The Bad Luck Wedding Night, Bad Luck Wedding series #5 (Bad Luck Abroad trilogy) (9 page)

Nick had decided then and there to play the game and win. As Nicholas Ross, American journalist, he had become one of the most useful and influential British spies of his time. He then used that power to strip his father of influence in foreign policy. When the old man died, Nick had thought the victory was his.

Then he returned to England and proceeded to learn that the corpse still had a trick up his sleeve. Three of them, to be exact. Charlotte, Melanie, and Aurora. Nick's English family. His sisters. His responsibility. His joy.

"How could such a bastard sire such lovely daughters?"

"The credit rests with their nanny," Gillian replied. "She's a fine woman."

"I thought so, too, until she abandoned me."

His sister sighed. "She retired, Nicholas. She's auld and tired. She's earned her rest."

When her brother simply continued to mutter into his drink, Gillian changed the subject. "Speaking of tired women, I wonder if your wife has rested from her journey by now. I dinna imagine she was too pleased to finally arrive at your country house only to find you'd returned to Scotland."

"It's her own fault," Nick defended himself. "If she'd come when I told her to come, she wouldn't have missed me first at Rowanclere and then at Hunterbourne."

Gillian rolled her tongue around her mouth. "Come when you 'told her to come'? How long have you been married, brither?"

"Depending on how you choose to look at it, either a day or a decade."

"Even in a day ye should have learned better."

Nick lifted his glass up to the lamplight and stared at the amber liquid within. Since leaving Fort Worth, he couldn't take a drink of whisky without recalling the color of Sarah's eyes. He bet wherever she was at the moment, her caramel-colored eyes were snapping with temper.

"It's her fault," he repeated.

Nick had waited for his wife at Gillian's Highland home until the week before Christmas, when he'd had to return to England to spend the holidays with the girls. Then, when Aurora pulled her nonsense of attempting to elope with that damned Willie Hart, he'd had little choice but to put some distance between the pair by removing the entire family to his own Scottish property, the remote Glencoltran Castle.

Upon arriving and contacting Gillian with news of his change of plans, he'd learned that Sarah had finally arrived at Rowanclere on December twenty-seventh and proceeded on to his country estate in England, Hunterbourne Manor, after New Year's Day. Chances were they had passed one another on their respective journeys.

"It's not her fault," Gillian declared, siding, as females were wont to do in battles between the sexes, with her own gender. "Ye dinna tell a woman what to do, Nicholas. Not a woman like Sarah."

A woman like Sarah. "Tell me about her, Gilly."

Gillian wrinkled her nose. "What can I tell you? She's
your
wife."

He scowled. She sniffed, then sighed. "She was at Rowanclere for only a week, and I confess I wasn't overly friendly to her at first. After all, you had waited on her for weeks, and at the time, I didn't ken all the particulars of your marriage." Slyly, she added, "I still don't."

Ever the strategist, Nick waited her out.

Gillian grinned. "She's beautiful, if that's what you're asking. Friendly in the way I've come to expect from those who hail from Texas. Warmer than that Lady Steele woman who has her claws into you."

"Gilly," Nick warned.

She replied with a wrinkle of her nose. "She speaks in the same slow way as my Jake, and she became quite protective of his friend Rand when she thought Annie Munro was working her witchy ways on the man who'd provided her escort from Texas."

"Jake told me how our own Annie bewitched his former business partner, that they married and he took her back to Texas."

"Aye. It was the most cheerisome thing I've ever seen. Dinna ask me how she did it, but after a visit to her home, he suddenly had cats following him everywhere. And the puir wee things made the mon itch and sneeze. It was awful. Your Sarah bickered with him constantly, but when she honestly thought Annie had caused him harm, she reacted like a tigress protecting her cub." After a significant pause she added, "Similar to how you act with your sisters."

"I'm just trying to keep them out of trouble. Otherwise, my English girls might turn out like a certain Scottish lass."

She stuck her tongue out at him and he grinned. When she tossed a small square pillow at him, he laughed aloud, then spoke with a gentle burr. "Ach, ye are still a pleasure to tease, Gillian Delaney. I have missed that."

"I don't see how. Ye tease the others constantly."

"True. But they do not appreciate it the way you do."

"That's because I dinna embarrass easily. You embarrass your English sisters, Nicholas."

"I know," he glumly replied. "Gillian, explain something to me. I am fluent in five languages and numerous dialects. I know how to survive a Himalayan winter, an Indian monsoon, and an Afghan desert. I've debated religious theory with a Tibetan monk, talked my way out of a Khan's ravenous rat pit, and lost gracefully to the tsar of Russia during a night of vodka and cards. I'm a capable man. So why do I struggle so in English high society?"

His sister set down her glass. "It is a puzzle, I'll admit. Ye obviously have an exceptional mind, so the problem isna an inability to learn, and you have certainly proven your ability to gain acceptance in a wide variety of societies throughout the world. So why
are
you having trouble in London? I have my suspicions."

Nick waited. "And they are...?"

"For one thing, you weren't trained from childhood to be a peer of the realm. Mama and Papa didn't go out in society. They didn't send you off to Eton or Harrow."

"They hired an excellent tutor for us," Nick pointed out.

"Obviously. But a young man learns more at school than how to speak Russian. The interaction with other young bloods teaches him the nuances and unstated shadings of his station. Of course, considering you had two older brothers, no one expected you would ever need to know such things. However, in my opinion, childhood experiences, or a lack thereof, contribute in only a minor way to your troubles."

"Oh?"

"Aye. Your primary problem, Nicholas, is that you are a rebel at heart. You love to stir things up, and you hate to follow rules. I have no doubt that were it not for all of us—your sisters—you'd take great pleasure in telling society to sod it."

"Why, Gillian Ross Delaney," Nick drawled, amused. "What language!"

"Can you deny it? Honestly, who else but a rebel would announce at his sister's coming-out ball that he hoped the Prince of Wales wouldn't attend because he disapproved of the man's morals? Charlotte told me all about it, Nick."

"I didn't name the prince. I referred to the entire Marlborough House set, and I stand by my conviction. That group sets a very poor example for married life, and I don't want them near my family. It's the wrong message to send to impressionable young ladies."

"Which brings me to my next point. What of the message you're sending by courting Lady Steele so openly?"

Nick grimaced. "That's different. Nobody knows I'm married."

Gillian's eyes rounded. "Ye haven't told the girls? Still? And Sarah already arrived?"

"I didn't know that until you told me, now did I?"

"Nicholas!" Gillian rolled her eyes. "You sent for her. You knew she was coming."

"Aye, but she was to go to Rowanclere and stay with you until we settled the legalities. I thought she'd wait until I returned. I didn't expect her to take it upon herself to hie off for Hunterbourne on the first clear day."

"It's a good thing Aurora gave you a bit of trouble then, isn't it? I can just see Sarah Ross waltzing into your country house announcing Lady Weston had arrived, and your sisters ken nothing of her. And the Ice Queen, what if she'd been there?"

Nick winced at the picture she painted, and Gillian added, "Oh, Nick, surely you've told
her
that you are married."

"I'm not well and truly married. It is a technicality, one that will be dealt with as soon as Sarah and I sign the papers my solicitor has prepared. And, Two, I'd appreciate it if you would cease to refer to Helen by that unflattering name. She is a fine woman."

Gillian snorted. "Robyn said she kicked Scooter."

"It was an accident," he defended, shifting uncomfortably. "Helen didn't see your husband's dog."

"What if you want to keep her?"

Nick sighed. "I'll make certain she does not hurt Scooter again."

"Not Helen. Sarah. What if once you see her again, you decide you want her for your wife?"

Nick felt a pang in his chest. The thought had occurred to him, too. He'd actually spent quite a bit of time considering the idea. "No, that will not happen. I asked Sarah to leave Texas for me once. I'll not do it again."

"Well now, isna yer back sore all the time from toting so much pride around, Lord Weston?"

"That's not what I meant." He dragged his fingers through his hair. "I don't know how much she told you, but Sarah and I have corresponded regularly over the years and have developed a friendship of sorts."

"She did not mention that. She was too busy swearing at you. I have to admit, I rather liked the woman."

Nick's lips flirted with a grin at that. In his mind's eye he could easily picture Sarah and Gillian tearing him apart like Scooter with a juicy bone. He cleared his throat. "She is well established in Fort Worth. She has a comfortable home, good friends, and a successful business. It took all my powers of persuasion to get her to visit Britain. She'd never agree to live here, and I cannot live there."

"Because of us. Your sisters."

"Aye. I went too many years without you. I'll not give up any more. Yet, in five years you'll likely all be married and moved away. I don't want to live alone, Gilly. I want a wife. Children. A handful of boys to add some balance to the family."

"Lady Steele bred boys," his sister said with a sneer.

"Aye." Nick shrugged. "Can you blame me? I'm up to my ears in petticoats and lace. It would be good to hear a belch or two at the dinner table or find a frog in my bed from time to time."

"Robyn can do that. Ye need not marry the dog kicker."

"Oh, stop sulking." Nick drained his glass, then stood. "It could be worse. I could fall for Charlotte's widowed guid-mither and you'd have to listen to her singing for life."

Horror creased her brow. "Dinna even tease about such a heinous thing, Nicholas."

Grinning, he offered her his arm. "Shall we adjourn to the drawing room and Lady Pratt's recital?"

"One must do one's duty, I suppose," Gillian said with a heavy sigh. "Lead on, brother mine. Perhaps well be in luck and she will have cut the program short."

To Nick's dismay, Lady Pratt not only sang the entire program, she also launched into an unrequested encore. By the time she had cracked the last note, Nick found himself looking at his sister Charlotte in a new light. She was more than a bride-to-be. Damned if her willingness to marry into that family of her own free will didn't make his sister a saint.

His sisters and Jake Delaney broke into generous applause. Nick suspected their enthusiasm had more to do with the fact that the so-called entertainment was concluded than with their appreciation of the performance. Playing his part, he joined the accolade and rose to his feet to offer a standing ovation.

It was then that he felt a prickle at the back of his neck, the same sensation that had saved his life on a number of occasions over the years. Glencoltran Castle's blue drawing room suddenly had become a dangerous place.

He was a target.

Silently, Nick cursed his lack of a weapon even as a dozen different thoughts shot like bullets through his brain.
Pinpoint the girls' locations in the room. Their safety is the first priority. Draw any fire away from them. Who is it? Which of his enemies would brave an attack here in his home?

"Madam, you dinna want to go in there," came a footman's voice.

Time slowed to a crawl as Nick turned toward the drawing room doorway. He spied the bedraggled figure coming toward him and his heart stopped. The world narrowed to the two of them, sound was reduced to the rush of blood in his ears. Nick stood frozen, a target without defense.

And the villain took the advantage.

Crack.
The blow was no mere slap, but a true right hook to the jaw. Nick's head snapped back. His sisters gasped.

Her hair a mess, her hem mud-stained and torn, her feet bare as the day she was born, Sarah, Lady Weston, glared up at him and said, "For three months now I've traveled through dust storms, rainstorms, hailstorms, sleet storms, and snowstorms. I've ridden trains, ships, boats, coaches, wagons, horses, two mules, and even a sled pulled by a two-legged dog. Damn you, Nick, you didn't even bother to stay put. You make me mad enough to chew barbed wire. This is a helluva way to run a reunion."

* * *

Knuckles throbbing, Sarah stared up at her husband, truly seeing him for the first time as the red haze of rage dissipated.