Marrying the Marquis (24 page)

“I do not enjoy arguing with anyone,” Blaze said, “but I dislike Celeste.”

“Can ye coexist in peace?”

“I doubt it.”

Ross smiled. “Could ye try?”

“I will give it my best effort,” Blaze said, “but handling bullies means taking the offensive.” She turned her back, asking, “Unbutton me, please.”

Ross unfastened the row of buttons from the back of her neck to her waist. Parting the two sides, he slid a finger down the column of her back. His lips followed his finger, and then he nibbled on her neck.

Blaze purred with pleasure and let the gown slip off one shoulder. “Kiss me there,” she whispered.

“Lady MacArthur, yer tryin’ to seduce me.”

Blaze heard the smile in his voice and leaned back against his hard body. He slipped his arms around her and cupped her breasts through her gown.

“Sit on the bed,” Blaze whispered, “and I’ll seduce you.”

Ross turned her around in his arms. “I’m game and easy.”

Crossing the room, Ross sat on the edge of the bed. Blaze stood in front of him, a smile flirting with her lips, her gaze holding his captive. Inch by inch, Blaze let the bodice of her gown slide off her shoulders and drop to her waist. Then she let the garment pool at her feet. Stepping out of it, she pushed it away with her foot and then kicked her shoes off.

Blaze stood in her chemise and stockings. She lifted her right leg and rested it on the bed beside him.

“Roll my stocking down,” she invited him.

Ross slid his hands up her leg and drew the garter off. Tossing it over his shoulder, he slid her stocking down her leg.

“Come to bed,” he said, his voice husky. “I’m hard for ye.”

Shaking her head, Blaze removed her right leg from the bed and set her left leg beside him. Ross rolled the garter down, tossed it over his shoulder, and then slid the stocking down her leg.

She fixed her gaze on his and slid the straps of her chemise down. The garment pooled at her feet, leaving her naked.

She dropped on her knees in front of him and tugged at his trousers. When he pushed them down, she dipped her head and kissed his manhood.

“Sit on my lap,” Ross said.

Blaze straddled him, taking him deep inside her. They rocked back and forth, their bodies touching from groin to chest, their lips locked in a hungry kiss.

Blaze reached paradise first, waves of pleasure washing through her. He held her steady and thrust deep within her, shuddering his release.

“Ye’ve killed me.” Ross fell back on the bed, taking her with him. “Jeez, I dinna have forty years left in me.”

“Don’t worry about dying and leaving me.” Blaze lifted her head and smiled. “I’ll remarry.”

“The hell ye will.” Ross rolled her over and gazed at her. “I’ll come back to haunt ye.”

Blaze pulled his head down and kissed him. She poured all her love into that single, stirring kiss. And he returned her kiss in kind.

Husband and wife descended the stairs later, more than a few minutes tardy for dinner. Walking down the hallway, Blaze steeled herself for what was to come. She regretted leaving the Highlands and wished her stepmother-in-law would disappear. The babe made her weary, cranky, and nauseous, which meant her patience was low.

“You’ve kept us waiting,” Celeste said, when they walked into the dining room.

“Ye didna need to wait,” Ross said.

“Your father decided we would dine together on”—Celeste glanced at Blaze—“on her first night in residence.”

“My name is Lady MacArthur,” Blaze told the woman, and heard muffled sounds of amusement.

The Duke of Kilchurn was smiling, and Mairi MacArthur had covered her mouth with her hand. Only Amanda Stanley appeared not to appreciate the humor. Her gaze had fixed on her mother, waiting for the woman’s response. The daughter looked a bit nervous. Most likely, she had never witnessed anyone challenging the old witch.

“Lady MacArthur,” Celeste said. “Please be seated.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

The Duke and Duchess of Kilchurn sat on either end of the table. Blaze and Ross sat opposite Mairi and Amanda.

Feeling the tension emanating from the duchess, Blaze placed her napkin on her lap and prepared to dine with her. She almost smiled with relief when a footman placed the bowl of cucumber soup on the table in front of her.

“My wife doesna drink spirits,” Ross told a footman. “Serve her lemon barley water.”

“This looks delicious.” Blaze dipped her spoon into the soup and tasted it. When the footman delivered the lemon barley water, she said, “Tell Cook the soup is delicious.”

The footman seemed surprised that she had spoken to him. “Yes, my lady.”

“We do not converse with staff,” Celeste told her.

Blaze kept her expression placid and her smile serene. “I converse with whomever I please.”

The Duchess of Kilchurn developed a pinched expression. “Yes, of course.”

Blaze had a bad moment when the calf’s liver salad arrived. Taking her plate in hand, Ross transferred her slices of calf’s liver onto his own plate.

“Dodger, tell Cook my wife doesna eat meat, fish, or poultry,” Ross said.

“Yes, my lord.”

“We do not cater to finicky eaters here,” Celeste said.

“My pregnant wife will eat what she wants,” Ross informed his stepmother. “She doesna need caterin’ but willna be served those three foods.”

“What’s left to eat?” Mairi asked her brother.

“Everythin’ else.” Ross looked at his stepmother. “Servin’ her calf’s liver salad without the calf’s liver isna any trouble.”

“I understand.” The duchess looked at her. “My footmen will not be used for your animals’ needs.”

“
My
footmen will do whatever she asks,” the Duke of Kilchurn told his wife. “I pay their wages, not you.”

Mairi MacArthur smiled at her. “Welcome to the family.”

Blaze could not suppress her giggles. She glanced at her husband. He was smiling at his sister.

“I think yer brave for ridin’ in the races,” Mairi told her.

Amanda Stanley nodded in agreement. “The news of Pegasus’s death saddened us.”

“All of Newmarket wept when they heard the news,” Celeste said. “I cannot understand fussing about a horse’s death.”

Silence fell like an axe. All movement ceased, the staff staring at the duchess.

Blaze glanced sidelong at her husband. Ross was looking at her, awaiting an emotional outburst.

Delaying any reaction, Blaze sipped her lemon barley water and then dabbed her mouth with the napkin. She knew the duchess wanted her to lose control, with either anger or tears.

At this moment, Blaze appreciated her own stepmother’s teachings. Keep your face expressionless, never cut and run, always return an insult.

“Living means dying.” Blaze looked at her stepmother-in-law. “Some sooner than others, I suppose.” Then, “Oh, drat. I forgot to warn you that Puddles protects Kyra and Sugar and will inflict severe bodily harm on anyone who mistreats them.”

Ross choked on his wine and gasped. “It went down the wrong pipe.”

“James, I’m frightened of the dog,” Celeste complained. “We should leave it outside.”

“His name is Puddles, not
it
,” Blaze corrected her.

“There’s nothin’ to fear,” the duke said. “Her dog stays inside, not outside.”

The main course arrived then. Carrying a platter, a footman walked into the dining room. Roasted potatoes circled a roasted goose.

“Jeez, I should’ve known goose would be served,” Ross muttered.

“What did you say?” Celeste asked him.

“Nothin’.”

“Ye’ve a fondness for animals?” Mairi asked.

“I adore animals.” Blaze narrowed her gaze on her stepmother-in-law. “Whoever harms my animals will suffer the same fate.”

“Are you threatening me?” Celeste asked her. “Ross, your wife is threatening me.”

Ross didn’t bother to look at either woman. He lifted his wine glass to his lips. After taking a sip, he said, “Dinna threaten Celeste, darlin’.”

Blaze looked at him, her blue eyes wide, her face a mask of innocence. “Do you actually believe I would threaten your stepmother?”

She placed the palm of her hand on her chest and dropped the other hand to her belly, murmuring, “Eating and arguing gives my son heartburn.”

“Celeste, do not upset Blaze,” the Duke of Kilchurn ordered. “She carries the future of the MacArthurs inside her body, and I willna let her sicken because ye canna guard yer tongue.”

Blaze gave Celeste a sidelong glance. The woman looked like she had a pin stuck in her unmentionables. Suppressed anger had reddened her complexion.

Catching the older woman’s eye, Blaze arched a copper brow at her. A triumphant smile touched her lips.

Mairi MacArthur burst into laughter and then coughed to cover it. When her husband’s sister gave her a wink, Blaze hoped she had found a friend.

Pleading weariness from travel, Ross escorted Blaze to their chamber after dinner. He closed and bolted the door and then rounded on his wife. “Roxie would have swooned at yer behavior tonight.”

“I learned this behavior from Roxie,” Blaze said, “but an observer would consider me rude.”

“Rude? Ye were damn threatening.”

“If Celeste feeds Puddles a poisoned cookie,” Blaze said, “I will force a poisoned cookie down her throat. Isn’t a warning kinder than a killing?”

“I see yer point.” Ross pulled her into his embrace. “What makes ye think she’ll poison Puddles?”

“Celeste poisoned Hercules.”

Blaze managed to avoid her stepmother-in-law the next morning. She skipped breakfast in the dining room, taking her tea and dry toast in her own chamber, and then walked down the hallway to her daughter’s chamber.

Accompanied by Puddles, Blaze and Kyra walked outside and meandered the formal garden. Blaze could not think of a reasonable excuse to avoid luncheon in the dining room. Only bleeding, convulsions, or unconsciousness could save her from another confrontation with the old witch.

“Let’s sit on this bench.” Blaze held a yellow flower she’d picked from the lawn. “When I hold this dandelion beneath your chin, it will tell me if you like butter.”

Kyra looked confused. “The flower talks?”

“Flowers talk to my older sister,” Blaze told her, “and animals talk to me. Shall I show you?”

“Yes.” Kyra clapped her hands together.

“I will call Puddles to us,” Blaze whispered in the girl’s ear, “and then I will tell him to give you his paw. Are you ready?”

Kyra nodded.

Come Puddles
. The mastiff dashed toward them and sat in front of his mistress.
Give Kyra paw
.

Cookie?

Later. Give Kyra paw
. The mastiff lifted his paw.

“Puddles didna talk,” Kyra said.

“Puddles talked to me.”

“I didna hear him.”

Blaze giggled and put her arm around the five-year-old. “You are my favorite little girl.”

“Ah, jeez,” Kyra said, sounding like her father. “Here comes Dodger.”

“My lady, luncheon will soon be served,” Dodger informed her. “Her Grace dislikes tardiness.”

“Thank you, Dodger. Who will be lunching with us?”

“Her Grace.”

“Where is everyone else?”

“His Grace has gone to Inverary House,” Dodger answered. “His Lordship is investigating Hercules’s misfortune. Miss Mairi and Miss Amanda are visiting friends.”

“We’ll take a tray in Kyra’s chamber,” Blaze said.

“Coward.”

“Avoiding trouble is not cowardly,” Blaze informed him.

“Indeed, my lady, it is not,” the majordomo agreed. “However, Her Grace will believe you are a coward, and the battles will never cease.”

“You don’t like Her Grace, do you?”

“His Lordship’s mother would have adored you,” Dodger said, ignoring her question.

“Thank you for the compliment.” Blaze smiled at the man. “Kyra and I will be taking the long way around and could arrive a bit tardy.”

“Very good, my lady.”

The duchess was already seated by the time Blaze and Kyra walked into the dining room. Puddles followed behind them.

“The dog does not enter my dining room,” Celeste said, her voice brooking no disobedience.

“Puddles eats what falls on the floor,” Kyra said, eliciting smothered chuckles from the staff.

Celeste turned her basilisk’s stare on the five-year-old. “You be quiet.”

Blaze crouched down beside her stepdaughter. The girl’s bottom lip was trembling.

“Don’t cry,” Blaze soothed the girl. “The mean lady won’t hurt you.”

More smothered chuckles from the sideboard did not help the situation.

“I will defer to your wishes,” Blaze told the duchess. “Puddles, sit outside the door.” The mastiff obeyed instantly.

Blaze caught the footman’s eye and gestured to her stepdaughter. “Can you find a thick book to boost Kyra at the table?”

Blaze sat down and drew her stepdaughter close while they waited. Within a few minutes, the footman appeared and set an unabridged Shakespeare on the chair. The majordomo lifted the girl up and pushed the chair closer to the table.

A footman served the duchess first and then delivered their plates. Apparently, her husband’s message had been delivered to Cook who also had made allowances for a five-year-old.

Kyra’s plate contained toasted cheese and chicken cut into tiny pieces. Blaze’s plate had grilled mushrooms on toast and a small salad of greens. The duchess’s plate held something Blaze preferred to ignore.

Blaze watched her stepdaughter spear a piece of chicken and plop it into her mouth. “Is it delicious?” she asked her.

Kyra nodded and glanced down the table at the duchess. “What’s that?” she asked, pointing at the woman’s plate.

“Her Grace is eating broiled
poussin
s with mustard sauce,” Blaze answered.

Kyra looked at her. “What is it?”

“Chicken babies.”

The girl looked horrified, and Blaze heard more muffled laughter near the sideboard.

Kyra looked at her own plate and pointed at the chicken. “What is this?”

“Meat.”

Her answer satisfied Kyra who began eating again. The five-year-old scooped a piece of chicken that promptly fell on the floor.