The Blue Drawing Room (Regency Rendezvous Book 2) Page 11

  Ah, that. Alistair shrugged.

  His friend laughed. “It’s plain as day, you’re besotted with the lass.”

  Alistair sipped his drink. Why deny it? “She has a fiancé. A feckless fop of a man.”

  Nicholas laughed again. “Not the hapless Captain Edwards? Oh, that is interesting.” He tossed back the rest of his whisky, then set the glass on the table and rose. “As ever, my friend, you choose the harder path. But I’ve yet to see you fail. With that, I bid you a good night.” Halfway to the door, he halted and turned. “Ah, Lady Kennedy.”

  Alistair shifted his attention to the right and met Nicholas’ eyes.

  “I swear I saw her in Maidens today,” Nicholas said. “In the company of a strange man—a working man, and not very skilled, judging by his appearance.”

  “A man?” Alistair echoed, mildly surprised. “That is strange.” She held her reputation dear. She wouldn’t allow herself to be seen with a strange man, especially one of the working-class.

  “I find her riding in a fishing village even stranger,” Nicholas said. “Surely, the proof she claims to have discovered cannot be found there.”

  The woman had yet to confront him. Alistair shrugged. “Until she plays her hand, I’ve no way of knowing what she’s up to. I can do nothing but wait.”

  “Wait.” Nicholas shuddered. “I detest the word.”

  Alistair grunted a laugh.

  “Who can fathom how that woman’s mind works, eh?”

  Alistair didn’t answer.

  Nicholas bade him good night, strode out the door, and shut it behind him.

  Alistair took another swig of whisky. He needed to discover how Lady Kennedy planned to contest his legitimacy—later. For the moment, he had more pressing matters to deal with. Memory rose of Eliza in her captain’s embrace. He couldn’t let her wed the man.

  Nicholas was right. He wouldn’t retreat. He’d choose the harder path.

  He lifted his whisky, turning the glass and watching the flames of the fire reflecting in its depths. Aye, he absolutely would not let Eliza wed the scoundrel—if nothing else, then for her sake alone.

  * * *

  Alistair arose the next morning with a rare headache. He’d spent a sleepless night puzzling just how he might open Eliza’s eyes and still had yet to settle on a plan. He entered the breakfast parlor in a dark mood. Guests came and went, some greeting him with nods before he responded with a scowl, which sent them scurrying. He would have to remember to glower more often. After washing the last of his eggs down with a cup of tea, he escaped to the stables, saddled his favorite roan, and rode out onto his estate, still pondering the problem that was Eliza.

  Heavy dark clouds hung on the horizon as he cantered past the orchards and south into the forest beyond. Spring would arrive soon. Already, the first hint of buds dusted the branches of the hawthorn and silver birch dotting the rolling hills. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply of the brisk morning air. The land sang in his blood. In all his travels, he had yet to find a place better than Culzean, the seat of his clan. He’d poured every penny of his vast fortune into saving the estate.

  He pondered his stepmother. She intended to prove him illegitimate, yet he’d seen nothing of her plan save once catching her in the library poking through the musty pages of long ignored books. What was taking her so long to prove her case? With so many witnesses to his scandalous origins, surely proof of his illegitimacy wouldn’t be hard to find. And what of her outing to the village of Maidens? He would have to ride there himself and see what he might discover—but, another day. Today, he intended to settle the matter of Eliza.

  He urged his horse east and trotted over rocky green hills and under trees. He’d have to spend more time with the lass in order to open her eyes to the captain’s unsuitability. Why she would yoke herself to the man bewildered him mightily. She was such a cheeky lass and the man quite unworthy of her. Such a union would be a travesty. The more he thought on the matter, the more his irritation grew. By the time the first fat drops of rain began to fall, he found his headache had returned with a vengeance.

  With a curse, he wheeled his horse and headed home. The rain intensified and, seeing Piper’s Brae running through the trees ahead, he dug his heel in his horse’s side. The beast broke into a gallop, sailed over a low line of shrubs and landed in the middle of the road.

  A sudden movement to his left drew his attention. Through the pouring rain, he glimpsed a man wearing a green cap with a red feather tucked in the brim before he vanished into the trees near the Swan Pond. What the devil? Alistair started to urge his horse after the man, then thought better of it. The driving rain had already soaked him to the bone. Chasing a wanderer wasn’t worth the chance of catching his death. He spurred his horse once again with a “Ho there,” and headed home.

  Minutes later, he galloped down the castle drive and under the arched entrance just in time to see a fine barouche roll to a stop before the castle doors. Thankfully, the rain had dwindled to a drizzle. He eyed the vehicle with a scowl. What fresh hell was this? Already, he found the house party beyond bearing.

  A man hopped from the carriage and with a broad smile, waved as Alistair cantered past, headed for the clock tower and stables. By the time he’d seen his horse settled and returned the way he had come, the wind and rain had driven the newly arrived guests inside. The fact he’d escaped the wearisome charade of greetings put him in a perversely good mood and, intending to keep it that way, he dashed to the back of the castle and entered through the kitchens.

  “My lord!” the cook cried. “We didnae expect to see ye.”

  Apparently not, for the entire staff froze and stared like frightened rabbits.

  He smiled. “Never fear, Madam, I am only passing through.” He waved them back to their business and turned up the servants’ stairs, taking the steps two at a time. He detoured first to his room for fresh, dry clothing before resuming his ascent to the nursery.

  At the sound of muffled laughter, he turned the handle and eased open the nursery door a crack until Eliza came into view. She sat with the children at a table set for afternoon tea. His heart warmed at sight of the familial gathering. When he’d decided to take in his niece and nephew, it hadn’t occurred to him that he might be starting a family. Duty dictated he care for his kin, and duty was as far as he’d gotten. It also hadn’t occurred to him that he might fall in love—ever—much less with a woman in his employ. He couldn’t fail to miss the parallel with his own parents’ relationship.

  As Eliza smiled at Charlotte, his attention snagged on Eliza’s delicate jaw. He slid his gaze down the graceful line of her neck to the rise of her breasts above the blue muslin bodice. He drew his eyes up the line of her spine and locked his gaze on her recalcitrant curls. They clustered at the nape of her neck, simply begging to be twisted around his fingers. As he watched, she tilted her head back, lifting her nose high, and held her tea cup high in the air with her pinky extended.

  “One sips their tea, Oliver,” she said in an overly exaggerated, prim-and-proper falsetto. “And one must lift the nose in disdain.”

  The children giggled.

  Alistair bit back a laugh, delighted to have caught her in a playful mood.

  “Say it again,” the children urged. “Say it again.”

  “Speak softly, children,” she urged in a hushed voice. Then, much to their delight, she lifted her nose again and mimicked a high-society lady’s snooty drawl. “My deaaahhhh, however do you do?”

  He pushed the door open a few inches more and caught sight of Meg, who sat by the fire. Her gaze met his and she opened her mouth, but he placed a finger to his lips and shook his head. She nodded, ever so slightly, and sent him an understanding smile.

  “Pleaaaaase have a seat,” Eliza was saying in lofty tones. “Would you cahhhre for a drop of teaaaa?”

  The children snickered. “More,” they chorused. “More.”

  Eliza laughed and, squinting into her teacup, set it on the
table. “I’m afraid there’s no tea left. We drank it all.”

  “Losh, Eliza, you don’t need tea to make us laugh,” Meg teased. “Do Lady Toffee Nose again, will you, now? I haven’t laughed so hard in ages.”

  As Charlotte squealed and clapped her hands, Oliver leapt from his chair and, with the first real smile Alistair had seen on his small face, bowed and asked, “Lady Toffee Nose, may I have this dance?”

  Eliza lifted her nose so high in the air that a curl slipped free from her bun, coiling softly over her shoulder. How soft would her flesh feel beneath his lips? How would she taste? His body rushed with heat at the thought.

  “But dancing might wrinkle my fawwnncy gown, my lord,” Eliza objected in her high-pitched, wobbly voice. She fanned her face with an imaginary fan. “And it mustn’t be the waltz—such a scandalous dance. Let’s dance a Scottish reel, but will you promise to mind my toes?”

  “No,” Oliver sniggered. “I shall step on them.”

  “Then, I shan’t dance with you.” She sniffed and waved her imaginary fan again. “Besides, the musicians seem to have fallen asleep, do you not think so, Sir Oliver?”

  Charlotte scrambled to her knees on the chair and began to sing with Meg joining in, clapping her hands to a rousing, jolly melody.

  Again, Oliver bowed, begging, “Please, Lady Toffee Nose.”

  She made him wait, drawing out the suspense, before finally saying, “Very well.”

  Eliza stood from the table and pranced to the center of the nursery where she curtseyed as Oliver bowed. They began to dance, laughing and twirling in a lively reel.

  Eliza looked so light on her feet, so carefree that Alistair found himself smiling, and when she twirled past him for the second time, he couldn’t resist. As she spun, he pushed the door open and stepped inside, catching her about the waist to swing her around until she stood in his arms, face to face.

  She froze.

  Charlotte’s singing came to an abrupt, squeaking end, but Meg’s voice carried on a bit before melting into laughter.

  Alistair looked down at Eliza and smiled. “Shall we dance, Miss Plowman?” He leaned closer. “Or should I say, Lady Toffee Nose?”

  Eliza stared, eyes wide and cheeks growing pink.

  “That must be a yes.” He pulled her close—much closer than propriety allowed—then cocked a brow at Meg and announced, “I, however, shall dance the waltz.”

  Eliza tensed, but Meg gamely began to hum once again. The children joined in and he turned her in a twirl in time with the rhythm. She moved with perfect grace and fit so well against him. The top of her head just reached his chin. Wrapped in his arms, the perfume of her hair and the warmth of her body kindled a hot desire that made his body sing. He couldn’t resist sliding his thumb an inch or two over the small of her back in an intimate gesture no one could see. Her head snapped up and he read in her eyes a combination of shy embarrassment and excitement. Aye, if she every fully unleashed that bold lass, he’d be powerless to resist her—but then, he already was.

  After circling the nursery floor twice, he stopped.

  She didn’t immediately step away, but stared up at him, her lips parted. He saw the unspoken question lingering there. She wanted to know his intention. He’d never wanted anything in his life as badly as to show her exactly what those intentions were, but now was neither the time nor place.

  Instead, he lifted a teasing brow and directed the conversation to safer ground. “Am I so frightening?” She frowned, and he added, “You look as though you’ve seen the ghostly piper, Eliza.”

  She started and stepped out of his hold.

  “The ghostly piper?” Oliver asked as Eliza returned to her seat at the table and Charlotte climbed into Meg’s lap in her chair near the hearth.

  “Aye, the piper.” Alistair tossed him a warm smile and went to the table. As he took his seat opposite Eliza, he bumped a table leg, rattling the china.

  Oliver skipped over to hop into the chair next to him. “A real ghost?” he asked.

  “Aye, a real ghost.” Alistair grinned. “On stormy days such as these, you’ll hear the skirl of his pipes soaring on the wind. Listen.” He put a finger to his lips and nodded at the window and the gray skies beyond.

  The creaking of Meg’s rocker stopped and silence descended in the nursery as they held their breath so that only the gusts of wind battering the windowpanes could be heard.

  After a few moments, Charlotte glanced uncertainly at him and Meg resumed her rocking.

  Alistair resumed the tale. “It was years ago and on one such a day, that the Kennedy piper went for a wee wander into the cliff caves below the castle,” he said in a low stage voice. “He took his dog and pipes along with him, wanting to play a good Scottish tune to banish the ghosts and evil spirits that had gathered in the caves. Only…” he let his voice trail away before adding in a whisper, “he never returned.”

  “Never?” Oliver breathed.

  “Never,” Alistair repeated in a lower, deeper voice.

  It was too much for Charlotte. She squealed and buried her face in Meg’s ample bosom. “There, there, lassie,” the nursemaid chuckled, “it’s only a tale.”

  “A tale to scare children.” Eliza sent Alistair a chastising look.

  The devil, but he wanted to kiss her.

  With a playful wink that dared her to object, he lowered his voice even more, “Aye, wee children are frightened by the tale—and grown folk, as well.”

  At the wink, a fine blush crept up Eliza’s cheeks, but she lifted her chin and said, “Foolish folk.”

  The fire her eyes reignited the desire to taste her pink lips. The lass was too tempting.

  “But the ghost—” Oliver was saying.

  At Charlotte’s whimper, Eliza turned to the boy and picking up a spoon, brandished it in a mock threat. “Enough talk of such things. I’ll rap the knuckles of the next person that mentions this piper and his ghosts.”

  How could he resist? Staring straight into her lovely hazel eyes, he leaned close to Oliver and said, “Aye, lad, the piper vanished…but his dog came back—shaking in fear and with not a hair left on his wee body.”

  Eliza tossed her head. For a moment, he thought she’d back down, but to his great delight, she rapped the spoon across his knuckles. Alistair seized her hand. She tugged back, but he held her eyes. She parted her lips as if to speak, but only stared.

  Understanding hit like lightning. She cared for him…just as he cared for her. The realization made his heart soar. He would reel her back from Edwards—he had to. No doubt, it would be a fine, intricate dance—but he was an excellent dancer. Slowly, he drew his hand away, letting her fingers slip through his. Only then, did he become aware of the others in the room, of Charlotte wailing and Meg shushing her as she lumbered to her feet.

  “Losh, lassie, it’s time for a wee nap,” the nursery maid cajoled. “Let’s leave these folk to their dreary tales.” With a broad smile, she hefted Charlotte over her shoulder and carried her out of the room.

  Oliver stood and leaned over the table. “The dog. Did its hair grow back?”

  Alistair chuckled. He hadn’t a clue, but he wasn’t above embellishing the tale. “Aye, but it took a year or more.”

  “Will he play his pipes tonight?” Oliver cast a serious glance out the window.

  “Och, now, he might, lad.” Alistair laughed, then recalled the mysterious man in the forest. Alistair faced Eliza. “I’ve seen you and the children wandering about in the afternoons. Have you come across a man wearing a green hat with a red feather near the Swan Pond?”

  She blinked in surprise, but shook her head, “No, my lord.”

  Oliver sat back in his chair with a thump and fell silent.

  The mood in the room had shifted. He sighed. The magic of the moment had fled. He should have known better. Suppressing another sigh, he rose.

  Standing, Eliza prompted in a soft voice, “Thank your father for the tale, Oliver.”

  Father. He’
d forgotten she thought him the wayward father. Of a certainty, she would be cautious with him, thinking him a scandalous rogue. But in this matter, Oliver came first. He couldn’t deliver another blow to the lad in his current vulnerable state. Who knew what it would do to him to learn that his true father had abandoned him entirely. He looked at the lad’s inscrutable face staring stoically ahead. Aye, he’d have to figure out just how to step into the role of ‘father’—no matter how foreign the word felt.

  Eliza nudged Oliver’s shoulder, but the boy shoved his chair back and ran from the room.

  She started to follow, but Alistair caught her arm. “Time,” he said softly. “The lad needs time.”

  She lifted her lashes, her brow furrowed. “He’s an angry boy, my lord.”

  “Aye, he has every right to despise his ne’er-do-well father.” Charles deserved nothing less.

  Her lashes fluttered. “I must find him before he finds mischief.” She dipped into a curtsey and disappeared into the boy’s room.

  Alistair sighed. She’d slipped through his fingers once again.

  He left the nursery and reached the main floor when the dinner gong sounded, but the thought of sitting at table with Captain Edwards curdled his appetite. After ordering men to investigate the area around the Swan Pond, he decided to skip the evening meal altogether and headed for his study.

  No doubt, such a scandalous act would entertain them all. Lady Kennedy and her ilk could retire to the Blue Drawing Room afterwards and engage in hours of salacious gossip over the nature of his disappearance and his failure to execute the duties of a good host. He let an acidic chuckle escape. Ah, they’d never see he’d done his job right well for them. Truly, what more could a host do in providing the old biddies such an enchanting evening of gossip?

  He entered the study and divested himself of his coat and vest and tossed them over the back of a chair. With a quick tug, he freed his cravat, then settled comfortably in his shirtsleeves near the fire.

  His headache had vanished. No doubt, Eliza had something to do with that—just as she had in giving him the blasted headache in the first place. He yawned. Leaning his head against the soft velvet of the chair and smiled. She’d fit so well against him, been so soft as they’d waltzed. And the teasing manner with which she’d rapped his knuckles with the spoon… If only she would let her true self out more often. Why did she hide herself? Had Captain Edwards played a role in that? Whatever the case, he would make her forget him. His blood stirred at the thought of just how he would make her forget.