Treasured (13 page)

“And you believe that something is you?” He rose to face her.

“I believe that I am a means to the end you seek.”

“What am I a means to?” He leaned forward, bracing his hands on the desk. “Are you so desperate for a roof over your head that allying yourself to someone like me is worth it?”

“Baillannan is worth it.”

He stared at her narrowly for a moment, then dropped
back into his chair, the careless, faintly ironic manner once again in place. “When shall we announce our impending nuptials?”

“What?” The blood rushed from her head, and Isobel’s knees gave way. She grabbed for the corner of the desk, and in an instant he was beside her, his hand under her arm, propelling her back into her chair.

“That is the first time I have made a maiden swoon,” he said as he put his hand on the back of her neck, lightly pushing her head toward her knees. “Lean over. Not as ladylike as smelling salts, but effective, I’ve found.”

The touch of his fingers against the sensitive skin of her neck sent a shiver through her. She lifted her head, embarrassed. “I am sorry. I’m fine. Really. I was just . . . surprised.”

“Why? Did you think I was so dense I would pass up such an opportunity?” He settled on the edge of the desk, watching her.

“It seemed to me you disapproved of the idea.”

“You are, as you said, a Rose of Baillannan.” He shrugged. “I am merely Jack Kensington. If you are willing to sacrifice yourself for these people and this pile of stones, who am I to turn down the chance to perfect my disguise as a gentleman?”

She had prepared herself for the worst, the humiliation of his rejection, the pain of losing her only chance at her home. But she had not prepared herself for achieving her goal. Isobel pressed her fingers to her mouth, afraid she might suddenly start to cry.

“Here, now.” His voice was surprisingly gentle as he tipped up her chin to look at her. “Don’t tell me you are already regretting your proposal. It wouldn’t be the thing to cry off, you know.”

“No. Of course not. I am . . . a trifle stunned, I think.”

“Your hands are like ice.” He took her hands in his, warming them. He was so close it was unsettling, and she could not help but remember the afternoon in the attic when he had pulled her to him and kissed her, his warmth and strength enveloping her, his scent filling her nostrils, the taste of him on her lips.

She tried to tug her hands from his, glancing toward the door. He chuckled, holding on a moment longer before letting her go. “’Tis acceptable now, you know, to be caught like this; we are betrothed.”

Isobel felt herself blushing, and inwardly she cursed her fair skin. She stood up, ignoring his comment. “I must tell Aunt Elizabeth.”

“She will not object. Against all reason, she seems to like me.”

“Her mind is slipping,” Isobel retorted, then let out a little gasp, her hand flying to her lips.

To her surprise, Jack laughed. “Well, that should put me in my place.”

“I don’t know what is the matter with me. Truly, that was rude, and I apologize. I am most grateful.”

“Don’t be,” he said shortly. “I don’t want your gratitude.” She looked at him, surprised, and he gave a careless shrug. “It is an arrangement suitable to each of us. There is no need for thanks or tears or worrying that you may tread upon my sensitive feelings. Anyone would tell you that I have few of them, sensitive or otherwise. The last thing I want is for you to hide your sense of humor. It is as much a part of you as your blond hair.” Smiling, he reached out to brush back a lock of hair from her forehead. “Or your bonny gray eyes.”
He brushed his knuckles along her cheekbone. “I have that right, don’t I?
Bonny
?
”

“Bonny?”
Isobel was a little surprised she could get out the word, for her throat had gone dry and her brain blank. The promise in his eyes, the timbre of his voice, the feel of his skin against hers, stirred a heat deep inside her. “Aye.
Bonny
is ‘pretty.’ ”

“Then it definitely suits you.” He took her hand in his and raised it to his lips.

She could not disguise the shiver that ran through her at the touch of his lips upon her flesh, soft and velvety, and she snatched her hand away, backing up a step. “Mr. Kensington! I think you mistake. Ours is not that sort of marriage.”

“And what sort is that?” His smile was slow and teasing.

“You know what I mean.” Color lit her cheeks, and she clasped her hands tightly together, as though to pull herself back into order. “An ordinary marriage, a—”

“Oh, I agree. Our marriage is anything but ordinary, but that is part of its appeal, surely?”

She was certain he was laughing at her, which rattled her even more. He did not mean he wanted a real marriage; it just amused him to see her lack of sophistication. She glared at him. “I mean that ours is a marriage of convenience, as you said. It is nothing but business.”

“Ah, but business can be a pleasure as well.”

“No. That is not what we agreed to. You cannot pretend that you want to . . . to . . .” Her cheeks burned even more hotly.

“To what?” He moved nearer, not touching her, but holding her captive somehow with his gaze, his closeness, as though his body were a magnet from which she could not
pull away. “To have you in my bed? I would think that is the sweetness of wedding.”

“Our marriage will not be sweet,” she shot back, though she knew the effect was marred by the shakiness in her voice.

He laughed, light sparkling in his dark blue eyes. “I find that tartness is even more to my taste.” Taking her chin between his thumb and fingers, he bent and touched his lips to hers. Though his kiss was as light as a butterfly’s touch, it set up a raging storm inside her. “But do not fear. I would never force you to do aught you did not want.” He released her chin and moved back, adding with a flash of grin, “But perhaps I can persuade you to change your mind.”

N
ow, my dear Miss Ro—I
believe it would be quite proper to call you Isobel since we are engaged, don’t you agree?” Jack went on conversationally, as if nothing untoward had just happened. “Shall we announce the happy news to your aunt?”

He held out his arm and Isobel took it, too distracted to refuse. She had wanted to tell Aunt Elizabeth by herself, unsure how her aunt would take the information, but she could hardly exclude him now, so they went together to break the news of their engagement. To Isobel’s surprise, Elizabeth’s face lit up.

“That is wonderful!” She jumped to her feet and came forward to kiss Isobel on the cheek. “I have been hoping for this.” She took Jack’s hand in hers, saying playfully, “As soon as I saw you, I thought you were exactly the man for my Isobel. Who could be a better match than one of John’s
friends?” She paused, frowning. “Did I say John? How silly of me. I meant . . . um, Isobel’s brother.”

Isobel started to step in with her brother’s name, for obviously it escaped Elizabeth at the moment. But Jack smiled down at Elizabeth as if he had noticed nothing odd about her response and said smoothly, “Yes, Andrew is the Rose I know. But who is John? Have I met him? If so, I must apologize, for I have quite forgotten his name.”

Elizabeth beamed back at him. “No, you would not have met John. He was Isobel’s and Andrew’s father. My dear brother. He passed on several years ago—such a good man; it is a shame that he is not here to see this day. You would have liked him, I am sure, and he, you. There are so few left in our family anymore. Just the children—well, and my cousin.” She disposed of Cousin Robert with a little wave of her hand. “No doubt
he
shall have something disagreeable to say about your engagement. I hope you will not be offended. It is his nature; I think he cannot help it. One simply has to ignore what he says. Come, sit down. Ring for Hamish, Isobel dear, we should have a little toast on this happy occasion.”

Isobel did as her aunt requested, and as she joined her aunt on the sofa, she flashed a quick smile of gratitude at Kensington. He quirked an eyebrow at her in response and continued his light banter with Aunt Elizabeth. Isobel looked at her aunt. The sparkle that had been more and more missing from Elizabeth’s face had returned. It occurred to Isobel that her aunt seemed to have actually improved since Jack Kensington had arrived. Perhaps the bargain Isobel had struck with him would prove to help Elizabeth more
than Isobel had imagined. Surely that would make up for the annoyance of his teasing.

“When do you plan the nuptials?” Elizabeth asked, turning to Isobel, and Isobel could only stare blankly back at her.

“We would like to wed as soon as possible,” Jack answered for Isobel, and turned to gaze at her with apparent devotion, mischief lurking in his eyes. “Isobel and I are eager to be together. Aren’t we, my dear?”

“Yes, of course.” Isobel shot him a quelling look. “Mr. Kensington must return shortly to his obligations in London, so the date has to be soon.”

He grinned at Isobel, acknowledging her returning shot. “I am sorry to say that is true.”

“That is too bad,” Elizabeth sympathized. “But you would want to hasten anyway; it will soon be May and you do not want to marry then, of course.” Seeing the puzzlement on Jack’s face, she added, “May is an unlucky month for marriage.”

“Ah. I was not aware.”

Isobel nodded.

“The banns can be read this Sunday, so that will mean we have two weeks to plan for the wedding. Oh, goodness, Isobel, there is such a lot to do. It will have to be small, of course. It is too bad that Andrew will not be here. Do you think if we wrote him today, he could make it here in time?”

“No.” Isobel smiled at her aunt to soften her flat response. “It will be some time before the letter would reach him, and then he would have to travel all this way. I will have Cousin Robert or Gregory give me away.” She could well imagine how her brother would receive the news of her betrothal to the man who had taken his home from him,
and she had no desire to add any fireworks to the situation. “I shall write Andrew a note later, explaining.”

“What about your family, Mr. Kensington?” Elizabeth turned to him. “You would wish your parents to come, I imagine. Brothers or sisters—I am sorry, I realize I don’t know whether you have siblings.”

“No, pray do not worry yourself about that,” Jack told her with a charming smile. “You have a great deal to do without adding extra guests. And, as Isobel said, London is too far away. I would not want to delay our wedding day. I am sure you understand.”

“Oh, indeed.” Aunt Elizabeth chattered on lightly about Isobel’s wedding dress, the feast, the guest list. “You can wear my mother’s pearls,” she told Isobel, then frowned a little and cast an inquiring glance at Jack. “I just realized—a wedding ring?”

“I don’t have one,” he confessed. “Our engagement was rather . . . unexpected.”

“If you do not mind, there is Isobel’s mother’s ring. The one John gave her— Oh!” Elizabeth’s eyes widened.

“What is it? Is something wrong?”

“No. No, dear. I just had a thought.” The older woman jumped to her feet. “Wait. I shall be back in a tick.”

Isobel and Jack glanced at each other, equally baffled. A few minutes later, Elizabeth bustled back into the room, a silver object in her hand. “I realized that I had the perfect thing for you, Mr. Kensington.”

She held out her hand, and Isobel saw a pocket watch and chain. The cover was ornate, with raised figures in a sylvan setting. Taking Jack’s hand, Elizabeth laid the watch in his palm. “This was my father’s watch.”

He glanced at her, startled. “But, ma’am . . . you cannot wish to give this away.”

“Please, I want you to have it. I should have given it to my brother, but I could not bear to let it go.”

“But surely it should go to someone in your family. Sir Andrew . . .”

“But you are in our family now.” Elizabeth smiled, closing his fingers over the watch, and gave his hand a little pat. “It should be yours. I am certain of it.”

He sat back, looking bemused.

“I never knew you had Sir Malcolm’s watch,” Isobel said, leaning over to look at it. Jack opened his hand, holding it out. An odd, almost wary look was in his eyes. Isobel traced her forefinger over the embossing. “It’s beautifully done.”

“Yes, and it’s engraved on the inside with the Rose emblem.” Elizabeth smiled in the sad, fond way she did whenever she spoke of her father. “I remember he once said that emblem was on everything he owned. Papa gave this watch to me that night when he came home from France.”

“Really?” Isobel turned to her aunt, intrigued.

Elizabeth nodded. “I remember it clearly. I woke up when he came into my room. He was standing beside my bed, looking down on me. He sat down on the side of my bed. I was so happy to see him. He hugged me and laughed—he had such a wonderful laugh—and he said that he had told me he would come back. How could I not believe him? But he had to go away again to help the prince. I knew Prince Charlie needed help; I had heard my mother and Uncle Fergus worrying about what would happen. But I told Papa someone else could help the prince; I wanted Papa to stay with us.” She smiled, tears of memory welling in her eyes.