The Duke (27 page)

The duke turned slowly in his chair, and James was more astounded than relieved to see that the grim lines had disappeared and his master was actually smiling. A big, fat smile, a real smile.

“I think, James, that there's nothing more worthless than a stupid man. God, am I ever the stupidest man ever planted on earth. Talk about blind, I've taken the cake. All I can hope now is that I'm not too late. Scotland must be beautiful in the summer with all the heather in bloom. Fetch me writing materials, I must write to Giles and cancel our evening. Oh, and James, inform Mabley that we'll be leaving within the hour. I wish the carriage and my curricle brought around and ready for a journey by eleven o'clock. No later now. I want to be at Penderleigh in five days.”

“Will your grace be gone long?” James asked.

“Well, there's to be a wedding, you know,” the duke said and actually rubbed his hands together. “I'll keep you informed, never fear.”

Not many minutes later, the duke was shrugging himself into a light tan riding coat. He looked quickly at the clock on the mantel, then consulted his own watch. He had turned to leave his bedchamber when his eyes fell upon the small painted miniature of Marianne set in its place of honor atop his dresser. He looked into the leaf green eyes rendered so lifelike by the artist, at the glossy black hair pulled back from her forehead, at her tender, sweet mouth. He remembered how that soft mouth could tremble. It didn't move him a jot, that memory.

He clasped the miniature in his hand and strode downstairs. “James,” he called out to his butler, “while I'm gone, see to the placement of this painting in the picture gallery, where it belongs.” He tossed the miniature into James's outstretched hands, pulled on his gloves, and walked away, his stride firm. He was whistling as he climbed into his curricle.

B
randy lay on her back amid a field of blooming anemones, her arms pillowing her head, staring up at the cloud-strewn sky. Darkening clouds were jostling about for the upper hand, swept in by a building squall coming off the sea. A sharp wind tugged tendrils of hair loose from her braids and whipped them into her eyes.

She sat up, feeling as listless and dull as she'd felt for more days than she cared to count now. She brushed away the tangles with the back of her hand. She gazed toward the castle, its aged gray stone etched in stark relief against the dying afternoon light. She rose slowly to her feet and smoothed her gown, knowing that she must return and force herself to smile. Percy and Joanna MacDonald were due to arrive on the morrow. Or was it the day after? She couldn't remember. She didn't care.

To everyone's utter consternation, even Morag had bathed in honor of the pending wedding.

How strange it was, she thought, moving slowly along the cliff path, that the pain hadn't lessened over the past two months. She'd not been so foolish as to believe that she could forget him. She wondered if he occasionally thought of her, and if so, what his thoughts were. Probably they were angry thoughts.
He'd been so angry that last morning. Yet he'd given her two hundred pounds.

She heard the rumble of wheels in the distance and sighed. Evidently Joanna and Percy had come a day early. She looked up to see a mud-spattered curricle pull gracefully around the bend and draw to a halt on the gravel drive in front of the castle.

“Here we are, not a second beyond five days. Excellent job. We've even beaten the storm.” Ian jumped down to the ground and patted his horses' steaming necks. He gazed toward the castle and wondered for perhaps the twentieth time how he would approach Brandy. He'd rehearsed a goodly number of speeches given several possible encounters, the most extreme as seeing her as impossibly difficult, at which point he'd throw her over his shoulder and haul her away. He tried to picture her crying and pleading with him to marry her. Well, truth be told, he hadn't imagined that scene more than once, and that in a mood of particularly profound optimism.

Perhaps it was the streaking dark clouds whirling in over the sea that made him turn for a moment toward the cliff, or simply the clean smell of the sea air. He saw Brandy standing not far from him, her skirts billowing about her in the rising wind, standing so still that he wouldn't have noticed her otherwise.

All the practiced eloquent phrases disappeared from his mind as though they'd never lived there. He called her name aloud and took a quick step toward her, his arms outstretched.

Brandy only saw his mouth form her name, for the wind whipped away the sound. He was home. He'd come back to her. She grasped her skirts and ran full tilt toward him. She flew into his open arms and would have toppled them both had Ian not leaned forward to catch her. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and buried her face against his cheek.

“Ye're here,” she whispered against his neck. “Ye're here. Ye came back.”

He felt her lashes against his face and held her more tightly against him, one arm across her back and the other curved beneath her hips. He felt a tremendous shudder pass through her body, and he gave a shaking laugh. “Come, my little love, you'll strangle me,” he said against her temple.

She laughed, leaned back, and began kissing him, his ear, his neck, his chin. Then he was kissing her warm mouth, feeling the utter acceptance in her, the utter giving. He wanted to caress her, all of her, but he knew he couldn't, not here in the front of Penderleigh Castle. He didn't want to, but he forced himself to let her slide down his body. He continued to hold her even when her feet were finally on the ground.

She threw back her head and looked up at him. “Ye're here,” she said again. “I'm so very glad.”

He sighed, pulled her against him, and kissed her some more. “Ah, but you're sweet. I love the taste of you. I've dreamed about tasting you.”

“Will you kiss me like this forever?”

“Until I cock up my toes,” he said, laughing into her mouth, then kissing her again and again.

“Oh, dear, ye're not just here for Percy's wedding, are ye?”

“No.” He breathed in the fresh salty smell of her hair. “No, I'm here because of you. Only you. You will have me now, won't you, Brandy?” She hesitated only a moment. He kissed her again, saying, “I'm a stupid man. It took me much too long to come to my senses. My only concern now is that I shall be the one with the surfeit of love in our marriage.”

“Marianne?”

“In a bittersweet past, Brandy, where she belongs. I no longer desire Marianne or someone like her. What I want is a stubborn Scottish lass with thick
blond hair and amber eyes. A Scottish lass with a good deal of common sense, wit that will keep me on my toes, and loyalty that runs deeper than the North Sea. Answer me now, will you have me? Will you be my duchess?”

“I think ye're beautiful, Ian. Ye're kind. I love the way ye make me feel when ye kiss me. But know, Ian, ye're that Lady Adella calls a household tyrant, at least that's what she called Grandpapa Angus on better days. She said he interfered in everything, ordered everybody around, and stuck his oar even into her business.”

“If ever I near the tyranny of Grandpapa Angus, you can boot me out of Carmichael Hall to sleep with the goats. I don't want to order you around. I want to love you and make you smile and give you more pleasure than you can begin to imagine even exists.”

“All that?”

“Yes, I want to give you all that. I'm sure to think of more things.”

“Are ye certain? Ye know that I can't speak proper English. Ye know ye'll have to teach me. Ye'll have to be patient with me.”

“Aye, but seeing that I can't live without ye, I'll bring in my dear mother to instruct ye in everything.”

“Yer mother?”

He laughed. “No, Brandy, I wouldn't wish my parent on any sentient person, even an enemy. Well, perhaps an enemy but certainly not my wife. Perhaps Percy. Yes, she'd do wonders with Percy. We'll manage, you'll see. All my people will love you.”

“If they don't, then ye'll pound them into the ground?”

“Exactly.”

Hercules chose that moment to nudge his master in the back. “You see, even my horse agrees with me.
You must say yes before he humiliates me by trampling me in the back.”

“Aye—yes.”

He leaned over and kissed her again, lightly this time, though he wanted more, so much more and he knew she did too. “Come, Brandy, I want to tell Lady Adella, Bertrand—even scratchy Morag.”

“She bathed for Percy's wedding.”

“Good God, that must have made everyone speechless. What did Fraser think?”

“He just walked around shaking his head. Who will ye tell after Morag?”

“I fancy I'll climb up to the turrets and yell it to all the Cheviot sheep. Perhaps MacPherson will hear me and come personally to congratulate us.”

“Oh, dear,” she said.

He frowned down at her. “You don't want me climbing the turrets? What's the matter? You've already changed your mind?”

“Oh, no, ye're mine now, Ian. It's just that, well, I don't want either of us to say anything this evening. I want to wait until tomorrow. Please, Ian, it's very important to me.”

She placed her fingers on his mouth. “Nay, please, just trust me in this. Tomorrow ye can tell my family—if ye still wish to.”

“What the devil do you mean, if I'll still wish to? What game is it you're playing, my girl? You somehow think I'm going to change my mind between now and tomorrow morning when the clock strikes eight o'clock?”

“No game, I promise. Please allow me this.” She was pleading with him. He didn't understand. But he didn't want her ever to beg him for anything.

“Very well.” he said and kissed her again. “But know this, Brandy, if I don't like your reasons, I'm going to beat you.”

She hugged her arms tightly around his back. She smiled up at him. “It will be exactly as ye wish, yer grace.”

He groaned. “I see bad times ahead for me. I see myself doing anything and everything just to win a smile from you, just to win a kind word.”

She laughed and poked his arm.

As no stable boy appeared, Ian and Brandy led Hercules and Canter to the stables. She watched him silently as he removed the harness and rubbed down his horse with handfuls of fresh hay. He looked up at her, and a frown furrowed his forehead. “You've grown thin.”

“Perhaps a bit. I've not been terribly hungry.”

“There are dark circles under your eyes. I don't like that.”

“I haven't slept well. But that's all yer fault.”

“I'll give you two months to put meat back on your bones, no longer. If you don't, I'll be forced to take drastic action.”

“And just what sort of drastic action are ye talking about, yer grace?”

“We'll just have to see, won't we?” He kissed her again, the smells of horse and hay and linseed oil filling the air.

Brandy excused herself the moment Crabbe, with a wide grin on his cadaverous face, ceremoniously swept the duke into the drawing room. She ordered Morag to tell Wee Albie to bring the tub that didn't leak to her room.

Some two hours later, her hair still damp from its washing, Brandy smiled shyly at Ian from across the expanse of dining table, but his attention was claimed by a chattering Constance.

“Just fancy yer coming back for Percy's wedding. None of us thought ye would, what with ye not really liking Percy and Percy acting the way he did and
maybe trying to, well, never mind that. No Robertson would try to kill ye, Ian. Ye've got to believe that.”

“Hold yer runaway tongue, girl,” Lady Adella said, her voice as sour as the lentil soup that was growing cold and untouched on Ian's plate. “There not a mite of proof, and I'll thank ye not to mention the dreadful business. It has been two months, yer grace, and it's to be hoped that ye've no more bloodletting to fear.”

There was a good deal of sudden eating at the table. Lady Adella broke the silence with a crude laugh. “Oh, no, it will be poor Joanna MacDonald who'll have the bloodletting. Robertson men only want to marry virgins, ye know. Aye, poor Joanna will have quite a shock on her wedding night.”

Brandy choked on her wine, then laughed.

Lady Adella turned her sour look on her granddaughter. “Ye used to be such a prude, child, but look at ye now. How can ye laugh about wedding nights? Ye know nothing about anything. Just barely the basics of what goes on between a man and a woman. Why, even that time Percy tried to force ye, well, he didn't get very far, did he?”

“No,” Ian said. “If he had I would have killed him. The blighter was lucky. Let's hope he doesn't need much more luck because I wouldn't think he'd have much left available to him.” He said to Bertrand, “Now, tell me how are the crofters faring with the Cheviot sheep?”

“There are smiles on their faces because they already see more food on their tables. Even those who thought sheep were only good to eat have taken them to heart. I fear many of them are becoming pets.”

“Those damned sheep eat everything in sight,” Claude said, waving his fork at his son. “They're everywhere.”

“They smell,” Constance said. “If the wind's from
the land they fill your nostrils, sometimes even at night.”

“Aye, Bertie,” Lady Adella said in a crafty voice. “Ye need to take care, else Constance won't have ye and ye'll be fit only for Morag.”

“Oh, Grandmama,” Constance wailed, her eyes on Bertrand's face. He seemed not at all put out, she thought, and wondered at it. She was dreadfully embarrassed, but she didn't know what to do about it.

Bertrand said with a hint of amusement, “I assure you, Lady Adella, that Fraser has the most sensitive nose of all of us. Never does he allow me into the dining room until he's sniffed about me at least twice. As for Constance,” he added, smiling toward her, “I trust she hasn't noticed anything amiss since the sheep have arrived.”

“One sheep died,” Brandy said to Ian. “We asked Prickly Ben to look at him. We were afraid, of course, that it could be some sort of disease that would spread to the rest of the flock, but Prickly Ben said no, the sheep had eaten some gangle weed and it bloated its belly.”

“I routed out all the gangle weed,” Bertrand said. “Actually, Constance and I together.”

“That's about the only time ye've seen each other, Bertie,” Claude said. He said to the duke, “He spends all his time with his damned account books. Never has time for his father or his family.”

Brandy looked up. “Oh, but I thought ye took Bertrand his lunch sometimes, Connie.”

Constance shifted uncomfortably in her chair. Ian smiled to himself. It appeared that Bertrand had made some headway with the girl during the past two months. He certainly seemed more certain of himself. He gazed fondly down the table at Brandy, wondering if she realized that she'd embarrassed the devil out of her sister.