Chapter 10
Sleeping with Meredith in the house had proven to be sheer hell.
John swigged his coffee with dedicated passion, desperate to attain a slightly higher level of awareness.
It infuriated him. The way she’d penetrated his hard shell. He spoke of his mother to no one. Not the way he had done with her.
And he would reveal no more.
Pity was the last thing he wanted.
He’d abhorred the sorrow he’d seen in her beautiful eyes. But, perhaps, Merry needed to hear what could happen to a woman who chose the wrong path.
His mother’s path.
It ended in death, pain and sorrow.
It wasn’t about sin. It wasn’t about morality. It was life and death. A woman’s life was precarious and oft determined by men. How to protect her? Well, he’d make certain she was not beaten about by society.
Stepping away from the breakfast table, he wandered to the diamond-paned windows which overlooked the small garden whose plants had just begun to bud.
To his dismay, Merry was dashing about the grass, being chased by a wolfhound. It wasn’t that she was there or running that dismayed him. It was how the sight of her immediately gladdened him.
The big grey dog was bounding with excitement and she was laughing delightedly.
How was it possible? How could she be so bloody cheerful given what had happened just the night before?
But there she was. Her plain frock plastering against her body in the Highland wind.
Rosy cheeked, she clapped her hands together then rubbed the dog’s head.
The animal, besotted, plopped itself down then rolled onto its back.
She grinned, crouched down, and rubbed his belly.
John frowned.
Bucolic pleasures were foreign to him.
At least the Highlands wasn’t as bad as the south where everyone seemed bloody contented to live off the backs of those locked in poverty.
No, there was a hardiness and strength to the Scots he was forced to admire. The climate certainly had something to do with. In fact, he loved it here in a way he’d never thought possible. But it was undeniable. Much like the young woman on the lawn, this land had awoken something within him he’d long thought dormant.
Passion.
The door slammed open and the Duke of Clyde stormed through.
Macleish raced at his heels. “Your Grace! Your Grace, please. I beg of ye!”
Still, His Grace could apparently not be begged.
John lifted his coffee cup in salute. “Duke. And how might I assist you today?”
The duke, who looked like a black cloud on a good day, fairly thundered. His dark hair was wild about his tortured face. “I hear ye’ve kidnapped the vicar’s niece.”
John choked on his coffee and sputtered. He coughed then patted his coat sleeve. “You know, I hate stains. Coffee stains terribly, don’t you know.”
“Good God, man,” the duke spat. “Ken ye, what foolery ye’ve engaged in? Send her back.”
“Send her back?” John echoed before very carefully placing the porcelain cup on the window ledge.
“Aye!” the duke growled, positively bristling.
“To that ass?” John challenged. “You yourself called him parsimonious.”
The duke blew out a disgusted breath. “’Tis no reason to debauch his-”
“Debauch?” John paused. Perhaps he truly should have beaten the vicar into the floor then thrown him into the loch. “What the devil did the old stick say?”
The duke hesitated, his gaze narrowing. “That ye’d had yer way with his niece. That ye’d corrupted her and taken her away to yer castle.”
John threw back his head and bellowed with laughter, even as anger simmered through him at the old man’s disgusting but not terribly incorrect accusations. He hadn’t dragged her off. He hadn’t corrupter her. . . But he wished to.
“Good grief,” John dismissed. “I do wonder if the man reads Mrs. Radcliffe’s novels.”
The duke scowled. “Aloud, now that I repeat it, it does sound. . .”
“A trifle far-fetched?” John offered.
“Ye seem to have the devil’s own soul,” the duke replied, his competitive stance easing. “So, I couldna put it past ye. Ye ken.”
“I ken.”
The sound of laughter drifted up from the garden and the duke’s gaze narrowed, his scar tightening. “Is that the lass?”
“It is,” John confirmed.
The duke flexed his hands. “Will I be calling ye out?”
“Dear God,” John lamented with exaggerated theatrics. “I hope not. My brother would never forgive me if I killed a duke.”
Clyde snorted. “Ye think ye’d kill me, do ye?”
“Yes.”
The duke growled. “We willna chance it. If ye can assure me she’s no’ been in yer bed.”
John grinned and waggled his brows. “Oh, she has.”
The duke’s hands curled into fists. “Ye bastard.”
“I am a bastard,” John replied coldly. “But calm yourself. I haven’t corrupted the lass. I have dozens of beds in this pile of rocks and she did, indeed, sleep in one of them. You see, I do like to be exact.”
“I ought to knock yer teeth out.” The duke drew in a long breath. “But I suppose we’d merely end up toothless, the pair of us.”
“Likely.”
Folding his arms over his bear-like chest, the Scot demanded, “Explain.”
“Your Grace, let me be plain. I’m not accustomed to explaining myself.” John inclined his head. “Not even to a duke.”
“I suppose I should admire ye for it. But at present, given a lady’s honor is at stake, I canna.”
It was tempting to laugh and, yet, there was something so damned earnest about the stoic Scotsman that he found himself answering. “The lady was being verbally abused in the most harsh terms by her uncle. I heard it and found I couldn’t support leaving her in such care. My housekeeper is seeing to her wellbeing. I assure you, I have no designs on her. Far from it. I hope to help her to find a good match as soon as possible.”
The duke’s scowl softened. “I never did like her uncle. A pinched, mean man.”
“Exactly so.” John’s lip curled as he felt distaste. “And a quite twisted view of women.”
“Some men hate women,” the duke agreed. “I dinna see how, but they do.”
“It has to do with temptation.” John smiled tightly. “Really they should hate themselves for their desires. Instead, they damn what they long for.”
“A tragic irony.”
“Indeed.”
“Still, I canna look away from this particularly scandalous situation.” The duke leveled John with a hard stare. “Either the lady will come to stay with me and my sister or my sister will come to stay here.”
“Your sister?” John fought an inward groan. He didn’t like company and it seemed now he was about to have a great deal. “Wouldn’t that be scandalous?”
“My sister is a widow and she kens her way about a man. . . And a pistol.”
John cleared his throat. “Tempting as it is to decide for her, I suppose we should consult the lady.”
A look of surprise filled Clyde’s eyes. “Good.”
“You know, I’ve been in Scotland less than a week and I must say it’s far more exciting than I thought it would be.”
The duke laughed. “Wait until hunting season.”
“Hunting who?” John asked lightly.
The duke said nothing, merely grinned. “Let’s go down to her then.”
“Yes.” And as they headed out into the main hall, down the wide, outside stairs and to the gardens, John felt a strange sort of anticipation. What would she say?
Almost certainly, she’d go with Clyde. She hated him. And well, what lady wouldn’t wish to stay in the home of a duke and his sister?
Just as they approached, the wolfhound whipped around and charged towards the duke.
John felt alarm as the giant beast vaulted forward. But then the duke held his arms out and wrapped them about the feisty animal. In a surprisingly loving gesture, the Scot patted the massive, happy dog’s chest.
“Good lad,” the duke cooed. Cooed “Good lad.”
“That’s your dog?” John asked.
“Aye. He goes everywhere with me. But I let him roam ahead. He’d never hurt a person.” Without missing a beat the duke added, “Unless I commanded him to.”
John nodded. “Of course.”
Why was he surprised that the giant of a man had a giant of a dog?
Meredith veritably skipped towards them. Her face was shining with pleasure.
Good God, it was disconcerting the way she seemed to enjoy just the simplest of things.
“He’s yours?” she confirmed.
The duke nodded.
She bent and patted her leg, urging him to return. “Lovely boy.”
The dog gave an excited bark and raced back to her, brushing her with his side and nearly knocking her over in the process.
A delighted laugh rippled from her as she rubbed his back.
“He’s taken with ye, Miss Trent,” the duke said, surprised.
“And I with him,” she enthused.
All this mutual admiration was very nearly off putting and John really had no idea what to add. So, he stated, “The duke is concerned about you.”
She snapped her gaze from one man to the next. “Indeed?”
“Lass, I’ve heard ye were most abused,” the duke said kindly. “And I willna allow ye to be in a circumstance that’ll blacken yer reputation.”
“Oh?” A strange sort of displeasure seemed to harden her smile, but smile she still did.
John wondered if the duke could tell.
“I thank you, but I am in no jeopardy,” she said brightly.
“That may be.” The duke folded his arms across his chest again, clearly ready to lay down the law, if necessary. “But it is my duty as the chief of the area to ensure yer good name. . . Unless ye’re happy to be free of it.”
“No,” she corrected. “I do like my good name.”
Relief softened Clyde’s hard look. “Well, then. Ye’re to come and stay with me and be supervised by my sister.”
A frown furrowed her brow as her gaze turned to John.
“There is an alternative,” John added.
“Och. Aye.” The duke frowned. “Ye can stay here, if ye wish. But my sister will come and keep ye company. I’ll no’ have any untoward behavior.”
“The duke is of the chivalrous variety,” John whispered sotto voce.
“Ye say it as if it’s something to be ashamed of, man,” Clyde barked.
“No. Not at all.” John held up his hands. “In fact, I admire your rather unique attitude.”
Meredith turned to the duke. “Even so, I find I am happy here.”
The duke’s good cheer dimmed. “Are ye?”
“Oh yes. The earl came to my rescue and we have an understanding.”
“Hmmm.” The duke shrugged, clearly unwilling to force his will on them. “If ye insist.”
“I do.”
“Ye’ll come to my ball in a few days’ time?” Clyde checked.
“Of course,” she assured happily. “I love to dance. And if your sister does come to stay, it will be pleasant to have her company before I return to London.”
“Return?” Clyde repeated as he shook his head.
She smiled with beauty. “Did the earl not tell you?”
John waited with bated breath. What the devil was she up to?
Standing straight, she announced, “The Duke of Huntsdown and his wife are sponsoring my Season which, as you know, begins quite soon.”
The duke visibly shuddered. But then he cleared his throat. “Glad to hear it. Good fellow, Huntsdown. Met him on the continent. Terrible about that scandal last year.”
Meredith’s enjoyment dimmed perceptibly.
It seemed he was going to have to teach her about navigating awkward conversations as well as the handling of men. For if she wasn’t careful, some wise soul would notice her reactions and draw unpleasant conclusions.
“It was a most unfortunate event,” John cut in. “Regrets all around about the unfortunate Miss Emmaline.”
“Gone to France as I here,” the duke said woefully. He shook his head as if it were the worst thing that could happen to a person.
“She’s my cousin,” Meredith said tightly.
“Is she?” the duke inquired kindly. ”So, ye ken how important it is for a lady to protect her good name. Yer cousin had done nothing wrong and yet she was ruined.”
“That’s right,” she agreed, her face paling. “It seems that ladies often have little control over their good names, no matter what they do.”
John flinched. How right she was. Life often happened to women. He had happened to her. He had happened to Emmaline. His father had happened to his mother.
John swallowed, trying not to rattle away in regret. No. He was, at least, on the right path now.
The duke’s sympathy was evident in his stance. Though he was a beast of a man, there was infinite gentleness to him, speaking with Meredith. “Are ye certain, lass? Ye wouldna prefer to stay at my estate?”
“You’re so very kind. But this is where I belong at the moment.” She clasped her hands demurely. “The village is just over the ben and I must pay calls before I depart.”
“Very well,” Clyde agreed. “I’ll send my sister this afternoon then.”
She curtsied.
“Come, boy!” the duke called. He bowed then strode from the garden without another word.
The dog followed him with a jaunty step.
“So,” John began. “Not wasting time are you?”
“Should I?” she asked. “I adore this place, but I’m not likely to find a husband here.”
“You love Scotland?” he checked, rather surprised. He loved it, too.
“Of course,” she declared as if it was the most obvious thing. “There is no place more beautiful in the world.”
“It’s stunning,” he breathed, much like the woman so full of enthusiasm standing before him.
“But here, I no longer have a home,” she said. “I have nowhere to go. Nowhere to put down roots. Nowhere to live my life. I need to start living my life as soon as possible.”
“I understand.” She was like him. Adrift. Only. . . He had his brothers now. Who did she have?
“I’m glad.” She smiled, apparently undaunted by her lot. “So, we must begin our lessons as soon as possible.”
“So you can get married.”
“Isn’t that what you want?” she asked. “What your brother wants?”
Oh, it was most definitely what his brother wanted. But here, standing in the crisp Highland air, he was no longer sure what he wanted at all.