Chapter Thirteen
Reclining on a comfortable settee in the library, Evelyn savored the quiet. She’d slipped away from the others and their happy, boisterous conversation, seeking a few minutes of peace before she had to put herself in their midst once again and pretend to enjoy the good-natured but incessant banter. Only the steady swish of the pendulum on the longcase clock broke through the silence. After the chaos and noise of the day, the chamber seemed a welcome sanctuary.
Thumbing through a novel, she debated her choice. All in all, the story seemed a sad, rather dreary tale, not quite to her taste. She much preferred a rousing good yarn with adventure, a stout-hearted heroine, and perhaps a ghost or two. She’d scanned the shelves quite thoroughly, but had not come across any volume that seemed more to her liking. She sighed. At the very least, the leather-bound tome might prove tedious enough to lull her to sleep.
Across the room, the door creaked open with a noisy protest. Given the considerable size of the household staff, it seemed a wonder no one had been tasked with oiling the stubborn hinge. Perhaps the squeak was a blessing in disguise. It provided a moment of warning, just enough time to prepare herself to face the gorgeous Scot who entered the room.
Gerard cut the distance between them with relaxed strides. “I thought I might find ye here.”
“Did you now?” She grinned. Why did it please her so to think he’d come here not to read, or retreat from the others, but to see her?
He towered over her, watching her with a thoughtful expression. “Aye, Miss Brennan mentioned ye might be seeking some peace and quiet.”
“At times, I crave a bit of solitude. I enjoy a stimulating conversation. But, if I may be frank, sometimes the banter over fripperies and such is a bit too much to bear.” She motioned to an adjacent chair, an overstuffed wingchair upholstered with enormous pink peonies. “Please, do take a seat. I would appreciate the opportunity to speak with you without an audience. Provided, of course, you do not speak of hats, gowns, or the correct tension for lacing a corset.”
He made no move to the chair. Rather, he rocked back on his heels, contemplating her words.
“I’ve no knowledge of the proper lacing of a corset. My area of expertise would be in removing them.” The twinkle in his eyes lent an endearing note of humor to his scandalous statement.
“Is that so?”
“The act of undressing a woman should be an erotic experience. Would ye not agree?”
He is a daring one, isn’t he? Evelyn’s mouth went dry, and for a heartbeat, perhaps two, she considered how his large, warm hands would feel on her body as he peeled away each layer of clothing with an artist’s attention to detail.
“That goes without saying, doesn’t it, Mr. MacMasters?” She managed to keep her voice steady. Quite a miracle, that.
He gave a solemn nod. A lock of dark hair brushed his brow, adding an unexpected appeal to his features. Did he have any idea how tempting she’d found the flavor of his kiss?
“Ye’re a beautiful woman, Lady Evelyn. It wouldnae matter what ye were wearing. A blind man would’ve been aroused by the sight of ye wrapped in that towel.”
Heat crept over her skin, gliding over her breasts, warming her throat and face. She set the book aside, struggling to maintain a placid facade. “A gentleman would not have looked.”
“Gentleman?” He laughed softly under his breath. “That’s not a name I generally answer to. Any man who claimed he did not look at a beauty immersed in a tub would be either blind or a liar. A gentleman might pretend to avert his attention, but the man would look. Believe me, he’d steal a glance.”
“I suppose I should appreciate your honesty.” She pinned him with her gaze. “In any case, that was a very bold thing you did at supper. Lady Houghton was not pleased with you. If those daggers in her eyes had been real, you’d be in a very bad way.”
“I dinnae concern myself with what that slip of a lass thinks of me. There’s nothing bold about it. I am an honest man, for the most part.”
“For the most part?”
“Aye.” He ran long fingers through his hair. “Only a fool or a deceiver would claim he never lies.”
“A very good point,” she agreed. “Mr. MacMasters, I’ve been meaning to—”
“Please…use my given name—Gerard.”
She steadied her voice. “I prefer to refrain from such familiarity.”
Slowly, he shook his head. “Lass, I’d say we passed that point when I tasted that sweet mouth of yers.”
“I disagree.” Folding her arms at the waist, she met his eyes. “That was a very foolish thing we did. I would prefer that you not speak of it. I would also prefer that you continue to address me as Lady Evelyn.”
“I assume that does not include while I’m kissing ye.”
“As I do not foresee a recurrence of that momentary madness, your assumption is not relevant.”
He cocked a dark brow. “Madness, is it?”
“We were playing a very risky game. If we’d been spotted…well, I do not even want to consider the consequences.”
“I kissed ye, lass. No man in this place would question my reasons.” A grin played on his lips. “It’s not as if I tossed up yer skirts and had my way with ye.”
He was wicked. By all rights, she should be appalled. A true lady would deliver a sound slap in response. Even as a fallen woman, she should be shocked, if only just a bit. So why did his words spur her pulse—and not with the slightest shred of indignation? Why did the very thought of this man having his way with her, a phrase she normally found rather melodramatic, conjure an image in her mind so erotic, her rebellious flesh craved his touch?
Very well. She’d simply have to douse the heat he kindled. If she didn’t gain control of her own longings, her time in Scotland would prove exceedingly trying. There was no denying the temptation in the Scot’s amber eyes.
Pity she’d have to steel herself. Against him. Against her own desires. This was neither the time nor the place to pursue an impetuous affair, much less with a Scot whose amber gaze intoxicated her.
She would be the bridesmaid—and the friend—Sally deserved. For so very long, Sally had stood by her, through joy-filled moments and that dark, heartbreaking time after Nigel had shattered both her heart and her reputation. When so many so-called friends had turned their backs on her, as if they might be tainted by the merest association, Sally had remained loyal.
Pulling in a breath, she prepared a logical response, one that not even a man like him could pull to pieces. “Be that as it may, I abhor gossip, and I do not wish to give any barbed tongues fodder. I realize I may have created the wrong impression. After all, I was unduly cheeky when you came upon me after my unfortunate massacre of Lady Houghton’s plants. I simply could not resist a bit of teasing, if only to see the shocked expression on her pinched lips. Please rest assured that I was playing it for effect.”
He nodded solemnly. “Aye, I do understand.”
“You see, I am not truly willing to dare a scandal. In fact, while I am here for the wedding, I cannot afford the slightest semblance of impropriety.”
“I will try to remember that.”
“In addition, I know nothing about you. I’ve no inkling of your character.”
“Not true, lass. Ye’ve even spoken to my heroism.” He grinned, too dratted ingratiating for her own good. “After all, I came to the rescue while we were in Inverness.”
“Rescue? You came into the shop and looked about a bit. The villain—or villains, depending upon whether or not I was roundly deceived by the fellow I believed had been grievously injured—was long gone by then. I’d hardly describe that as a rescue.”
“Am I to believe ye were referring to some other strapping Scot when ye were speaking to Lady Houghton?”
She sighed. “As you might imagine, that remark falls under the category of teasing I mentioned just a moment ago.”
“Och, lass, I had not taken ye for a cruel miss. Fortunately, only my pride has suffered.”
Considering his claim of being wounded, he certainly did look pleased with himself, as if he’d come upon the answer to a riddle that vexed him.
“That was not my intention, but I suppose I might take that as something as a bonus. I merely stated a fact.”
“Indeed, ye did. Truth be told, ye were not in need of rescue. Ye had courage, lass. I can sense ye’ve got spleen.”
“I would not describe what I felt during those moments in the shop as courage. Not really. I can only guess what I might’ve done if that woman had turned from the door and come after me. I’d like to think I would not have tucked away my intention to help that man and scurried out the door.” She pictured the scene in her mind. A little shiver coursed along her spine. “Perhaps I might’ve employed one of those dusty books as a weapon. Death by Chaucer would be a rather unique way to go, I’d say.”
He took a seat in the chair and stretched out his long legs. The fabric of his proper English trousers pulled taut against the powerful muscles in his thighs. Perhaps that was the reason Scottish warriors of old had favored kilts…perhaps they preferred the freedom the length of plaid would offer, particularly in view of their masculine builds…and other more-than-ample parts of their male anatomy.
Biting back a sly smile, she shuffled the scandalous thought to that dungeon in her mind. At this rate, the imaginary chamber would be bursting at the seams.
His expression became contemplative. “As I recall, my study of The Canterbury Tales seemed a slow death, so that tome would have proved a fitting weapon, indeed.”
“You’ve read Chaucer?”
“Aye.” His mouth slid into a cocky grin. “And I’ll have ye know this Highlander can even write his own name without assistance.”
She gave her head a little shake. “I did not mean to imply—”
He laughed, a hearty, genuine sound. “I am merely teasin’ ye, lass.”
“Well, that’s a relief. After the misadventures I’ve had today, I certainly would not want to cause offense.”
“Ye’ve had quite a time of it today, haven’t ye?”
“You might say that.” She propped her elbow on the arm of the settee and rested her chin on her hand. “So, you’ve no taste for Chaucer.”
“There’s a bawdy element to the tale—its saving grace, in my opinion. My mother insisted on a proper education for her children. Da had no use for literature, much less English literature. But Ma believed her sons and daughters should be prepared to hold their own in a discussion, whether with a Highland shepherd or an English lord.”
“A wise woman.”
“Indeed, that she is… She’s a woman of spirit, with a mind of her own. As a lass, Ma had her choice of aristocrats bidding for her hand—one arrogant bastard attempted to coerce her into marriage against her wishes. But after she ran off to marry my father, she never looked back.” Warmth infused his description as pride flared in his eyes.
His words touch my heart. When he was brash and bold, this man was undeniably appealing. But when he dropped the cocky mask, he was nearly irresistible. Meeting his dark gaze, she pulled in a breath, even as her stomach did a little somersault.
“How very romantic.”
He shrugged. “I know nothing of romance, lass. But my ma and da have been through the good and the bad. When they married, they had a rough go of it for a few years. But through it all, they had one thing in their favor.”
“And what is that, Mr. MacMasters?”
“The bond between them is unbreakable.” He pulled in a breath and released it slowly. “Only death will pull them apart.”
Was that pain in his low tones? He’d put an emphasis on the word death. She hadn’t imagined that, had she?
Wishing to lighten the conversation, she turned to a bland topic. “You mentioned your parents have sons and daughters. I’ve made Harrison’s acquaintance. How many siblings do you have in all?”
“Five brothers… Four now, since one went to his grave far too young…and two sisters.” A soft smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Ye would like my sisters. Maggie, especially. She’s a spirited one. The two of ye have that in common.”
“Tell me about her.”
“Ah, she’s a rebel, always sneaking to read some sensation novel or other when Ma would have her reading Rabbie Burns’ verse. She’s taken to wearing trousers, of all things.”
“Really?”
“The way I understand it, she’s altered some of her skirts. At first glance, ye might not realize she’s actually wearing wide-legged trousers.”
“That seems a rather sensible idea to me.” Evelyn considered it. “Now that you mention it, I’d love to try something along those lines.”
“Given what I’ve seen of ye, ye’d fill them out in the right places.”
His sly expression conjured a fresh wave of heat to her cheeks. She cleared her throat. “You are close to your family, aren’t you?”
He nodded. “We’re all very different people, and distance and our work often separate us. But there’s no breaking the bonds of the MacMasters.”
Bonds. What would it be like to have true and enduring bonds with others? The question seemed a puzzle she’d never be able to solve.
Gerard leaned closer, resting his elbows on his knees. “And what of your family?”
“My parents are still united by their vows, but little more.”
Odd, how bitter the truth tasted despite her light tone. Her mother and father had been married for decades, yet there appeared to be little truly binding them together other than a shared name and a shared house. Mama was loving, in her own way. Preoccupied with social engagements and her status among London’s elite, Mama was always coming and going, taking time to issue directives to the household staff while leaving the raising of her children to a series of nannies and governesses. Her father had spent his life guarding his good name and managing his estate—their elegant home in Mayfair, the country home with a stable and horses, and a hunting lodge where Papa could escape the demands of his wife.
“You have siblings, do ye not?”
An image of her ever-serious brother flickered in Evelyn’s thoughts. The heir—as she’d long regarded him—had been groomed for his future title since childhood. There’d been no mischief, no fun to be had with her somber elder sibling. Why, if it wasn’t for the way their eyes shared the deep indigo hue that matched her birthstone, one might never suppose they were kin.
“Only one—a brother,” she said, the words surprisingly unpleasant. “Lord David has taken pains to distance himself from the Tarnished Bride. Guilt by association, you see.”
Gerard gave a thoughtful nod. “The man should have no such concerns. He’s yer brother—he should be defendin’ yer name.”
His expression made it clear he meant every word. “I take it you would defend your sisters against a scoundrel.”
“How could I consider myself a man if I didnae look out for my kin?”
“Quite so,” she said, considering his words. What would it be like to have a man such as Gerard MacMasters watching over her—protecting her?
His golden-brown irises darkened as he studied her face. “Ye’re a lady. Dinnae ever let anyone tell ye otherwise. Ye deserve to be treated as such.”
“A lady? Indeed…” She tilted her head, taking him in. “Some might say a lady would not have indulged in a scandalous kiss.”
“If ye were not a lady, I might’ve pressed my case for more. A kiss is only the beginning.”
Her mouth went dry. Devil take it, the promise in his words was far too enticing.
Pulling in a low breath, she clung to her fragile composure. “I assure you, your efforts would’ve been for naught.”
“A man could interpret that as a challenge.” He reached out, sweeping away a curl that had rebelliously escaped the confines of her chignon. “I could change your mind.”
“You might try,” she teased. “But you would not succeed.”
A knowing grin lit his eyes as he leaned back, settling his powerful body against the tufted upholstery of the Chippendale chair. “Damnable shame these bones of mine are weary tonight, or I’d put that challenge to the test.”
It was her turn to hike a brow. “Am I to infer you are not up to the task?”
“Nay, lass.” His voice had lost its undercurrent of humor. “Seduction isnae a task. Seduction is a pleasure to be savored—all through the night.”
The intensity of his gaze drew her in. For the briefest of moments, she thought—no, hoped was the more honest word—he might reach for her, might take her in his arms and kiss her again.
But he didn’t. Instead, he watched her, regarding her with a look that seemed to read her very thoughts—seemed to perceive the true longing she held in her heart.
She swallowed hard against the yearning. “All through the night? How very tempting. You are a cheeky one, aren’t you?”
He paused, casting his attention to the sideboard near the heavily curtained window. Rising, he crossed the room and poured what appeared to be whisky from a decanter embellished with a flamboyant H. “Would ye care for a drink?”
“No, thank you. I’ve no taste for the stuff.”
He downed a hearty draught, then crossed back to her, glass in hand. “I had business today in Inverness, a rather dull matter. Seeing ye there on that street—I cannae say I’ve ever encountered a more beautiful distraction.”
“Flattery, Mr. MacMasters? Should that impress me?” For some reason she couldn’t quite explain, she rather enjoyed envisioning herself as a distraction to a handsome rake, but she certainly couldn’t let him see that.
“I only speak the truth. After I spotted ye, I couldnae keep my mind on anything but you.” A pleasing gruffness flavored his words. Steepling his fingers, he studied her. “How was it ye came to be in Graham’s shop? Ye’d left yer companions behind.”
“The bookseller’s wares offered an escape from the milliner’s shop,” she said truthfully.
“An escape, was it?” His mouth curved at the corners. “Might I ask why a lass would need to escape such a place?”
“Lady Houghton insisted we visit the shop. Evidently, she saw a pressing need for new headpieces… We could not possibly consider attending Lady Spencer’s ball with a bit of feathered fluff that had been previously seen in public, or so Catriona—Lady Houghton— decreed.”
“That one…she is a formidable lass.”
Evelyn nibbled her bottom lip, willing herself to hold back the first thought that came to her mind. “Indeed. The heat and the ceaseless chatter, not to mention the cramped space, soon became intolerable for me. Hats and ladies everywhere. I needed fresh air… I needed to escape, if only for a few minutes.”
He nodded his understanding. “As ye saw, I was of a mind to make my escape as well.”
“It is difficult for me to maintain my composure in a crowded, noisy place. I ventured to the bookseller’s shop seeking a quiet refuge. Pity it did not go as I’d planned.”
His expression turned darker. “The old man ye came upon… Ye said he spoke of dragons.”
“It was rather odd. He mentioned a dragon…a dragon’s eyes.”
“Tell me, lass, did he say anything else…something intended to distract ye, perhaps?”
The winged, fire-breathing image on the card flashed into her thoughts. The card’s existence might well be a secret she should hold close. Regardless of how charming Gerard MacMasters was when he smiled, she needed to keep her head about her. Something about the situation provoked a prickle of warning she’d be a fool to ignore. His arrival, followed so soon by his brother’s, seemed too convenient, and his questions about what had occurred in the bookseller’s shop did nothing to quell her suspicions.
“No,” she said. The single syllable sounded strained, even to her own ears.
His eyes narrowed, as if he’d detected the falsehood. “How long were ye in the shop?”
“A minute or two before I spotted that horrid woman.”
“If ye saw her now, would ye recognize her?”
A rather odd question. Why would that interest him?
“She wore a veil, heavy and black. There was no way to make out her features.”
“Did she see ye?”
“I’m quite certain she did. I could not see her face, but I sensed…contact. It felt as if she had me in her sights.” She paused, pulling in a breath. Even now, the thought of that criminal watching her like a predator, studying her with eyes Evelyn could not see, peppered her skin with chills.
He dropped his gaze to the whisky in his hand. “The old man… He gave no clue as to what his attacker was after?”
The truth played on the tip of her tongue, but again, she thought better of revealing her secrets. “Why are you asking me these questions? Did you learn anything about the assailant after our carriage departed the city?” She searched his face. “Do I have reason to be concerned?”
“I dinnae believe ye’ve cause to worry over it, but ye must remain vigilant.” His voice had grown suddenly somber. “It is possible that ye could be in danger. If ye see anything amiss, ye need to tell me. I will protect ye. Believe me when I say that.”
“I do not expect you to act as my protector. That is most definitely not your responsibility.”
He set his glass aside. Slowly, gently, he reached for her hand. Amazing, how reassuring the simple touch was, how comforting the warmth of his skin against hers.
“Any of the men in this place would see it as their responsibility. They will not hesitate to come to a lass’s defense. If the criminals are foolish enough to seek you out, they will regret their actions.” He lightly squeezed her hand. “Ye see, lass—the men of the Highlands do not run from a fight.”