“And thence it is
That I to your assistance do make love,
Masking the business from the common eye
For sundry weighty reasons.”
MACBETH, MACBETH ACT III, SCENE I
“Nae, ye cannae drive the barouche yerself, m’laird,” Gavin grunted as he bent down to fasten the harness around the belly of the left-hand bay—one of a pair Lady Aldriss had purchased, evidently, because they were pretty.
“But I can drive the phaeton myself.” Coll led the second bay to its place and held it steady while the groom finished harnessing the pair.
“Aye, but then ye cannae climb down and walk anywhere, because there’s nae a groom to hold the team for ye.”
“Is that why Eloise and Matthew tooled off in his phaeton earlier with nae a maid for a chaperone? Because he cannae take his hands off the reins?”
“That’s the idea, I reckon.”
“Whoever thought that doesnae know how to drive a carriage, I reckon.”
Gavin snorted, straightening to pat the closest bay on the withers. “I heard it was ye who gave the pretty lad that fine pair of black eyes. Well done, m’laird. I was beginning to think I would have to do it myself, and then her majesty would sack me.”
“She didnae hire ye, Gavin, so she cannae sack ye. But if the day ever comes when I cannae defend my own sister’s honor, then I reckon I’ll be needing to sack myself.” Coll scowled at the barouche. What an odd vehicle—good for naught but being driven about so all the bystanders could have a good look at the occupants. A Sassenach coach for silly Sassenach ways. “Can ye drive it, then?”
“Aye. Dunnae ask me to dress up in that fancy Oswell livery, though.”
“If ye’re leaving,” Aden’s voice came from behind them, “ye should go now. Màthair’s on her way down to forbid ye from taking any carriage with the Oswell coat of arms onto the street if ye mean to have an actress aboard with ye.”
“Tapadh leat,” Coll replied, thanking his younger brother.
Of course, Aden would know by now that Coll had declared his intent to pursue Mrs. Persephone Jones; no doubt the entire household knew, and Aden had never been lax about listening for rumors, anyway. As Coll brushed hay from his proper coat and not-so-proper kilt, he sent his keen-eyed brother another glance to find himself being eyed in return. “What?”
“What what?” Aden returned, leaning back against the exterior stable wall. “Ye ken the price of failing to wed. Whatever ye’re about, I reckon ye have enough sense to use Lady Aldriss’s panic to yer advantage. And I have to give ye my respect—we tried for eight weeks to set her back on her heels, and ye did it in one conversation.”
Grinning, Coll stepped into the open barouche and closed the low, useless door behind him. “I’d nae have thought she’d tolerate a stuffed deer on her landing better than she would the idea of me courting an actress.”
“Aye, but the deer is inside the house, where nae a soul can see it without her giving them leave to enter. The actress will be in a barouche in Hyde Park with the Oswell coat of arms on the door.” He pushed upright and moved to put both hands over the lip of the carriage door. “Ye’re a straightforward man, Coll. But an actress isnae a straightforward creature. She spins lies for her livelihood. Dunnae lose sight of that.”
“I’m nae twelve, Aden. But I ken I’ve been wrong-footed since I arrived in London. It shouldnae have taken me this long to figure out how to use that to my advantage.”
Nodding, his brother slapped the door and stepped back again. “I’ll admit I’m looking forward to the chaos. Have at it, bràthair.”
Gavin practically leaped onto the driver’s perch. “Her majesty’s coming, all right, and she’s got three of those Sassenach footmen with her. I reckon we’re in for a brawl.”
As tempting as it would be to flatten some of the Oswell-MacTaggert stuffy servants and demonstrate to his mother that attempting to thwart him was a fool’s errand, fighting wouldn’t get him to the Saint Genesius by one o’clock to find out what Persephone Jones meant by a business proposition. “Go. Now.”
“Aye,” the groom said, and nodded at the stable boy, who released his hold on the team and stepped back. With a flick of the reins, Gavin sent the horses into a quick trot.
Coll finally turned to look, catching a glimpse of his grim-faced mother as the barouche turned up Grosvenor Square. That was one angry woman, one who was unaccustomed to having her wishes, much less her orders, ignored.
He could have some sympathy; after all, she’d helped both Niall and Aden when his brothers had needed her rather substantial influence in London. One was married and one about to be, and while she hadn’t chosen their damned brides for them, Lady Aldriss had helped clear their paths toward matrimony.
On the other side of the equation, she’d taken then-one-year-old Eloise with her and fled the Highlands when he’d been a lad of but twelve years. He’d written her a handful of letters begging her to return, and she’d never bothered to answer him. At least he’d learned that lesson; fists were much more effective at getting a point across than any amount of flowery language.
She wouldn’t chase after him now because that wouldn’t look well. Ha. As far as he was concerned, the Sassenachs could frown as much as they pleased. He was taking a pretty lass to luncheon. After that, perhaps he’d drive up and down Hyde Park like the other dandies and see which marriageable lass might catch his attention.
Or, if Persephone was after something more personal, he’d revisit Hyde Park tomorrow. Because while he didn’t mind a bit of distraction—and even looked forward to it, where the actress was concerned—he still had a duty to find a wife.
Coll leaned forward, checking that the lid on the picnic basket he’d had Mrs. Gordon prepare remained tied down. Now that they were moving, he could admit that he liked the barouche a wee bit more. Anything open to the sky had his approval; the devil knew closed coaches gave him the shivers under the best conditions.
Stretching both arms out along the top of the rear seat, he sank back. Being a man with no responsibilities would bore him in a day, but being driven about beneath the sun with the wind in his face and an interesting lass to meet had its attractions. As an additional benefit, being driven about made it easier for him to view the passersby as Gavin guided them through the heart of Mayfair. A number of lasses attempted to catch his eye, and Coll made a mental note of each one. By now, they’d all begun to swirl about in his head in a blur of skirts and fans and bonnets, but there had to be one—one more, since Niall had found Amy, and Aden had won Miranda—acceptable female in London.
He knew most of the available lasses’ names by now and had at least figured out which ones he wanted nothing to do with under any circumstance, the ones who pretended to be empty-headed in the hope that he would do as he’d originally planned—wed and bed one of them and then leave her behind with the title of Lady Glendarril while he returned to Scotland alone. Whether he wanted that any longer or not, if it came down to marrying without love, at least he wanted the assurance that his wife would make a good matron for Aldriss Park.
If it did come down to logic rather than sentiment, then pursuing Persephone Jones on the side for a heated tryst or two and some witty conversation might be the most fun he had while he remained in London.
Whatever it was about her—her changing hair color, her quick wit, or even her stated horror at the idea of marrying above her station—she’d sparked his interest. Aye, he might have surprised her with that kiss, but he’d definitely felt it deep in his chest, where it rattled around like rocks in a metal bucket and made him … not uneasy, but more aware. A first scent of rain on a sunny day.
“Shall I wait out here, then?” Gavin said over his shoulder as the groom stopped the barouche on one side of the narrow street.
“Aye. If they hear another Highlander in there, they might kidnap ye and force ye to teach them yer accent.”
The groom frowned. “What accent?”
“Never ye mind, Gavin. I’ll be but a moment.”
Though he could have simply stepped over the coach’s low door, he very properly opened it up and disembarked like a gentleman. One of the carpenters he’d worked with earlier caught sight of him and doffed his hat, which meant that everyone inside knew now that he was a viscount.
Generally, he didn’t care one way or the other who knew what or thought what about him, but the English were so blasted conscious of where and with whom they belonged that pretending to be common had felt … almost freeing. After all, he’d been a viscount since the day of his birth. He’d never not had it hung about his neck. And while others looked at him with envy, to Coll the title had been both a responsibility and a tool; it gave him cotters and villagers and herdsmen and farmers to look after, and it gave him the means and power to do so.
He found Persephone inside the theater, looking over her folio with Charlie Huddle. With her head bowed, the delicate curve of her neck seemed to beg for a kiss. Coll clenched his hands. No Highlander worth being called such would go about kissing a lass without her damned permission.
Then she lifted her head and caught his gaze, and his breath stilled. Aye, she was a woman worth being distracted over, even with only four weeks left to save the funding for Aldriss Park. If her yellow muslin had been a bit less low-cut, if the sleeves hadn’t been quite so short or the sides of the skirt gathered to show glimpses of her ankles, she might have passed for a proper lass. But then he wouldn’t be looking at her ankles or admiring the swell of her bosom or imagining his fingers brushing the bare skin of her shoulders.
Nine weeks without sharing a bed with a lass. That was how long he’d been celibate, and he didn’t like it one damned bit. Aden had treated Mayfair like his very own breakfast sideboard until he’d met Miranda Harris, but not Coll. No, he’d shouted that every woman should lay a trap for him on his first day in London, and he’d spent the next two months doing everything he could to avoid being caught.
But then last night, he’d run across Persephone Jones, who didn’t want to marry him. Coll grinned. “I hope ye dunnae mind, but I’ve brought us a picnic luncheon. It’s a fine day, and I’m nae in the mood to dine indoors.”
She nodded, handing the folio to the theater manager. “I haven’t been on a picnic in ages. After the gloom of Lady Macbeth, the sunshine is welcome.”
“Grand, then. Hyde Park?”
Her fingers hesitated before they wrapped about his forearm. It was a tiny gesture, but then noticing the smallest of details had, on occasion, saved his life. “Ye worried all the men who see ye willnae leave ye be?” he asked. “I’ll nae let ’em pester ye.”
“While you’re occupied with flinging men about, we won’t be able to discuss business,” she returned, favoring him with a teasing smile that didn’t touch her eyes. “The area being designed for Regent’s Park is lovely. And much closer by.”
So being interrupted wasn’t what concerned her. Well, he’d made a mess at home over this luncheon, so he might as well enjoy it—wherever it was she wanted to dine. “Just tell my driver where to head, then,” he said.
As they left the theater, a handful of men who’d been loitering by the rear entrance broke away from viewing the chaos of scenery-building to head toward them. Good. He might not be able to figure out this lass, but he could damned well fend off these hounds.
Ushering her into the barouche, Coll turned around to face them. “Take a gander at this fist,” he grunted, coiling his right hand and lifting it. “If any of ye want a closer acquaintance, then ye keep walking this way.”
“I only wanted to tell Mrs. Jones how very much I admire her,” the largest of them offered, though not a one of them took another step closer.
“And now ye have. Go away.”
“I say, you can’t—”
“Let’s be off, shall we, Coll?” Her voice came from behind him.
That was all the invitation he required. Without waiting to see how indignant the onlookers might be and if any one of them might care to challenge him, Coll climbed into the barouche and seated himself beside her. “Aye. Off, Gavin. Wherever she tells ye.”
“Aye, m’laird.”
“North and east, if you please.”
They rolled away at a fast trot. The speed was likely contrary to the gentlemanly rules of street travel, but of more concern was the realization that Persephone really could go nowhere without being pursued. “It’s like that all the time for ye, is it?” he asked, turning to face her.
“It’s worse when I play a romantic heroine,” she said, glancing over her shoulder before she sat back against the well-stuffed blue cushions. “But their interest means they will purchase seats, which is what keeps us all employed.” Light blue eyes met his. “I’d like to discuss our business now, so you can decide whether you wish to be seen lunching with me or not.”
“I’m all ears, Persephone Jones.”
She cleared her throat, folding her hands primly in her lap. “A trio of sandbags nearly crushed me this morning.”
That caught his attention, and not at all in the way he’d anticipated. The rock in his gut jolted, as if he’d nearly lost something vital without even knowing it was in danger. “That’s why ye have a scratch on yer cheek, isnae? Ye werenae hurt elsewhere, were ye?” he asked, reaching over to brush the offending scratch.
“No. It was a near thing, but I was only hit by a splinter when one of the thrones was smashed.”
Coll took a breath. He was accustomed to stepping in the moment he sensed trouble. Being informed after the fact left him frustrated. “Ye reckon it wasnae an accident?”
“I don’t know. It might have been; I’ve nearly been knocked down by sandbags before. All of us have had things fall while we’ve been rehearsing or onstage.”
“Ye do realize if they’d hit ye in the head, they wouldnae have just knocked ye down, lass.”
Her mouth tightened a little. “Yes. I saw that happen once, a few years ago. Poor man broke his neck. But they didn’t hit me or anyone else, and as I said, it is a hazard of my profession.”
“And it should’ve been looked after before it could happen.”
She nodded. “Yes, it should have. Poor Harry Drew was mortified. I imagine at this moment he’s personally checking all the ropes and knots in the entire theater.”
Coll eyed her. Whether she meant to make light of the accident or not, it definitely remained on her mind, and it had definitely caught the attention of the theater workers. “Ye reckon it could be Claremont.”
Persephone blinked. “I have no idea if it was him or not.” A smile curved her mouth. “I thought I might have to work harder to get you to come up with that assumption.”
“Och, so ye reckon I’m some muttonheaded idiot because I’m nae English? Ye want me to go murder him, do ye?”
“Not at all! Good heavens. I thought I was perhaps jumping to conclusions, myself. The fact that you went there directly is rather mollifying. But I don’t want you to kill anyone, for goodness’ sake.”
That felt less insulting, at least. “Ye have a way with fancy words, lass.”
Her smile thinned. “Speaking fancy words is my occupation, my lord.”
She didn’t like that he’d pointed out her uncommon vocabulary, then. Coll made a mental note of it, then nodded and sat back against the seat. “I’d wager ye are worried Claremont means to make trouble, so now the idea of having me as yer protector sits a bit better with ye. Do I have the right of it?”
“Yes, you do.”
He wanted to do it; having an excuse to stay close by her and regularly visit her bedchamber appealed to him immensely. If this had been a voluntary visit to London, he would have agreed to it already. “I’ve a wife to find, ye ken. Th—”
“What if I were to instruct you in how to be a proper gentleman?” she cut in. “A suitor who could determine whether a woman was after him for his title or for himself?”
That was her offer? He’d figured out women in general a long time ago. The only difficulty here was choosing one to last him a lifetime. But if she happened to be looking for an excuse to have him about, he’d be an idiot not to take her up on it. “I’m listening.”
“Begging yer pardon, m’laird, but where are we supposed to be headed now?” Gavin asked from the driver’s perch. “If I keep us driving north and east, we’re bound to run into the sea.”
“Turn up Marylebone Road and head east,” the lass said, before he could ask where it was they were building Regent’s Park, anyway. “You’ll see it on your left. Just drive until you find a spot for a picnic.”
“Should I do that, m’laird?” the groom asked, clearly displeased at being ordered about by a Sassenach female.
“Aye. As she says.”
“As she says,” Gavin muttered under his breath, but made the turn as instructed.
With the exception of a handful of maids and cooks, Aldriss Park had been a household without lasses for seventeen years. A lass with authority was something none of them were accustomed to. It was, however, something that was going to change by the time their stay in London was over. Amy and Miranda were ladies, and Eloise would be visiting as well, because he wasn’t about to allow another seventeen years to pass without setting eyes on his sister. As for his own lass, well, whether he liked her or not, she would be Lady Aldriss one day, with duties of her own to perform.
“Yer proposal, then,” he said aloud, “is that I escort ye about and see that sandbags dunnae dare drop in yer presence, and in exchange ye’ll help me figure out how to chat with a lass and nae cause her to faint or run away or scowl like I have fleas or someaught.”
“And I will aid you in figuring out which lass wants you, and which one only wants to be a viscountess.”
Something occurred to him, and he frowned. “I’m nae some virginal bairn, ye ken. I’ve had lasses aplenty. And nae a complaint from any of ’em.”
The soft-looking skin of her cheeks darkened. “If you were a virginal bairn, my lord, we would be having a different conversation.”
“Coll.”
“Coll,” she repeated. “I’ve acted a lady more times than I can count, and I’ve watched silly boors become proper gentlemen during the course of a two-hour play before they resort to themselves again. I can help you catch the lass you want. And if it turns out the sandbags were an accident and not a parting gift from Claremont, then I suppose you will have gotten the better part of the deal.” She twisted in the seat to face him. “If we have a deal. Do we?”
“I keep lads away from ye, and ye show me how to entice proper lasses. Aye. I’ll agree to that. Saint Andrew knows I’ve nae had much luck on my own, and I’ll be damned if I let my own mother choose me a wife.”
He stuck out his hand. When she proffered hers, he shook it, declining to ask about any more … personal aspects of this agreement. He’d had enough rules for his life written out. This one, he’d manage all on his own. And this lass would end up naked in his arms, because he’d been imagining it since the first moment he’d set eyes on her.
“These were farms here?” Coll asked.
“Yes, dairy and hay, mostly. And some small houses and shops. James Burton purchased them all.”
“And that’s his grand house there?” He gestured toward the Holme.
“Yes.”
“The man likes attention.”
Persephone chuckled. “I cannot argue with that. But it will be lovely, I think. They say John Nash is overseeing the design.”
“M’laird, I’ve set out yer luncheon,” Gavin said, a half-eaten biscuit in one hand as he approached to check on the horses.
“And ye’ve sampled it as well, I see.”
“The biscuit fell out of the basket, I swear it.”
A few people walked and rode across the half-finished terraces and trails, most of them likely on their way to or from their places of employment. Once the park was finished, no doubt the parades of the finely dressed would begin and she would have to find another place for riding and walking, but for now, Persephone rather liked its busy, unfinished chaos.
She seated herself on the blanket, legs curled to one side as she settled her yellow muslin skirts around her. Goodness, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been on a picnic. Even if she’d been in a position to be courted, at eight-and-twenty she was well on the shelf. That, added to her profession and social status, limited her opportunities for al fresco dining to nearly nil.
“I like it here,” Coll announced, sitting opposite her and folding his knees, adjusting his kilt to keep it covering his nethers with an unconscious ease that told her firstly he wore a kilt frequently, and secondly that he had been on picnics before. “It’s nae as crowded as Hyde Park, and a lad can walk about without worrying whether he’s about to trample someone’s wee dog.”
She grinned. “You are not like any other viscount I’ve ever met.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” His deep green eyes danced as he held out a bowl of strawberries to her. “My da warned me that all Mayfair lasses were hothouse flowers, wee and delicate and fainting, and that a man had to take a ridiculous amount of care with them or they’d wilt.”
“That sounds fairly accurate, actually,” she noted, trying not to groan as she bit into the sweet, sugared strawberry. Ladies weren’t the only things that lived in hothouses here in London.
When she looked up, his gaze was on her mouth, which made her exaggerate the bite—just because it was nice to be admired in such a voracious manner. She’d been pursued before and had even dined out with a man on occasion, but she generally set out rules beforehand to avoid any unpleasantness later. This time, she could tell herself it was purely business, a trade of specialties for mutual benefit, but they both knew it was more than that.
Last night, when she’d strolled offstage to see him standing there, her breath had actually caught. He’d seemed not so much from another play as another realm, a place where gods walked the earth and flirted with actresses who’d spent so much time playing romantic heroines that sometimes they couldn’t recall who they were outside the theater. His appearance had been … thrilling. And while she wouldn’t have invented an excuse to keep him about, she wasn’t above using a possible accident to do so.
Physically, he was a lion, a maned predator who brooked no rivals and had never been defeated in battle. At the same time, he’d clearly at least read the Scottish play and seemed familiar with As You Like It. He’d figured out her motives for approaching him, and actually seemed to approve of the logic behind it. At the same time, he had already announced that he wanted her, and he’d done so without first plying her with food and gifts and making her feel obligated.
So muscular, intelligent, and insightful. A formidable trio under the best of circumstances. The Earl of Claremont had come in full of charm and gifts, which had been appealing because once she chose a protector, the wolves might not stop circling, but they would stop biting at her heels. Most of their conversations had involved his wealth and power and her beauty, and she’d tolerated it because it was easy. She lied for a living, after all.
Coll MacTaggert was far more direct than the earl, though, and she would have been willing to wager that his wits were keener, too, even if he lacked a great deal of Claremont’s refinement. She liked that this arrangement was actually mutual; she imagined he might take advice from her when he wouldn’t from Lady Aldriss. And if Claremont did mean trouble, this man seemed more than a match for him.
The only downside, if it was one, was that she did find Coll attractive. Damnably so. If they spent a moment or two in each other’s company, well, that might be tolerable. More than tolerable. Hopefully once they’d indulged that … interest they shared in each other, that would pass, because he needed to find a wife, and she was the farthest thing from marriageable that she could imagine.
“Where do ye hail from?” he asked around a mouthful of sandwich.
Persephone blinked herself back to the present. “Derbyshire. The less said about my childhood, the better. And you’re from near Ullapool, by your accent.”
“But two hours from it. I thought all we Scotsmen sounded alike to ye English.”
“Only to the ones not paying attention,” she quipped, picking up her glass of Madeira and sipping at it. “Why don’t we pretend I’m a proper young lady you’ve just seen walking through Hyde Park, and you’d like to chat with me?”
He scowled, the frown drawing his eyebrows together. “I’d rather chat with ye as yerself.”
Had anyone ever said that to her before? She doubted it. “I’m trying to prove that I’m not simply taking advantage of your … carnal desires. I can be helpful to you. This isn’t a waste of your time.”
“I nae said it was a waste. Chatting with ye is a damned sight more interesting than trying to think of more ways to describe the weather.”
“Even so. Here I am, let’s say, just paused in the shade for a moment. What do you do?”
For a moment, she thought he might balk. He seemed a very proud man, after all, and most men hesitated to show their weaknesses anyway. But then he lowered his shoulders, drawing in a hard breath. “Punching things is easier.”
“Yes, but you cannot punch your way to love.”
“I’m nae obligated to fall in love in four weeks. I’m obligated to get married in four weeks.”
Persephone eyed him. “You don’t wish to love your wife?”
“I reckon my brothers fell for their lasses the first time they set eyes on them. Neither of them were expecting it. I dunnae think ye can go about with the idea of finding love. I dunnae ken how I could do that. All I can do is look for a woman I can tolerate and respect.” He shrugged. “One who’d make a good Lady Glendarril, and a Lady Aldriss who’d nae flee the Highlands and who could genuinely care for the cotters and fishermen and their families.”
Was that last comment aimed at his mother? Persephone didn’t comment on it, but she did file it away for later review. As far as she knew, Lady Aldriss hadn’t set foot in the Highlands since she’d left them behind for London. “Well, then you want to find a lady who has compassion, and intelligence, and has some of the same interests you do. So, what do you like to do, Coll MacTaggert? Other than punching people.”
That earned her a swift grin. “I dunnae seek that out. It just seems to happen. But I like to be out-of-doors. I like to ride. I like helping lads build cottages and repair leaking roofs and find lost cattle.”
And she liked listening to the lift and fall of his voice, the deep brogue and the genuine truth in his tone. Persephone stifled a sigh. “In simpler terms, then, you enjoy helping people. Perhaps, then, you would be compatible with a lady who does charity work. Someone who reads to the elderly, or who brings food to the poor.”
“Aye, that’s someaught I hadnae considered,” he said after a moment, lowering his gaze to his sandwich as he finished it off and chose another one. Abruptly, his dark green eyes snapped to hers again. “I noticed ye turning the conversation away from yerself, by the way. I’ll get back to ye when ye’re feeling less skittish.”
Her breath hitched. “I’m not some mysterious treasure, whatever you wish of me. I’m a common girl from Derbyshire who likes to pretend to be other people and get paid for it.”
“As I said, I can be patient,” he returned, holding her gaze for another dozen hard beats of her heart before he looked away again. “I didnae know if ye’d prefer apples or oranges, so I have both in here, unless Gavin got to them first.”
“An apple would be lovely. And you could be as patient as a stone and you would still hear the same story. It’s the only one I have to tell.”
His expression didn’t change, but he dug into the basket and retrieved a shiny red apple, which he put into her outstretched hand. “I’d wager that a common lass who reads and writes, who can tell where a lad grew up by the sound of his speech, and who wears the borrowed robes of other people well enough that she’s the toast of London, isnae all that common at all,” he said quietly, lowering his hand again.
She forced a smile, making certain it crinkled the corners of her eyes, so it looked genuine. “Thank you for saying so. Now stop stalling and show me how you would attempt to engage me in a conversation. We’re in Hyde Park; I’m standing in the shade. Begin.”
“Relentless, ye are.” He shook out his arms and put a teeth-showing smile on his handsome face. “Good morning, lass.” Coll leaned forward, then asked under his breath, “Is it morning?”
“Yes, it’s morning.”
“Good, then.” He straightened again, resuming his broad smile. “Good morning, lass. As warm as it is today—ye see, ye said ye were standing in the shade, so I’m thinking it’s warm—it’s more fit for riding than walking, dunnae ye think?”
Persephone lowered her head to look at him from beneath her lashes. “But I am on foot, sir, and am content to remain so.”
His smile tightened just a touch. “I’m on foot, myself. Might I walk beside ye?”
“You are too bold, sir. My maid sees me home. Good day.”
“What the bloody hell did I do wrong, then?” he burst out.
“You didn’t introduce yourself, firstly,” Persephone returned smoothly, trying very hard not to grin at his obvious exasperation. “And you asked me—her—to make an immediate decision about whether I want to be seen in your company. You might ask if I’m attending the … I believe the Runescroft ball is later this week, is it not?”
He tilted his head. “So I’m nae to speak with her until she has a chance to decide if she wants to dance with me at the next soiree?”
“Precisely. She’ll wish to go home and consult with her mother or sponsor, discover your reputation and income, and then decide whether to give you a quadrille, a country dance, or a waltz. If she grants you a waltz, then you can be fairly assured she’s amenable to making a match. A country dance would signify that she’s being polite but isn’t interested. A quadrille or a cotillion, I imagine, could go either way for you.”
“What about a Scotch reel?”
“As you’re a Highlander, if she grants you a Scotch reel, then she’s a fortune hunter and you should claim a bad knee and run the other way.”
Coll snorted. “Too bold, then?”
“Definitely.”
“Let’s try this again, then. But on my feet, nae with a sandwich in my damn hand.”
He stood, the motion quick and graceful, and held a hand down to her. “Ah, a dress rehearsal, then,” she muttered with feigned reluctance, and allowed him to help her to her feet.
“Aye. I’m a tall man with a wide pair of shoulders, and that factors into how I approach a lass, and how she views me.”
That made sense. “Do you prefer tall or petite women, then?”
“Yer size is about right, I reckon.”
“Ah, it is, is it?” she returned, hoping the heat running beneath her skin didn’t show on her face. He’d been trouble from the moment she’d first spied him, and that wasn’t likely to change. She needed to use her head, not her … other parts, where he was concerned, because he could also be very useful.
“Aye. Now ye stand there in the shade, and I’ll come make yer acquaintance.”
Persephone straightened her bonnet and pulled a fan from her reticule. A retiring young lady, pampered and just out of the schoolroom, she decided. Yes, that particular young lass would be his largest challenge, no doubt. “Gavin, you must come over here and be my maid,” she told the groom.
“I will nae,” the large Highlander returned, crossing his arms over his barrel chest.
“Gavin. Be a maid,” Coll instructed. “It’s for the good of Aldriss Park.”
Muttering under his breath, the groom seemed to collapse into himself. Shoulders slumped in utter defeat, he stomped over to stand beside her. “I dunnae ken how to be a lady’s maid,” he grumbled.
“Just be protective of my reputation, and far too aware of etiquette and propriety for anyone to be able to tolerate,” she suggested.
One of his eyes twitched. “Just remember, m’laird,” he called out. “Ye ordered me to do this.”
“Shut it. Ye’re a maid.”
Coll strode away, pacing back and forth in the clearing for a moment as if rehearsing lines in his head, then bent, picked a lone white daisy from the grass, and strolled in her direction.
Good heavens, he was magnificent, his hair ruffling in the wind, his kilt brushing the top of the tall grass, and the proper coat and cravat only accentuating the wildness of the rest of him.
Pushing those thoughts out of the way so she could be useful rather than flinging herself on him, Persephone half turned away. “I’m thinking perhaps I should wear my blue satin gown to the Runescroft soiree, Mary. Do I still have those silver hair ribbons?”
The groom shifted. “Oh, miss, I do think pearls woven through your hair will be magnificent,” he uttered in a high-pitched voice, his London accent horrible and barely understandable. At least he was trying, though.
“Yes, pearls might be just the thing. Well-done, Mary.”
Gavin curtsied in his kilt. “I live to serve ye, miss.”
A great shadow crossed over her, a deeper shade beneath the leafy trees. She looked up, lifting her fan to cover all of her face but her eyes. “My goodness.”
“Good morning to ye, lass,” Coll rumbled. “I’m Glendarril. I saw this wee flower and admired it, but now I reckon it pales in comparison to ye. Tell me yer name, if ye will.”
Oh, that was nice. “Charlotte,” she decided. “Miss Charlotte Rumpole.”
“That’s enough, big man,” Gavin stated, stepping between them. “Miss Charlotte, your mama will be expecting ye.”
“Will ye be attending the Runescroft ball this week, Miss Charlotte?” Coll persisted, sparing a glare for his groom. “I reckon I’d like to have a dance with ye there.”
She curtsied. “I might be, my lord.”
“Good. Then save me a waltz or a quadrille.”
Persephone fluttered her fan at him. “Oh, I couldn’t promise such a thing, my lord.”
“Well, I dunnae want a country dance. All that jumping about. Everyone looks like chickens fleeing foxes.”
“I cannot say which dances will be offered, my lord. Last week, Lady Albert had but one quadrille, and six country dances. Everyone was so exhausted, two ladies fell asleep in their chairs.” She looked up toward the sky. “It’s such a fine day, and I must be going. Good day, my lord.”
“I’d still like to dance with ye, lass.”
Turning her back, Persephone put her hand around Gavin’s arm. “I think I see my mother over there. Excuse me.”
Behind her, she swore she could hear a low growl. “Now what?” Coll demanded, continuing to swear under his breath.
“You tried to trap me into accepting you.”
“I dunnae care for a country dance. I’ve always said so. Ask anyone.”
She faced him again. “Simply because you don’t care for something doesn’t mean it isn’t a necessary tool for someone else. If you’d accept a waltz, you must be ready to accept a country dance.”
“If ye’d just tell me ye’d only give me a country dance, then I could be on my way to find a different lass.”
She could see the problem; he was direct, and thus he disliked the games played in courting. “You have to be patient. Give a woman more than the space of a few words to decide her entire future.” She smiled at his annoyed look. “The part with the daisy was very nice. You should use that.” Persephone clapped her hands together. “Let’s do it again, shall we?”
His lips thinned. “Aye. Once more.”
This time, when he picked a daisy, he wrenched it out of the ground, root and all. “Good day, lass,” he said, holding it out to her. “I’m Glendarril. Ye’re a fairer flower than this posy. Will ye dance with me at the Runescroft soiree?”
“I’m afraid I’m not attending that ball, my lord,” she cooed, shying away from the dirt-dripping flower.
Coll frowned. “Then at which one might I dance with ye?”
“My father doesn’t approve of dancing at all, I’m afraid. I will be playing the harp at a musical recital on Thursday. Might you come and see me there?”
“If I go to yer recital, I willnae be able to attend the Runescroft ball.”
“But if you go to the Runescroft ball, I will not be able to accept your courtship. I’m—”
Coll stepped forward, lifted her up by the waist, and tossed her onto his shoulder. Her fan went flying as she grabbed onto his arm to keep from falling. “I reckon ye’ll come with me now.”
“Coll! Put me down!”
“Nae. I’m taking ye to church right now and marrying ye,” he announced.
The groom picked up her fan and smacked Coll with it across the chest. “Put Miss Charlotte down, ye fiend!” he shrieked.
“Ye flail at me again, Gavin, and ye and I are going to have a tussle.”
The groom dropped the fan. “Aye, m’laird.”
For a heart-stopping moment, Persephone wasn’t certain whether he was jesting or not. He had threatened to marry her to spite his mother, after all. “Is this how you court in the Highlands?” she asked, lifting her head and hoping Flora had secured her light blonde wig well enough that being upside down wouldn’t unseat it.
“Aye. I’ve four weeks, Persephone. If I wait for every lass to confer with her mama before she gives me a country dance four days later, I’ll lose all funding to Aldriss Park. And I cannae do that. I’ve run out of time to be patient.”
“Then we’ll find something that does work for you.”
At that, he shifted her, slowly lowering her in his arms until they were face-to-face. “Ye’re very good at being a proper lass, Persephone.”
“Well, I’m not a proper lass.” She took his face in her hands and kissed him.
She tasted his surprise, swiftly followed by something more heated and heady. A low sound rising from her chest, she opened to his teasing tongue. Good glory. If he led all his conversations with a kiss like this, he would have had fifty brides knocking at his door by now. And there she was, her feet literally not touching the ground.
But they needed to find the floor again—at once—because she could not afford flights of fancy. Not now, and not ever.