance to protest, but drew her along with him into the house.
Cimarron was aglow. Lights blazed within; the exuberant sound of fiddles filled the night. As they stepped into the breezeway, Ian saw that the doorways to the parlor and the library had been opened to the grand hall to create a massive ballroom of most of the downstairs. Guests danced, milled at a punch table, talked, flirted, teased—and argued.
Ian saw that gossip had preceded them home—but that his parents and Teddy McMann had apparently united against it. His mother and father stood together at the rear of the punch table. His mother was chatting away with Teddy. Teddy, his light blue eyes looking a bit lost, was valiantly trying to keep up with Tara and pretend that nothing in the world could possibly be wrong.
Ian noted that though Peter stood by his newly announced fiancee, he was also close to the musicians. Peter whispered something to the men as Ian and Alaina walked in and the music came to an abrupt and jarring halt.
For a moment, they were frozen in an awkward tableau; fiddles remained poised, dancers remained upon the floor—and all eyes turned toward Ian and Alaina. Including those of Teddy McMann and lan’s parents. “Don’t you dare stand there looking guilty,” Ian warned Alaina.
“I’m not guilty!” she said indignantly.
His hand rested upon her back and he felt the stiffening of her spine. Good. They’d both need stiff spines to get through the night.
“Ian!”
His brother, Julian, younger than him by a bit more than a year and nearly his twin in appearance, suddenly came forward to greet him. They embraced one another warmly. As they drew apart, Ian grimaced, recognizing the light of pure devilment in Julian’s eyes.
Whatever was up, his brother surely intended to torment him in private. In public, Julian intended to stand by his side, and damn all those who would come between them.
Ian ignored the continued silence in the room and the stares focused upon him as many of Cimarron’s guests waited in both tense and delighted anticipation for what explosion might now erupt regarding the scandalous gossip that had been circulating the last few hours.
Ian spoke, greeting his brother with an enthusiastic return, ignoring the rest of the room. “Julian, dear boy, but it’s good to see you. You do know Alaina—”
“Of course, how could I not know Alaina?” Julian said, his smile charming, his voice husky with admiration as he bowed over her hand to kiss it. “Alaina, you have grown into quite the most bewitching woman in all the state.”
Julian’s voice wasn’t loud, but it carried—as it had been intended to do.
Alaina murmured a thank you. She was very stiff, and Ian became aware that she watched her father, and he saw the pain in her eyes.
Julian stepped closer to his brother. “Give me a lead here, Ian; I’ll follow.”
“Get the damned musicians to start up again,” Ian suggested softly. “And… and tell Father that I am sorry for any discomfort I have caused him, and that I must beg his understanding and indulgence in what I am about to do. I’ll speak with him as soon as I can suitably reach him.”
Julian arched a brow, as if he, like many others in the room, had been so drawn by the spectacle of Ian’s appearance with Alaina that he hadn’t realized the music had ceased. His lips curled slightly, and Ian was well aware his brother was anxious to know why he must ask their father’s indulgence.
But Julian spun around, catching the eye of the lead fiddler and lifting a hand in question. The fiddler hastened to comply with such a query from a son of the household.
The sweet, melodic sounds of a waltz suddenly filled the room once again. Ian bowed to Alaina and swept her into the dance. She moved with him quite easily, as naturally graceful on land as she was in water. Her small chin was tilted; her golden cat’s eyes blazed. “They are all staring; what are we accomplishing here? My poor father—”
“Your poor father will be just fine. Laugh, smile, pretend you are enjoying yourself. The gossips will soon have their due.”
“Will they? Listen! They talk so loudly, they must not even care that we hear.”
As they danced, Ian found himself smiling with grim but genuine humor. Moving about the room, they indeed caught snatches of feveredly whispered conversation.
“Do you believe they’ve had the audacity to arrive together here?” demanded an old biddy.
“The very nerve of it!” replied her soldier partner.
‘Living in so savage a land, she has naturally been raised as little better than a savage….” That from a young Tampa mother.
“Teddy’s poor wife dead…” That from her husband.
“She’s a hussy …” An ugly old crone Ian was quite certain he didn’t even know.
“But for Ian to respond so, in his father’s house!” A dignified old soldier.
“There was talk of a proper marriage between Ian and a colonel’s daughter. …” A younger soldier.
“She bewitches men. …” A jealous old maid with a very large nose.
“But her father simply must accost him, do something!” Another elderly man, retired military from Tampa.
“It is quite deliciously awful!” one matron admitted to her balding partner. She caught Ian’s eyes on her; she flushed crimson, but met his stare for several seconds before backing down.
“Imagine, the McKenzies of Cimarron involved in so sordid an affair!” She said with a loud sniff as they danced away.
He saw that his brother had reached Jarrett and Tara and given his message. He gave his brother a barely perceptible nod, which Julian easily read. He moved across the room nimbly, ducking amid the dancers, to reach Ian’s side once again. “May I?” he inquired politely to Alaina.
Her golden eyes touched Ian’s, but she readily slipped into Julian’s arms.
Perhaps far too readily, Ian thought irritably. But he moved quickly through the crowd to the place by the punch table where his parents stood with Teddy McMann. He knew that the buzz of gossip about the room grew as he addressed his mother, father, and Teddy, but he kept his voice low. He’d be damned if he’d add fuel to the fire. “Father, Mother, Dr. McMann, I wish to make an announcement tonight, and ask that you will all stand by my side—and that of your daughter, sir,” he said to Teddy. “Most assuredly, you have heard what gossip has been intended for your ears by now, and I pray that your belief in both Alaina and me has allowed you to keep faith in us despite it.”
Ian was surprised to see that his mother appeared to be far more amused than outraged. “See, Teddy,” she assured McMann, slipping an arm through his, “I have told you that there can be nothing to these vicious rumors. Though I am quite curious to see how my son intends to dispel them.”
Teddy McMann was slim, of medium height, with a head full of snow-white hair and clear, gentle eyes. He studied Ian, then reached out a hand, grasping Ian’s. “She is all that I have, Ian. I have known nothing but honor from McKenzies in the many years I have made this state my home; I will trust in you, as it seems my daughter has chosen to do.”
Ian looked over to his father. Jarrett was not amused; he was concerned. Arms crossed over his chest, he leaned closer to his son, making their conversation private. “The lady seduced you at the pool? Or you seduced her? Are the rumors true?” he demanded quietly.
“No one was seduced, Father,” Ian replied honestly. “It was an accidental situation.”
“Men can survive such accidental situations; Miss McMann is ruined. You do realize that. Teddy McMann stands there, his heart breaking, certain that he has destroyed his daughter’s life through his selfishness in living on an island to pursue his vocation.”
“If you are reminding me, Father, that there is but one honorable way out of a difficulty caused by vicious gossips, I assure you, I have taken the matter in hand.” He hesitated, glad that he’d not had much chance to talk to his father yet, and that he’d never mentioned his intentions to marry the colonel’s daughter, Risa Magee. “Father, Alaina and I have already wed.”
Jarrett started at that, his brows jutting up, jet-black eyes assessing his son carefully. Whatever his thoughts on the matter, he wasn’t going to express them then. “I’ll give you a moment to tell Teddy McMann; I’d not like to see his heart fail when such a surprise is revealed to everyone in this room. I shall ask the musicians to take a break, and allow you to make the announcement as you see fit.”
Jarrett stepped away from his son. Ian turned to Teddy McMann, who was watching him with the eyes of a man who had been kicked—but was still determined to seek good in his attacker.
“Mr. McMann, you deserved much better from me, sir, but I think now is the best chance I have of letting you know that Alaina and I… have married.”
Teddy stared at him blankly.
Tara McKenzie, at Teddy’s side, gasped.
“I’m sorry, Mother,” Ian murmured quickly.
“Married?” Teddy inquired. “But how could this be? When did such a marriage take place? My daughter keeps no secrets from me—”
“It’s your right to annul our wedding, sir, if that’s your choice,” Ian told him. Teddy shook his head. “I’d never deny Alaina what she wanted; I’m just so… stunned.”
The musicians had stopped playing again. Jarrett McKenzie stood on the raised dais at the far end of the breezeway where they had played. “Ladies, gentlemen … if I may ask your indulgence for a few moments, it seems we have another announcement this evening, and one quite close to home. I will let my son do the honors.”
Ian turned, seeing where Julian stood with Alaina. He walked through the crowd, which parted obligingly for him. Then he took Alaina’s hand and returned to the dais with her. “Friends, honored guests,” he said, staring across the room, his eyes alighting upon many of those who had most cruelly vilified them. “Circumstances have called upon me to make an announcement I’d intended to share privately with my parents first,” he stated, his tone chagrined. “But since I’m afraid my eagerness to be with the woman I love was prematurely discovered, I must share our happiness with all of you, here, tonight, as well. Ladies and gentleman, I present to you my wife, Alaina Mc… Kenzie.”
The room made a collective gasp. There were whispers of astonishment, and relieved laughter as those friends who wondered at the morals of the heir to Cim-arron Hall and the botanist’s daughter were assured all was well.
“But, but—when did this wedding occur? You mean to tell me your parents knew nothing?”
Ian glanced across the room, recognizing the sweetly concerned female voice. Lavinia’s.
Ian drew Alaina to him. She was staring at him, with those beautifully unique eyes of hers exceptionally wide. Her cheeks were flushed to a startling rose. Her look of horror might have been mistaken for adoration. Her hand fell upon his jacket as his arm circled around her. The silky softness of her hair teased his cheek and lay like pure gold against the dark navy of his uniform. The clean scent of her body seemed to subtly infuse the air he breathed, and holding her thus, he was reminded of every lush, firm curve of her body. A fever was awakened within him, making his story come easily, passionately to his lips. “I’m ashamed to say that my parents knew nothing. Yet I believe they will both forgive me; having seen my bride, they can well understand my feelings.” His voice trembled just slightly.
The perfect touch.
He wasn’t so much an actor; his apparent emotion was actually simple lust.
She pulled away slightly, looking up at him. A pulse beat furiously against her throat. Her breasts rose fashionably above the bodice of her gown. He knew exactly what lay beneath the fabric. He brought his fingers to her cheek, and lowered his mouth to hers. He heard the softest breath of protest, but ignored it. His lips formed over hers; tongue teased, delved. She was warmth, sweet liquid fire. A sudden, knifing ache of desire was awakened in him in a way that left him shaken. She’d aroused him before, naturally—a young, perfect, naked woman in the pool….
This was worse.
He drew his lips from hers. Her eyes spit fire. Her lips were damp and swollen; she was struggling for breath. And he found himself wondering furiously if she was still in love with Peter O’Neill, and indeed, just how and where O’Neill had touched her.
Congratulations were called out to them. Yet among all the kind words came one far different cry. “I don’t believe it; it can’t be, they must be lying!”
Peter O’Neill. Ian saw the man standing then in the center of the room, facing them. He felt Alaina grow tense, and the spiral of emotions inside him tightened dangerously. He manage to ask politely, with just an edge of warning to his voice, “Why, Mr. O’Neill, are you calling me a liar, sir?”
“Peter!” O’Neill’s gruff old father called out the quiet warning.
Peter grated his teeth. He didn’t dare call Ian out. Peter was a fair swordsman, but Ian had gained a reputation in the military for being deadly. Peter also risked his own newly announced engaged status if he made too much noise about another man’s marriage.
Peter rallied quickly. “Ian McKenzie, not on your life, sir, would I call you a liar. Surely you have legal documentation. I confess, I merely express the amazement of everyone here, and naturally, my concern for Miss McMann.”
“I thank you for your concern!” Teddy McMann suddenly called out, his voice strong as he approached the dais. “Quite frankly, I am delighted to discover that there is little I need ever fear for my daughter again, since she is in the care of our Major Ian McKenzie, though I hope she will accept my love all her life.”
“Papa!” Alaina whispered softly. Escaping Ian’s hold, she fell into her father’s arms, hugging him.
“I say congratulations are definitely in order!” Julian cried out. “Champagne, my friends, all around. Here, here! To my brother Ian. And to Alaina, the most elegant, magical creature in the world. Ian, to you and Alaina!”
Bedlam then broke out. Ian didn’t see his bride again for quite some time. He found that champagne was pressed into his hand, and that he was moving through his home, passed from friend to friend, and onward. A very warm hug suddenly assailed him, and he discovered that he was being held by a tall, slender young woman with stunningly dark eyes and hair, and an ivory and rose complexion so perfect that she almost seemed unreal. His sister, Tia.
“Ian! You devil. You didn’t whisper a word to us. I hadn’t even realized you’d seen Alaina McMann in forever. Of course! You’ve been down in the south quite a bit lately, right? But not to tell us, oh, Ian!” She stepped closer. “Or is it a lie? Did that scandalous episode at the spring occur? Ian—”
“Tia!” he moaned. “Behave.”
“Ian!” she returned. “Tell me this at least—are you really married?”
“Yes. Now, Tia, please, act like the charming young lady of the house and don’t get the guests all staring at me again, eh?”
She kissed his cheek. “Did Sydney know before now?”
“No, no one did,” he told her. “Tia, you know that you’ll get the whole story eventually—you’ll torture it out of someone soon enough. For the moment—”
She smiled, then hugged him again. “Love you, big brother,” she said softly.
His arms tightened about her, then he released her, just in time to find himself being engulfed by his cousin Sydney, his aunt and uncle, and his cousin Jennifer and her husband, Lawrence Malloy, and then his cousins, Jerome and Brent, his best friends since childhood, all of whom were baffled, but discreet.
The night wore on.
He saw that Alaina stayed beside her father, not letting him move away, even though she, too, was being buffeted from well-wisher to well-wisher. Those who had most probably reviled her so soundly just moments before.
But she was married now. Into the McKenzie clan.
His cousin Sydney, friends with Alaina from birth, seemed especially pleased with events, though puzzled. He felt her eyes on him continually as time wore on. He stared back at her, then noted throughout the evening that Peter was watching her as well, as if he meant to corner her.
Sydney McKenzie was stunning. Tall and slim, she had her mother’s emerald eyes and her father’s raven hair. James McKenzie was half-breed Seminole, and his Indian blood had come down to Sydney in a way that made her exotically beautiful. Her eyes were a product of her white blood; her hair was Seminole, thick, lustrous, straight. Her flesh was flawless, golden. If Peter O’Neill went anywhere near his cousin that night, Ian would skewer the man.
He took a deep breath. He was hardly thinking in a civilized, rational manner.
Alaina McMann had done this to him.
Alaina McKenzie. He had married her. He suddenly felt exhausted.
“Ian?” He turned to find his mother before him, her gaze upon him betraying nothing of her thoughts. “Because of the distance to their home, Alaina and Teddy would have been staying here for the night even before… your announcement. Lilly has seen to it that Alaina’s things have been moved out of the guest room, where she would have been staying with a number of the other young ladies, to your room.”
He stared at his mother blankly for a moment. “Ah.”
She frowned, blue eyes studying him carefully. “Ian, you are married?” she inquired softly.
‘Yes, Mother. We’re married.”
“Well, then, you’ll want your wife with you.”
His wife… with him. A part of his world.
He didn’t know if he exactly wanted her with him; but he certainly did want her.
Marriage … so high a price for desire!
What of life, what of tomorrow? What of the colonel’s daughter, and the life he had imagined he would lead?
He inhaled. “Mother, I’m really sorry—”
“Ian, don’t be sorry. You have lived your life in a manner that’s made us quite proud; we trust your decisions. Besides,” she murmured, “maybe one day I’ll tell you how your father and I came to be married. Teddy is a good man; your bride is beautiful. Julian is right. She has surely grown into one of the loveliest young women I have ever seen.”
“She’s indeed lovely,” Ian murmured. He didn’t add promiscuous, reckless, and hot-tempered.
His mother kissed him on the cheek and slipped away. He turned and found himself with Teddy McMann again. Teddy was studying him with his soft, trusting blue eyes and Ian was annoyed to discover himself feeling twinges of guilt. “Sir, I do have documentation that we are legally wed,” he said.
Teddy nodded gravely. “McKenzie, I’m not quite sure what went on here, and quite frankly I don’t want to know. I admit…” He hesitated. “I love my daughter; I would gladly die for her. But I’m afraid that my love has made me indulgent and Alaina has always done what she has pleased. She rides, shoots, fences, swims… I’m grateful she’s found you, McKenzie. For she might well lead a lesser man on a merry chase. God bless you, son!” Teddy said, and moved into the crowd again, perhaps looking for his daughter. Where was she? Ian wondered. Then he saw her. She was with Tara, and she was quite white. She was probably learning that she had been moved into Ian’s room at Cimarron Hall.
“Ian!”
He swung about. His brother Julian and his cousins Jerome and Brent were lined up before him. Julian carried a bottle of their father’s finest whiskey.
“With careful observation, brother, you’ll note that Cimarron’s guests are leaving already, and of those who are staying, most have retired upstairs,” Julian said.
“Before the night wanes further, we McKenzies need to toast you!” Jerome told him gravely. Like Sydney, James’s sons carried their white and Indian blood in a striking manner. Jerome had deep cobalt eyes like Ian’s own, strong, bronze features, and a touch of auburn to his dark hair. Brent was green-eyed with rich, heavy Seminole hair, so dark it seemed to shine blue-black. They were all of a near height, every one of them over six feet, and built similarly as well. Jerome had studied engineering and shipbuilding while Brent had attended medical school with Julian.
“The first of our generation of McKenzies to marry, my good lad,” Brent said. “Well, other than Jennifer!”
“And marry Alaina; how very curious,” Jerome added.
“Come outside, away, to the porch,” Julian urged in a whisper. “This is a McKenzie-only toast.”
Ian found himself propelled outside. They didn’t stay on the porch, but wandered to the lawn, a fair distance from the house, passing the whiskey bottle back and forth as carriages departed from Cimarron.
“So you have married our Alaina—and without a one of us knowing a thing about it!” Jerome said, eyeing him questioningly.
“In a way, of course,” Brent added, “we’re like her next of kin—Jerome, Sydney, and I.”
“She grew up by us,” Jerome reminded Ian gravely.
“Right. If the rumor had come back about her being at the pool with someone else…” Brent said.
“We’d have been called upon to defend her honor, naturally, since she had no brothers of her own,” Jerome informed him.
“However, since we’re your cousins—” Brent said.
“Closest kin,” Jerome noted.
“Excuse me, I am his brother,” Julian interjected. “That actually places me as closest kin.”
“All right, we’re second-closest kin. We want to know exactly what really happened,” Jerome said.
Ian hesitated. Then he shrugged. “We had both decided to go swimming. We ran into each other. We were… seen.”
“So you’re not married,” Jerome said with a frown.
“My dear, closest kin,” Ian said, “if this toast is for me, you can hand over the whiskey bottle.”
Brent, in possession of said bottle at the moment, handed it over. Ian cast his head back and took such a swallow that he burned inside from throat to gullet. He lowered the bottle, took a deep breath, and discovered the three ringed about him in a semicircle, staring, waiting impatiently for his reply. He drank deeply again.
They still stared, patience waning.
“We are really—and legally—married.”
“But how in the devil—” Jerome began.
“Marriage is quite damned easy, and you’ll manage well enough once you get to it. You just keep saying ‘yes’ or ‘I do’ when you’re asked a series of questions.”
Jerome slowly arched a brow, looking to Julian and his brother. “I’m not quite sure why I’m concerned here. I believe, actually, that he and Alaina deserve one another.”
“She’s capable of being every bit as sarcastic,” Brent agreed.
“Determined and stubborn,” Jerome agreed.
“Pigheaded,” Brent elaborated.
“Umm,” Julian murmured. “And he is a tyrant. Ian always thought he had the right to be the leader with us—”
“I was oldest,” Ian said, taking another long swallow of whiskey. It didn’t burn as badly as it had at first, and it seemed to be taking a few of the razor-sharp edges off the night. “I did have the right to lead.”
“Well, there you have it!” Jerome said dryly. “My ancient cousin—older than you and I by what, Julian, a little more than a year?—likes to take command. Alaina refuses to do what she’s told by anyone. This is just wonderful. They should get along like oil and water. A marriage made right in heaven. The question remains: When did it occur—and why?”
Ian arched a brow. The night was growing very late; the moon was nearly full and directly above them in the dark sky. He might well stay here forever if he didn’t answer them, and if he could count on secrecy from anyone in the world, it was these three. The whiskey was warming him; he was tired. He’d spent his journey home worrying about the state of the Union, and he’d ended with this. His head was pounding, and he did have a newly acquired wife with whom to come to some understanding before the night ended. “All right, my dear, closest kin, I’ve now been married several long hours at the very least. It occurred because the young lady seemed to be escaping an unhappy situation. It seems she believed that Peter O’Neill intended marriage—to her, rather than Elsie Fitch,” Ian said.
“I’ll throttle him,” Jerome said darkly.
“No—should the need arise, I’ll take care of the man myself. Nothing happened at the spring pool, but since no one other than my family and Teddy would believe the truth, I thought we’d best marry quickly.”
“Ah!” His brother and his cousins stared at him with a collective sigh.
“But it is—really—legal?” Jerome said.
“Reverend Dowd married us.”
“It’s quite legal,” Julian murmured. “But what a strange situation. The last time I saw you, there was a colonel’s daughter involved in your life.”
“And then there had been rumors about Alaina, of course, and I’d been under the impression that she—” Brent began, but broke off instantly.
“That Alaina was involved elsewhere?” Ian demanded with an edge.
“Sydney had thought that she was expecting to marry elsewhere soon, and that she was in lo—interested in someone. I now assume it was Peter O’Neill. Well, that’s over,” Brent said quickly. “Look, look back to the house. The lanterns are being doused.”
“The past doesn’t much matter, does it?” Jerome demanded with a level gravity that reminded Ian very much of his Uncle James. He reached out, gently grasping the whiskey bottle from Ian’s hands. “You’re wed to one another now. And since you’ve done the honorable thing, perhaps you should do the courteous thing as well, and return to the house.”
Ian took the whiskey bottle back from him. “Indeed, I should.”
Ian left his brother and cousins standing on the lawn. When he reentered the house through the breezeway, he found the servants clearing the remnants of the party. The guests had departed or retired. There was no sign of his parents, Teddy McMann—or Alaina.
He strode up the stairway and down the hall to his room. He hesitated. He felt as if his body had become one pounding drumbeat; he realized that the sound of his heart had become that excruciating pulse, and that the burning glow of the whiskey remained electrically about him.
He pushed open the door and paused.
All lamps had been snuffed in the room, but someone had built a fire in his hearth against the dampness, and the room was further illuminated as the doorway to the balcony remained slightly ajar. Moonlight spilled in. Enough moonlight to show him that his bride was curled into a protective ball on the far side of his bed. She was so curled, in fact, and so far on one side, that a breeze would send her falling to the floor.
Irritation seized him, along with the haunting knife of desire she could so easily arouse. He walked over to where she lay, looking down at her in the moonlight. Her eyes were closed; tears dampened her cheeks. She looked young. Angelic. Sympathy rose within him, until he wondered if she was crying for her lost love.
He reached down to touch her. Her eyes flew open; she hadn’t heard him come into the room. Moonlight spilled over her, making her face very fragile, her eyes twin circles of glowing gold. Her lips trembled, and one word issued from them in a broken sob. “Please…”
He drew away, afraid of the turmoil that raced within him, certain that he must either wrench her up and inflict some violence or walk away completely. He strode to the balcony windows and stood there, tension creating an ache in him from head to toe. He heard her sigh of relief. Did she think that he was leaving?
He turned back, unbuckling his scabbard to set his cavalry sword on his desk. He took a seat in the large leather wing chair behind his desk, setting the whiskey bottle he had carried in down by his feet. He leaned back, closing his eyes to mere slits, watching the firelight play before him, damning himself anew for his recklessness by the pool, and determining his position here now. He had a wife, one he hadn’t intended. She hadn’t wanted a husband—at least, she hadn’t wanted him as a husband. But she was truly a fool if she thought that he intended to go through all the years of his life as a celebate husband because she had intended on capturing a different lover.
So…
He frowned, sitting very still.
She had risen. Slipped from the bed. Her nightgown was an ivory shade, beautifully laced. Sheer. She covered it with the matching robe that had lain at the foot of the bed. Barefoot, moving with barely a whisper of sound, she came near to where he sat, looking down at him. Apparently, she thought he slept.
She bent, plucked up the bottle. He heard her sniff of disdain. She set the bottle on his desk and moved across the room to the balcony.
He gave her a second, then came silently to his feet. By instinct and long habit, he buckled his scabbard back on.
Then he followed.
She wasn’t on the balcony. He looked up and down the length of it.
She was on the lawn, he realized. She had slipped down the rose trellis and was moving across the lawn toward the woods.
“Damn her, what is she up to?” he muttered aloud. He swung his body over the railing and caught the trellis himself, climbing down it. She hadn’t the least idea that she was being followed. He kept twenty feet behind her as she scampered along the trail that led to the pool. Ian paused behind an oak as she stood in the center of the pool’s clearing, staring at the water.
Then a man suddenly rose from the night shadows that encompassed the log at the water’s edge.
Peter O’Neill.
“Alaina!” he called softly.
She spun around, long hair and gown flowing like liquid gold in the moonlight…
To meet her lover?