Chapter Fifteen
Erroll found his mother in her chambers, fifteen minutes later. She looked up from the secretary where she was writing. Her face lit with a smile. She laid down her pen and extended her hands as he neared. He grasped her fingers and pulled her up and into a hug. Erroll’s gaze caught on the sheet of paper she’d been writing on and the list of names enumerated there. She stepped back, then drew him to the couch near the warmth of the hearth.
She sat down. “To what do I the honor of this visit?”
He sat beside her and draped an arm over the top of the couch. “We have had no chance to speak since I arrived. It is a son’s duty to pay his mother a proper visit when he hasn’t seen her in two months.”
She snorted. “This is about the sisters.”
“I do wish to discuss them,” Erroll admitted. “But first, my guests are settled, I presume?”
“They are. I arranged for the ladies to have a bite to eat in their rooms, and baths. They did look a bit bedraggled.”
“It was a long trip. Thank you for seeing to them. Now, tell me how you are.”
“You can see I am well. There is nothing new to report since I last saw you, so let us dispense with the small talk. I understand I am to prepare for a wedding.”
“So I am told,” he said. “We only arrived a few hours ago, but you seem to have made good progress on the guest list.” Erroll nodded toward the secretary. “One would think you already had a list in hand.”
His mother laughed. “The marquess informed me days ago there would be a wedding. Since the wedding will be held here on Mull, I am shortening the list. That isn’t a bad thing, I think. Do you have any guests you wish to include?”
Erroll shook his head. “I imagine Ash and Olivia are on the list?”
A shadow flitted through her eyes. “Of course.”
Erroll cursed his stupidity. Of course Olivia and Ash were invited. His mother knew how important it was to have his sister and brother there…just as much as it would have been important to have Val attend.
Erroll smiled. “Invite whomever you like. All of Mull, if it pleases you.”
Her eyes twinkled. “That would cost the marquess a pretty penny.”
“He is insisting I marry, after all.”
“Therefore he should pay?” she asked.
“Your words, madam, not mine. Now, as to the bride, I do have a preference.”
Her brows arched. “You should have thought of that before you ended up in Gretna with two prospective brides.”
“I see you are up to date on all the latest on-dit,” he said.
“When the gossip concerns my son, I am.” Her expression sobered. “Erroll, I like the ladies, but I admit to some concern that one of them shot you.”
“A mere flesh wound,” he said.
“That does not change the fact she shot you.”
“To be fair, I was a stranger who broke into her room at night and, well…woke her.” His mother’s mouth twitched in either satisfaction or amusement, he couldn’t be sure, for nothing ensured a son must marry like getting caught in an unmarried woman’s bedchamber. “To make matters worse,” Erroll went on, “her father caught us in a rather compromising position.” Literally.
“More compromising then when you woke her?” his mother asked.
“To my discredit, yes. Like any good father, Tolland was enraged and, in self-defense, I began to beat him half to death. He is quite fit, for a man of his age.” Erroll recalled the baron’s fist in his stomach. “She didn’t intend to kill me. In fact, I suspect she intended to fire in the air.”
“What makes you think that?”
“It was close range.”
“And you are a large target.”
“Exactly,” Erroll said. “In any case, I have told my father that I will not marry the younger sister.”
“Why?”
“I believe it is my prerogative to choose a bride,” he said. “Is that not enough?”
“Yes—usually. But you will admit this case is unique.”
“Be that as it may, I am still within my right to exercise that choice, and I am quite adamant on the point.”
“Your choice is between a liar and a would-be murderess,” she said.
He shook his head. “No ocean shall hinder the speedy flight of gossip.”
“You are a sensation!”
Erroll couldn’t prevent a laugh. “And that pleases you.”
“It does. But on a more serious note, I will not like it if Miss Crenshaw develops a habit of pointing a gun at you.”
Erroll grinned. “The threat of facing your wrath may well stop her from trying it again. I daresay, the only difference between Miss Crenshaw and most other women is that she shot the groom before the wedding.”
“I am not saying you didn’t deserve it,” his mother said. “But I will not countenance it.”
“But of course,” he said.
Something flickered in her eyes and Erroll wondered if she remembered a time his father deserved to be shot.
She smoothed a wrinkle from her skirt. “So it is agreed, you will marry Miss Eve Crenshaw.”
“I wouldn’t say ‘agreed,’ but that is the case.”
“Ah, the marquess is not pleased.”
“No, but he didn’t have all the information. He’ll come around once he has time to consider.”
She snorted. “I suggest you don’t wait for him to agree, but make haste and marry.”
“The reading of the bans takes three weeks.”
“I will say no more,” she said. “If you feel certain he will change his mind in a short three weeks’ time, who am I to argue? Oh my, I had better contact the parson. He will begin reading the bans tomorrow, and we cannot have him marrying you to the wrong woman.”
“That would be a sensation,” Erroll said.
Her eyes widened in horror. “That would be a disaster! And if you think of doing any such thing I will shoot you myself.”
“I promise not to change brides at the last minute.”
“At this point, I do not doubt you are capable of it. Now that you mention it—” Erroll had the feeling what was to come did not bode well for him “—is not Grace Crenshaw under the impression she is to be your bride?”
“She was hopeful,” he replied. “But she knew I was not amenable to the connection. Did she say something?” He would strangle the girl.
His mother shook her head. “No, but given the latest version of the story—” Erroll had no desire to hear the latest version “—and the fact that I sensed she feels secure in the notion, I assumed it was true.”
His mother sensed Grace Crenshaw felt secure he would marry her? Would wonders never cease? “No such indications from Eve Crenshaw?” he asked.
“Not a one.” His mother’s gaze grew shrewd. “What an interesting turn of events. She does not wish to marry you.”
“Can you imagine?” he said.
“I am obligated to say, ‘no, what woman wouldn’t want you?’”
“For a mamma who has worked with such vigor this last year and a half to marry off her son, you do not seem to think he is very marriageable.”
“Don’t get me started on your marriageability. I know you too well.”
That she did. His mother had no illusions where he was concerned. Yet she loved him nonetheless.
Her eyes twinkled. “Has it occurred to you that if I had truly decided a particular lady would do that you could not have escaped me?”
“I think, madam,” Erroll said with care, “that I am glad not to have tested that theory.”
*****
Early that afternoon, a muffled, angry male voice filtered up the staircase as Eve descended. She slowed, discerned the indistinct reply of a quieter, more composed female voice, then another heated retort from the man. She yanked up her skirts and hurried down the stairs.
“I said he wasna’ here.”
Leslie.
“Out of my way!” the man ordered.
Eve took the last two stairs and whirled left. With her second step toward the massive foyer, Leslie said, “If you canna’ speak kindly, then leave.”
A large man towered over her, but she stood her ground, glowering up at him. His head jerked in Eve’s direction. “Who are ye?”
Eve hurried to the maid’s side. “Miss Eve Crenshaw, my lord.”
His gaze sharpened on her. “First a maid, then a Sassenach—where is the marquess?”
“I cannot say, sir. But I am sure we can find him.”
“I told him the laird is no’ here,” Leslie said with heat.
“I will speak with the marquess, damn you,” he snarled.
“Perhaps I can be of assistance.”
Eve and Leslie whirled in unison to face Lord Rushton, who emerged from the hallway directly ahead.
“Are you the marquess?” the man demanded.
The earl approached, and Eve grasped Leslie’s arm and pulled her back two paces as he passed them.
He stopped in front of the man. “I believe it is customary for the visitor to introduce himself.”
“I am Lord Burns, ye fool.”
“Lord Rupert Burns?”
His mouth twisted downward in a deprecating frown. “Rupert is a poor cousin.”
“I see, and to what do we owe the honor of a visit from his more worthy relation?”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”
Lord Rushton gave a slight bow. “Erroll MacLean at your service.”
“Where is your father?”
“Forgive me, he is indisposed.”
“I won’t be fobbed off to a bastard,” Burns spat.
“Ah,” Lord Rushton said. “You have me confused with my brother Ash. He is the one born on the wrong side of the blanket, not I. Sadly, he isn’t here either, so you are stuck with me.”
The man blinked, this time clearly a little more certain he’d been insulted. Eve, on the other hand, wanted to laugh.
“Where is Lady Hilary?” Lord Burns snapped.
“At last we make progress,” the earl said. “What do you want with my dear cousin?”
“I want her to stay away from my son. She is trying to get her hooks into him.”
“Hilary?” Lord Rushton laughed. “When last I saw the chit she had nothing resembling hooks.”
“She was free with her charms last night,” Lord Burns snapped.
“Indeed? I would have given a small fortune to see that. In any case, you cannot blame her. It is, after all, a lady’s job to display her charms. How else are we men to know what we are getting ourselves into?”
Lord Burns was struck dumb. Eve understood how he felt, though her reason was, no doubt, different. Butterflies flitted across the inside of her stomach with the memory of the charms Lord Rushton had so obviously noticed in her.
“My son is to marry a woman with strong Scottish roots,” Lord Burns said through tight lips.
“That goes without saying,” the earl said. “But what has that to do with the youngsters? Surely, you remember what it was like to be young and flirt with the ladies? And we aren’t in Edinburgh, after all. If she danced two dances with your son instead of one, no one here on Mull will notice, and I find it impossible to believe Hilary’s brother would allow anything more.”
“Her brother isna’ here,” Lord Burns said. “He’s off fighting the Sassenach war.”
A cloud passed through Lord Rushton’s eyes. “David gone to war?” He sighed. “Given that Bonaparte sailed to Prussia and marched from there to the Russian front in mere months, you might consider the possibility that if he succeeds in crossing the channel he will march into Scotland just as quickly. This war belongs to us all.”
“Bah!” Lord Burns burst out. “I’m not interested in your politics. If your father isna’ here, tell your mother to keep a better watch on the girl. She was at the ball with her last night.”
“There you are,” the earl said. “Lady Rushton is the embodiment of respectability. You have nothing to fear.”
“My son is betrothed, has been since he was a child,” Burns said. “The girl is wasting her time.”
“I see,” Lord Rushton nodded. “You’re afraid Hilary will misunderstand your son’s attentions. But what have you to fear? You know how these young people are, they go out of their way to aggravate their elders.”
Eve couldn’t escape the notion that his lordship referred as much to himself as his young cousin.
Burns’ brows snapped downward. “My son knows his duty.”
“Then count yourself lucky,” Lord Rushton said. “He is far wiser than many older men. As for Hilary, she isn’t old enough to be allowed to hook a man yet, and I never knew her to take the attention of a swain to heart. Now, may I ask what brings you to Mull?”
Lord Burns blinked, clearly caught off guard with the change of subject. “James Rose leased a house here. He invited us.”
“James, a good man,” Lord Rushton said. “Do you hunt?”
“Aye, quail, and deer, sometimes.”
“Excellent,” Lord Rushton said. “You must hunt on Ravenhall. We have an abundance of deer. I’m sure we can arrange a time. My father is an avid hunter, and an excellent guide.”
Lord Burns stiffened. “I may not have time.”
The earl nodded. “I imagine James will keep you busy. However, there is a matter that might be of great interest to you, and one in which I think you might be in a position to help. Bring James, he will want to be apprised of the situation.”
“Situation, what situation?”
“We have a press gang stealing our men.”
“Press gang?” Lord Burns’ eyes blazed. “By God, are ye sure?”
“Absolutely certain. We encountered their ship on the way here.”
“God damn.” His face reddened in embarrassment and he glanced at Eve and Leslie. “Beg pardon, ladies.”
Eve nodded forgiveness, careful to keep the astonishment she felt at Lord Burns’ change of attitude from her expression.
“I understand Aberdeen is a favorite hunting ground for the slavers,” Lord Rushton said, “but I suspect this band bypassed the city this time.”
Lord Burns nodded. “The new legislation will have the constables on the lookout for the brigands.”
“Ahh, you know of the new law.” The earl nodded. “I had a suspicion you did. Are you acquainted with any of the constables in Aberdeen?”
“Aye, several, as a matter of fact.”
“Very good. My brother has been tracking Johnson, the captain of the ship we encountered. His inquiries have not gone as far as Aberdeen.”
“The bloody—” He broke off and cast Eve and Leslie another embarrassed glance, then said to Lord Rushton, “I’ll speak with James.”
“I look forward to hearing from you.”
Lord Burns nodded. “Ladies,” he nodded to them, then left.
“I cannot believe you didna’ shoot him,” Leslie said when the door closed behind him. “You know he didn’t want Hilary fraternizing with his son because your mother is English.”
“Perhaps,” Lord Rushton said, “but if I fought every man who didn’t want his child fraternizing with the English, I would have dawn appointments from now until Kingdom Come. Where is my father, by the way?”
“I haven’t seen him since you arrived.”
“You told Burns he was not here. Leslie, you lied to a guest?”
She gave a disdainful sniff. “I knew if I went to look for the laird, that fool would begin his own search. I couldn’t let him run free in the castle.”
“You’re quite right.” Lord Rushton winked, and Eve had to bite back a laugh. “Then I would have been forced to challenge him to a duel. You saved me.”
The maid blushed. “You exaggerate.”
“I never exaggerate. I suppose you had better run along now.” She left and he faced Eve. “You look a little more the thing than you did when we arrived earlier.”
“I am somewhat rested,” she replied.
“Will you walk with me to the great hall? We might be able to scrounge up some tea.”
She would rather do anything than spend time with him—especially alone—but she had to speak with him. Eve smiled. “Tea would be heavenly.”
He startled her by grasping her hand and placing it in the crook of his arm. Eve’s heart leapt and the urge to cry unexpectedly rushed to the surface. Dear God, she had to find a way to stop reacting to his touch.
“I half expected Lord Burns to call you out,” she said in what she prayed was a half amused tone.
His hand fell away from hers and left her aware of the play of muscle in his forearm as he walked, which was little better than the warmth of his fingers.
“The marquess wouldn’t take lightly a challenge made to his son in his own home. I suspect Burns knew that and it squashed the impulse,” he replied.
“I wanted to shoot him myself,” she said.
“We really must do something about your penchant for shooting men, my dear.”
She laughed. “That has more to do with the men I have been associating with of late. You must admit, Lord Burns would have deserved a bullet in his leg.”
“Perhaps, but it is far less dangerous to be the one making the challenge.”
“That is nonsensical. There is no difference.”
He smiled indulgently. “You have clearly never fought a duel.”
They entered the corridor and Eve started to precede him down the narrow passage, but he laid a hand on hers, preventing her from pulling away. His fingers exerted gentle pressure and Eve fought the impulse to look down at his hand, which felt as if it had swallowed hers in warmth.
“I am surprised you would suggest I engage in another duel.” His deep voice caressed her like the soothing water of a brook. “You seemed quite overwrought when I challenged Neville.”
Her stomach somersaulted in response to the remembered fear that he would die in that duel. “You were so set on dueling with Lord Halifax that I assumed it was a hobby of yours.”
“Ah, but he deserved it. Burns, on the other hand, isn’t worth the risk I would have to flee the Continent.”
She looked sharply at him. “What?”
He smiled down at her. “Not every battle is worth fighting.”
Her stomach did another, harder, somersault. “You are a strange man.” Eve realized what she’d said and clapped her free hand over her mouth.
His eyes lit with amusement. “And you are a very unusual woman.”
She removed the hand from her mouth. “That is not a compliment.”
“But it is.”
They turned a corner and Eve watched the floor ahead of her. “Do you think Lord Burns will truly help apprehend the press gang? What is your plan? You didn’t tell me what happened.”
“Not my plan, Miss Crenshaw. Ash will deal with the slavers.”
“But you told Lord Burns you wanted to speak with him about them.”
“Yes. I will apprise him and James of what happened. They might be able to provide information that will aid Ash in discovering the slaver’s destination.”
A strange melancholy seeped through her. “Of course. You won’t remain in Scotland long enough to help.”
“Sadly, I will not.”
“I am surprised you can do without the pleasures of London long enough to marry.” The words barely passed her lips and she wondered what kind of idiot she was for opening that can of worms.
“I know my duty,” he said with such obvious amusement that she wanted to box his ears.
“You had better speak with Lord Burns before he has a chance to remember why he came here,” Eve said. Lord, she had to change the subject. “I saw what you did to him.”
“What did I do to him?”
“You turned him from a charging bull to a supporter.” A light began to glimmer in her mind. “Now that I think of it, you got Leslie to nigh worship you.” And all with a wink.
“Worship me?” He laughed heartily. “You have a way with words, Miss Crenshaw.”
Eve looked at him. “You—you are doing it to me! Good Lord, I see it now. You’ve been doing it all along. Oscar was determined to kidnap you, but he scarcely had you inside the carriage before you charmed him into chasing after me instead. Lord Somerset follows your commands without a whimper when only days ago he wanted to challenge you to a duel.”
“Challenge me to a duel?” Lord Rushton frowned. “Why on earth would he do that?”
“Don’t pretend you have forgotten when you walked in on him and I at—oh, whatever party it was. He was furious with you.”
“I do seem to recall he was overset, but surely it wasn’t so bad that he wanted to shoot me?”
“You know he wanted to shoot you.” As did she. Eve was beginning to feel the urge yet again, then the last piece of the puzzle fell into place and she understood the thought that had begun to form when she observed how the earl handled Lord Burns. “You are a diplomat!”
He looked at her in surprise. “I think you overestimate my abilities.”
“I highly doubt that.”
He considered for two heartbeats. “I am…able bodied.”
Eve’s pulse stuttered. What was he saying?
“Of course, I have yet to prove just how able bodied.” His fingers flexed on her hand and her stomach quivered— as it had last night just before she’d melted beneath his touch. “But I stand ready to command.”
Ready to command? Scorching heat crept up her cheeks.
They turned another corner and a massive room came into view a few feet ahead. They entered and Eve was forced to concentrate on each step her legs took as he continued toward the long table in front of a massive hearth. His hand stubbornly remained on hers and she felt as if she were heating up like the large pot that hung over the fire.
Tapestries adorned the walls, illuminated by a scattering of lit sconces. Through an open doorway near the fireplace, Eve glimpsed a woman opening the door to a large stove and wished with all her might she could return to her room. Her cheeks were blazing. If any of the women saw her they would surely know something improper had passed between her and Lord Rushton.
“Will we dine here?” Eve asked.
“Not tonight. This room is reserved for larger parties.”
“You might consider just such a party. I can see the room filled with ladies and gentleman dancing. Grace is a wonderful dancer. She would be delighted to partner with you.”
“Madam, I have no intention of stepping into the lion’s den.”
Before Eve could reply, a woman stuck her head out of the kitchen. “Good afternoon, Laird.” Her gaze shifted to Eve.
“Belinda, this is Miss Crenshaw. Miss Crenshaw, may I present the honorable Mrs. Henderson. She is the housekeeper I mentioned earlier.”
Eve smiled. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”
“And you,” she replied. “Would ye like a bite to eat?”
“Belinda is the best cook in all the Highlands,” Lord Rushton said. “Perhaps as good as your Mrs. Larson.”
He remembered her cook’s name? Heaven help her. Eve smiled at Mrs. Henderson. “Just tea, if it isn’t too much trouble. The long journey is beginning to catch up with me.”
“Unexpected trips have a way of doing that,” he said.
Eve startled. Was he reminding her of his kidnapping? “Beware,” she said with asperity, “there is yet time for more surprises.”
“You have a perverse sense of humor, Miss Crenshaw,” he said, then added, “Tea, Belinda. I believe the lady needs fortification.”
Mrs. Henderson ducked back into the kitchen, and Lord Rushton said, “Shall we sit?” he nodded to the bench at the long table.
Eve nodded and sat down as she said, “My lord, Grace and I cannot simply rusticate here as if on holiday. You must marry Grace and I will return home with the news to my father.”
He sat down beside her. “I don’t think so.”
Eve was caught off guard by his quick response. “If he doesn’t hear from us soon, he will come in search of us and I assure you, he will not be pleasant.”
“If you return home unmarried, he certainly will be unpleasant.”
“I can deal with my father,” she said.
“Miss Crenshaw, you aren’t an idiot. You know he won’t let you remain unmarried.”
“That is not your concern.”
“But it is.”
“It is selfish to force me to marry you because you want Grace less than you want me—and I do not want you.”
He shrugged. “I think you do.”
Her mouth opened in shock. “You are an arrogant ass.”
“You cannot have only just noticed that.”
“Let me be clear—” From the corner of her eye, Eve spied a girl emerge from the kitchen with a tea tray. Eve waited until she set the tray on the table and left before continuing, “I have no intention of marrying you because you made the mistake of coming into my room.”
“Will the fact you had me kidnapped do?”
“You, sir, are not a gentleman!”
“Sadly, I am not.”
Eve stared. “You are purposely being obstinate.”
“I believe I once pointed out that we are alike.”
“l will not make you a good wife.”
“I see.” he nodded. “I said I will make a bad husband, so you are responding in kind.”
She shook her head impatiently. “You misunderstand. I will not remain here in Scotland.”
“That is fortunate, for neither shall I.”
Dread stuck like a knife clear to her soul. She envisioned them retuning to London—and him returning to the women he touched just as he had her. “What I mean is, that I shall never return to Society,” she quickly added.
“May I ask why?”
“I cannot be a Society wife,” she said.
“Exactly what is a Society wife?”
“A woman who marries out of obligation, then looks the other way while her husband lives his own life.” And she lives her own life, Eve privately added. “Grace can do that. I cannot. But, my lord, you would not flaunt your mistress in front of her, would you?”
“I do not keep a mistress,” he said coolly.
“That is only because even a mistress would not countenance a protector who fraternizes with other women like a butterfly flits from flower to flower.”
“Flits from—Madam, I do not flit.”
“Of course you do, but you will not do so after you are married—” at least she prayed not “—which means you will then keep a mistress as discreetly as other men of your station.”
“Married folk have lived together with just that sort of arrangement for eons,” he said.
“Not all. But you will, for you must choose a bride not out of love, but on the basis of her qualifications.”
“I think, my dear, the choice has been made.”
”Sir,” she began, then hesitated. “In Society, a wife cannot become too attached to her husband. I know this will sound foolish to a man like you but, well, I had rather planned on liking my husband.”
“And you do not like me?”
“No—I mean, yes. Oh, you know perfectly well what I mean.”
“You had hoped to form a more serious attachment than that permitted an earl?”
She nodded. “Forgive me, my lord, but that is your life. Not mine.”
“It seems my life is not to be envied,” he murmured.
“I did not mean it that way.”
He gave her a gentle smile. “I know.”
His gaze moved past her and Eve looked over her shoulder. A tall, older man strode toward them.
Lord Rushton leaned toward her and whispered, “Gather your wits, lass. You are about to meet the marquess.”