| |
STRATFORD
Stratford gave Emmeline a good quarter hour before he went after her. She might need a few moments of privacy, but he wouldn’t leave her alone in the woods. When he found her, she was leaning against a tree, Loftus beside her, both of them looking up at the canopy of branches above. She held up her hand as soon as he began to approach. She’d probably heard him coming as he hadn’t tried to move silently.
“I do not wish to discuss it,” she said before he could even speak.
“I think we should,” he said.
“No. I am not myself lately. I say things without thinking.”
He could believe she was not herself lately. After all, she had run away, she had adopted a dog, and now she was insisting on traveling to Scotland. But he’d never known her to say something she did not mean. In fact, the opposite was usually the problem. She said too much of what was on her mind.
But if she did not want to discuss her comments about marriage, who was he to force her? It wasn’t as though he wanted to talk about it either. She had spoken out of a moment of passion—she didn’t want marriage, she wanted one benefit of marriage—and he didn’t think she harbored some secret love for him. Until the past few days, she had never shown any particular affinity for him.
He knew because he had always hoped for a sign of affection from her, though if she had shown it, it wouldn’t have mattered as he couldn’t have returned it anyway.
“We should keep moving,” she said. “Mr. Murray and Miss Neves are probably wondering where we are.”
Based on the sounds that had carried his way while he’d been giving Emmeline her privacy, Stratford rather doubted Miss Neves or Murray were thinking about them at all. “I think we might wait for them to come and find us.”
She gave him a puzzled look, and he raised a brow.
“Oh,” she said. “Well...clearly Ines is besotted with him. I just did not think he would take advantage of that.”
Stratford frowned. He was in the habit of defending Duncan as the two of them had prowled about London together of late, but he did not like to be put in this position. “Duncan is a man of honor. He won’t do anything she doesn’t want.”
“Oh, I think it is quite impossible to find something Ines does not want Duncan to do to her.”
Stratford opened his mouth to say that Duncan knew the boundaries of propriety, but then he realized he would be speaking of Duncan. The Lunatic. And whatever Duncan was doing, it hadn’t sounded at all proper.
“Then he will accept the consequences,” Stratford said. Of that, he was certain. Duncan never shirked his duty.
“Of course,” Emmeline said with a sigh that caused the dog to look up at her. “As though women are nothing but a consequence.”
“That is not what I meant.”
She waved a hand. “I know.”
They stood together, looking up at the branches limned in moonlight. And as the sky grew lighter, Duncan finally called for him.
“Here!” Stratford said, coming out into the clearing beside the road.
“What are ye doing hiding?” Duncan asked. “We should be going.”
Stratford gave him a withering look. “It sounded as though you needed more time to rest. We were waiting until you were done...resting.”
Duncan was never embarrassed, and he smiled now. “I’ve rested plenty. Let’s continue.” He nodded to Emmeline then waved a hand as though to indicate that they should follow him. Stratford caught up to him, thinking it might not be the best idea to give a man who had been shot recently the task of leading the way.
Ines and Emmeline fell into step behind them, their heads together as they whispered about God knew what. The dog ran ahead and then sprinted back to them, sniffing them each in turn before running ahead again. Dawn began to rise, and Stratford told Duncan he hoped they might see a farmer with a cart soon.
“It would save us time, aye,” Duncan replied.
Stratford glanced back at the ladies to make certain they were not tiring. Emmeline looked to have as much energy as Loftus. Stratford didn’t know where she came by it. She couldn’t have slept any more than he, and even his bones were tired. Still, he’d fought most of a war without much sleep. He knew he could keep going with little rest. He was not so sure about her.
But then why was he worrying about her? She didn’t want his worry. She didn’t even want his conversation. She hadn’t wanted to talk about the marriage proposal she’d blurted out. Stratford knew he’d hurt her feelings. But he hadn’t been rejecting her. He had been saving her the trouble of rejecting him.
For while their families were close, Stratford knew that Emmeline and her sisters did not know everything. They did not know the truth about him. They did not know why the baron hated him.
Of course, any fool could make it out. Stratford, no fool, had figured it out when he’d been but nine or ten. He wasn’t the baron’s son. Stratford looked a great deal like his mother, but he had none of his father’s features. He bore a resemblance to his siblings, but whenever they talked about the Fortescue nose, Stratford was aware of his father’s gaze avoiding him. Sometimes the baron would just abruptly leave the room.
Once, when Stratford had been quite young—before he’d figured out the truth—he’d asked his mother why his father hated him. She’d taken him into her arms and held him. It was a rare thing as she almost never showed him affection or attention. Then she’d looked into his small face and said, “It’s not you he hates, it’s a mistake I made. He hates my mistake, darling. Not you.”
But Stratford was keen enough to understand that the sight of him reminded the baron of his mother’s mistake, and he made sure to stay out of sight and to be good, perfect, and obedient. He wondered if the sight of him was why his mother did not love him. Perhaps looking at Stratford was a daily reminder to her too of her long-ago mistake.
Of course, as an adult, Stratford had looked into the matter more closely. He’d made discreet inquiries and discovered that his mother had been linked to the Marquess of Wight for several years before his birth. By the time he was born, the relationship had ended and the marquess had retreated to his country home. He hadn’t been seen since, and by all accounts the house had fallen into disrepair.
Stratford had thought for a long time about going to see the marquess. He wondered if he resembled the man and if he had any half siblings. In the end, he decided it did not make any logical sense. Wight had not tried to see him and might not even know he had a son. Better to let the past stay in the past. Except now he had to confront the past. He was not who Emmeline thought he was. He was not who anyone thought he was.
The sound of horses and wheels reached his ears, and he and Duncan turned about the same time. A moment later, a cart pulled by two horses appeared with a farmer at the front and a load of what looked like produce taking up most of the back. Stratford waved to the man, gesturing slyly for Duncan to stand back. Duncan would only scare the farmer.
The man lifted his hat and eyed the women first. It wasn’t a lascivious look but one of curiosity. Then he gazed with interest at Stratford, his eyes widening as he took in Duncan, who he couldn’t really miss. The farmer was a weathered man of perhaps forty who looked closer to nearing sixty. He wore simple, sturdy clothing that had been mended and was clean and fit him well. His hands held the reins of his horses confidently, and he called out, “Whoa,” slowing before he reached Stratford. Stratford walked back.
“Good morning,” Stratford said.
“Good morning,” the man answered.
“I am Stratford Fortescue, and this is my friend Duncan Murray. These ladies are our cousins.” Better not to give their names. “We are traveling to Scotland to visit with Mr. Murray’s uncle, the Duke of Atholl.” Always throw in a duke if possible—that was Stratford’s motto.
The farmer’s eyes widened appreciatively and predictably. “I am John Bixly.”
“A pleasure, Mr. Bixly. We have had to leave our coach behind,” Stratford said. Always stick to the truth as much as possible—another motto. “Would you mind taking us as far as you travel today?”
The farmer nodded. “Of course. It’s only five miles to the village, but I might be able to help you find someone else to take you further north.”
“That would be much appreciated.”
Stratford and Duncan started for the back of the cart as did Emmeline and Miss Neves. The farmer called, “Do the ladies want to sit up front?”
Stratford looked at Emmeline, who looked back at him. He could see she was tired. Her eyes had faint smudges under them, and her shoulders were slumped. But she might just ride next to the farmer to avoid being with him.
“I will sit in the back, senhor,” Miss Neves said. “Thank you.”
Bixly looked perplexed by Miss Neves’s Portuguese accent. Really, Stratford wished everyone would just let him do the talking. Emmeline climbed in beside the other woman. “I will ride back here too.”
“I’ll ride on the box,” Duncan said, and the farmer looked startled as the Highlander climbed up beside him. Well, that left no room for Stratford in the front. He climbed in beside Emmeline, who scooted closer to Miss Neves.
The cart started away, and after they’d been jerked this way and that, Stratford leaned closer to Emmeline. “Listen, I want to say—”
“I think I shall lay down and rest,” Emmeline said, not looking at him.
“I will too,” Miss Neves said.
Stratford sighed but handed them empty burlap sacks to put under their heads. They both laid back and closed their eyes. With their dirt streaked gowns and tangled unbound hair, they looked like they belonged in the back of the cart, though this farmer probably had daughters who looked more presentable. Still, since Emmeline’s eyes were closed, Stratford gave her surreptitious looks. Even though he’d escorted her to balls where she wore expensive silk gowns and diamonds about her neck, he thought she, lying in the cart with her black hair spread out under her and the dappled sun dancing over her cheeks, was more beautiful than he’d ever seen her.
She looked peaceful in sleep, for it hadn’t taken her very long to succumb to sleep. Miss Neves, on the other hand, had her eyes closed but was still wide awake. But Emmeline looked like the very picture of repose. He liked seeing her like that, liked not having to worry that she’d catch him looking at her and snap at him with one of her cutting remarks.
He wished she would understand she did not have to be defensive with him. He did not want to hurt her. Except he had, hadn’t he? She’d let down her guard for just a moment, and he’d rejected her.
But how was he supposed to know she would suggest marriage? She couldn’t have been serious, but still his first response should not have been no.
And though he kept trying to apologize to her, what could he really say? I’m not who you think I am? I do want to marry you, but I don’t think you’ll want me if you know the truth? And why need he say any of those things? She hadn’t really meant it when she’d said she wanted to marry him. It had been said in a moment of passion. Women’s minds always went to marriage when their passions were enflamed. But even if Emmeline would marry him, her mother would certainly not approve the match. She knew the truth about him.
Better to stick to the status quo and keep Emmeline at an arm’s length.
And that would have been easier done if she would just go home already.
***
INES
Ines looked over at Emmeline and knew her friend was already asleep. She wished she could fall asleep as easily. But tired as she was, her body would not relax.
That was Duncan’s fault. Every time she closed her eyes, she remembered the way he had touched her, the way his rough voice had caressed her, the way he had made her feel.
She wanted to do it all over again. As soon as possible.
And that made her quite wicked. She didn’t need Catarina looking over her shoulder to tell her that.
Did it matter if Ines was half in love with Duncan, had always been infatuated with Duncan?
Probably not. Duncan wouldn’t marry her, and that was what everyone cared about. But at least she had discovered one important piece of information—Duncan did want her.
And she wanted him. And so she was wicked. Ines expected to feel horribly ashamed of the realization that she was a wicked, immoral girl. She waited for the feeling and waited and waited. But she didn’t feel shame or guilt or even remorse. She wanted Duncan to do what he’d done all over again. The rules could go to the devil. Did they really even apply to her? She was a lacemaker. No one cared who she fell into bed with.
Ines opened her eyes. Was she really considering taking Duncan to her bed or going to his bed or, realistically, fornicating on the ground in the woods?
Why yes, yes she was. She smiled.
“What are you smiling about?” Mr. Fortescue asked.
Ines glanced at him. “Oh, nothing,” she said, proving once again what a bad liar she was.
“That wicked, eh?”
She rose on her elbows. “How did you know?”
He shrugged. “I might have heard a few revealing...shall we say, sounds, in the woods.”
“Are you shocked?” she asked.
“I’ve been in a war, Miss Neves. Nothing shocks me. Furthermore, life is too short to forego what makes you happy.”
Ines glanced at Emmeline, whose chest was rising and falling in an even rhythm. “You should take your own advice, senhor.”
He gave her a rueful smile. “I walked into that one, didn’t I?”
She frowned. “Walked? But we are not walking.”
He laughed. “Yes, I see what Duncan likes about you. But, if I may be so bold, might I give you some advice?”
Ines laid back and sighed. Heavily. “If you must.”
“I suppose everyone gives you advice.”
“It is a favorite pastime, não?”
“Not mine, no. But I do know Duncan Murray very well. Maybe better than almost anyone else. And I can tell you a few things about him.” He glanced up at the box and she followed his gaze to see Duncan surveying the passing trees as though he were poised for an attack by bandits.
“What can you tell me?” she asked.
“He is gruff on the outside, but inside he has a heart like any other man. It can be bruised and broken.”
She waved a hand. “I have seen this already.”
“No doubt. You have also noticed that he has an interest in you.”
“And I in him,” she said boldly.
He shook his head. “Poor Draven.”
She sat. “Why poor Draven? Why not poor Ines? I am the one who has to live with all his rules? Is it so wrong of me to want a little pleasure in my life?”
“I don’t begrudge you or Duncan any little piece of happiness or pleasure. As I said, life is too short. But if you look at this situation logically, if you trace it to its inevitable conclusion, I think you will see what I am trying to say.”
She stared at him for a long moment. He was an attractive man with blond hair and intelligent blue eyes. She thought perhaps he lived too much inside his head, though.
“Shall I spell it out for you?” he asked, raising his brows.
“Spell it?”
He rubbed the spot between his eyes. “Shall I explain myself?”
“You probably should, senhor. I do not know what you speak of.”
“Duncan can’t marry you. His mother wants him to marry an English lady, and Duncan’s mother is a force of nature. Even I have heard of Lady Charlotte, though I have never met her. She has bested the British army. She has a Highland clan eating out of her hand. And she will make sure Duncan does as she wishes. She will never accept you.”
“Perhaps I can win her over. I am charming, sim?”
“You are charming, but you are not English. And Lady Charlotte cannot be charmed. I don’t want to see you with your heart broken. It might be better if we all just turned around now and went home. Duncan can go on without us.”
Ines looked away, pondering what he’d said. She could go back to London now. That would be the safe path. Her heart would not be broken. Her heart would be untouched. But she did not want a heart that was untouched. She wanted a heart that felt all the emotions. And if pain and loss was to be one of those, then she would take it. To lead a life avoiding anything that might ever give her pain was not to live at all.
“I am willing to risk the pain, senhor.” She looked at Emmeline. “But perhaps you are not?”
He stiffened and turned away. “I was trying to help.”
“You were trying to use your—what is it? crafty?—yes, crafty way to convince me to go back to London. That is what you want, sim?”
“If you go back that does benefit me, but that does not mean it is not also the right thing for you,” he said.
“Oh, senhor, you are good.”
He closed his eyes with a look of frustration.
“But I am crafty too. And you will have to make better strategy than this to convince me to turn around.”
“I have no doubt I am up to the challenge.”
That didn’t make Ines feel any better. Because, more than ever, she wanted Duncan Murray. She had thought that one kiss would be enough. But that kiss had only stoked the fire of her desire. And then when he had touched her last night—well, she must feel that again. Ines understood what Fortescue was telling her. She would be burned. She had been burned before.
Catarina had often been exasperated with Ines—as had Ines’s mother—because Ines had been the sort of child who had to test everything herself. No one could tell her she would lose her ball if she threw it in the pond. She must see for herself and cry when her toy sank to the bottom. No one could tell her the coals in the fire were hot. She must see for herself and inevitably burn her hand.
It had been the same way with lacemaking. Catarina would tell her a pattern would not work, but Ines must try it on her own and waste hours of effort only to discover what Catarina had said was true.
And Ines knew that Duncan Murray would never love her, and his mother would never allow her to marry him. He could never be hers.
But that didn’t stop her from wanting to try. That didn’t stop her from risking scorching her heart. She must learn for herself.
She glanced at the Highlander again. He was so handsome with his loose brown hair and strong jaw. He was brave and honorable and exciting. He was everything she had always wanted, and he was worth all the risks she had taken and would take. If it meant he would touch her again, she would burn her heart until it was a black, shriveled thing.
Unfortunately, for the next several days there were no opportunities for stolen kisses or embraces. Ines existed in a twilight world of trading one cart for another, one farmer or tradesman for another. She was given food and drink. She was able to sleep, if uncomfortably, and she was steadily moving northward. She had stopped looking at the passing scenery. It all melted together in her mind. There was nothing to see. Duncan and Mr. Fortescue made sure they traveled on roads that were rarely used to make it more difficult for Draven and his men to find them. Duncan said he would not be surprised if he arrived home to find Lord Jasper sipping tea with his mother, waiting for them.
Ines was not certain who this Lord Jasper was, but she was a little afraid of a man who could move so quickly when the journey seemed to take them years.
Finally, late one night, when they had coaxed a Scottish merchant returning home with an empty cart to allow them to ride with him, Ines was shaken awake. She’d been asleep, her head on Emmeline’s lap. Ines looked up at Emmeline to see her blinking the sleep away as well. Duncan was pointing behind them at the landscape bathed in a soft morning light.
Ines sat. “What did he say?”
Emmeline rubbed her eyes. “I’m not certain.”
Fortescue, who had been riding in the front with the merchant called over his shoulder, “He said tell England goodbye. We’re in Scotland now.”
Ines sat and stared into the darkness. She didn’t know how anyone could see to stay on the road, much less note that they had moved from one country to another. But if Duncan said they were in Scotland, they must be. He looked absolutely elated. He sat, back straight, arms tight on the side of the cart. She could see anticipation in every line of his tense body. She touched his back, and he jerked to look at her then relaxed.
“I’m well and truly home now, lass,” he said with a smile.
Oh, how she liked that smile. She wished he would smile like that more often.
“How long until we reach your village?” she asked.
“Oh, a few days, if the weather holds and we don’t encounter any problems.”
Ines frowned and drew back. “What sort of problems?”
“Nothing for ye tae worry aboot, lass.”
But, of course, that was not at all true.