Chapter 6
“Whatever are ye doing?”
Andromeda didn’t look up as her brother strode into her library. A library which she had radically increased since her husband’s death. A year ago, it had obtained only the most acceptable and plebeian texts.
Now, she’d added eccentrics, revolutionaries, philosophers, poets. . . And now a book on the Amazons and a book by Sappho. Both at his suggestion.
“I am improving my mind,” she said with exaggerated, dramatic self-righteousness.
“Well done. Well done,” her brother said, nodding his dark mane. “Yer mind is already marvelous, but I’m all for honing it. One never wants to grow dull, does one, lass?”
“Never,” she agreed. She’d seen sharp wits turn as dull as pudding. ’Twas not a pleasant sight.
He stood behind her and leaned down. “Good God.”
“Yes?” she queried, craning her neck to look up at his astonished face.
He cleared his throat, a deep rumble. “No’ a thing.”
Her brother, dear man, had never attempted to stop her learning. She doubted he would now. Even if she was reading a text that most women weren’t allowed to read. After all, reading Sappho might give women ideas. About not needing men.
This particular ideology didn’t bother the braw Duke of Clyde.
Her brother already wished women didn’t need men. If they didn’t, their mother might not have met such a horrible end.
So, she knew he wouldn’t say a thing.
Then there was a groan and he wiped a hand over his face. “Peterboro told ye about these texts, dinna he?”
“He did,” she confirmed as seriously as she could given how her lips twitched with gratified amusement. “He’s most informative.”
“Very scientific, I’m certain.”
For some particular reason, her brother’s choice of words hit a particularly sensitive chord. She scowled at her page, placed a velvet marker on it, and then gently shut the leather-bound volume.
“That serious?” her brother asked, dark brows rising ever so slightly.
A weary sigh escaped her. “He is that scientific. Do ye think he isna interested in women?”
A hesitant look crossed her brother’s face. He asked carefully, “What, exactly, do ye mean by that question, lass?”
She grasped his meaning. . . Which he’d clearly extrapolated from an unintended meaning in her innocent, ill-considered question. She flushed. She had heard of men who loved men. There were many of them in society but they kept it very secret. It was criminal, after all. A hanging offense.
One does hear whispers about certain groups of men and Molly Houses. But in her circle, that was all one heard. At least, amongst most ladies.
“No’ like that,” she rushed. “He simply appears to be so very. . . Unfeeling. Olivia said it was because of his devotion to his wife. But most men dinna seem to be able to go without. . . Er. . .”
“Copulation,” her brother supplied.
She shifted with only slight awkwardness on her beautifully carved, Chippendale chair. “Aye.”
As children, they studied anatomy books together and once he’d begun to receive knowledge that she had not, her brother had not excluded her. In fact, he’d sought her out, sat her down, and regaled her with every detail he’d learned. He said it was appalling that women shouldn’t know about their bodies. Or men’s bodies, for that matter. . . And what occurred between them.
Over the years, she’d come to wholeheartedly agree. She’d seen the dangerous effects of ignorance amidst young ladies of society. Disease, rape, unwanted children, and lives ruined, all hushed away. Innocence was vastly overrated.
“Brother?” she prompted.
“With Peterboro?” Her brother said at last, lifting his gaze to the heavens. “It’s difficult to make comment on his proclivities regarding bed sport. He’s no’ like other men. But if I were to make supposition, I’d agree with Duchess Olivia. He’s no’ a man to trip idly any longer through pleasure’s garden. If ye understand my metaphor.”
She nodded. “Of course.”
Angus paused, picking the book up from the table and examining it with studied care. “Why do ye ask, Andromeda?”
“No particular reason, Laird Carr, Duke of Clyde,” she drawled, allowing her burr to roll deeply off her tongue.
He threw back his head and laughed. “If only I could believe ye. But I’m no’ certain he’s truly for ye. I like him. I admire him. But to be yers? To have an affair? I have my doubts.”
An affair? “There is no affair!” she protested. “An affair will no’ be happening. Ye and Olivia have the most colorful of imaginations. He’s interesting, that is all. And he most definitely isna for me.”
Her brother merely grinned at her rush of vehement words, but then his mirth dimmed. “I ken yer husband was. . . Trying and unkind, but dinna throw yerself at someone who is mad.”
“Ye keep willfully ignoring my declarations. I’m no’ pursuing him. And he’s no’ mad,” she scoffed. “He sees the world differently. That’s all.”
“I’ll give ye that,” he agreed. “Ye dinna want him then? Even with my misgivings, I willna stand in the way if ye do.”
She bit down on her lip, hating the sea of emotions beginning to storm within her. “Truth be told, I dinna ken what I want. He’s certainly awoken some sort of hunger in me. A hunger to ken and see more.”
“It’s understandable, lass. He represents everything ye’ve ever longed for. Romance. Adventure. Flouting society.”
“Flouting society is common to us,” she reminded.
“Aye, but no’ as he has done,” he countered, placing her book back on the table. “He turned his back on all of it. There are many who hate him for that. Can ye think of anyone who hates ye?”
“No,” she admitted, realizing she’d never thought of Lord Peterboro’s actions in such a light.
Angus folded his arms over his broad chest and gave a woeful sigh. “His principles are at war with the world and he may suffer all his life because of it. I doubt he’ll ever be content.”
Like you, my dear brother, she longed to ask. But she knew that would be too cruel to force her brother’s eye to his own deep wounds.
“I wish he dinna have to suffer,” she finally said. “He seems to have already suffered a great deal. He’s arrogant and blurts out the most outrageous things, but I see kindness in him.”
“Ye are thinking of having an affair with him. Infatuation is written upon yer every feature.”
“’Tis no’, ye great oaf. And, once again, for the exceptionally dim, there is to be no affair.”
He raised his hands to ward off her tirade. “If ye say so, but. . . Once ye claimed ye had no wish to ever marry again. But given the way ye are speaking of him, and the way yer eyes are glowing. . .”
“I canna believe we are discussing this,” she breathed, burying her head in her arms.
“Why no’?” he asked, his brogue was less apparent. It was a sign that he was still very much in control, unlike herself. “We’ve never hidden anything from each other. Should we start now?”
“No. Angus, he’s fascinating.” She folded her hands together, trying to compose herself. “I think. . . I think he would make an interesting friend.”
“Then be fascinated, lass,” her brother urged gently, touching her shoulder. “Drink yer fill of him but be careful, lest ye wake up with a pounding head. Even as a friend, he could be dangerous. I beg ye to weigh yer course.”
She nodded. “I will. I’ve come too far to throw my independence away.”
“Glad to hear it,” he announced. “I long for ye to be at peace. I thought ye were.”
It was terrible realizing that she wasn’t. That, in truth, she wanted so much more than she had. What made it so very terrible was that she was one of the most fortunate women she knew. “So did I.”
“And a big man, with a growling voice, and a scandal to his name is yer idea of a marvelous new friend?” her brother teased.
“When ye put it like that, I feel very silly.”
“No,” Angus replied, matter of factly. “The mind is a strange thing. We want what we want. There’s no logic to it. But it doesna mean we have to run off like chickens.”
“True. Thank ye.”
“See if ye like him then.” Her brother started for the door then paused. “See if he’s truly what ye wish to have as a friend or if ye’re simply hungry for a bit of adventure. . . We can always go abroad, ye ken.”
“I do only wish him as a friend,” she said tightly, hating that those closest to her didn’t seem to believe her claims. Then she laughed. “I suppose we could have an adventure on our own.”
Angus smirked. “Ye’d cut a fine figure in Naples.”
“Why, thank ye.”
“Now, why dinna ye come with me tonight?” he suddenly urged.
“Where?”
“The Taggarts’ ball.”
She groaned. “Why?”
A look of sheer, arrogant glee crossed his scarred face. “So ye can meet the Duke of Rockford and see what a den of lions awaits ye with yer newfound cause.”
“How fascinating.” She paused. Should she? Was she inviting madness into her life? But what was life without a little madness?
“Let us go,” she blurted, not allowing herself to think.
“Good.” Angus nodded, clapping his big hands. “Now, lass. One last thing?”
She twisted in her chair, eyeing him, wondering what devilry he was up to now. “Do tell.”
Angus’ eyes grew as dark as an impending storm. “If he damages ye, I’ll have to kill him.”
“Now, dinna ye worry,” she assured. “I’m perfectly capable of killing him myself should the need arise.”
Her brother gave her a rueful smile, crossed back to her, and pulled her into a tight hug. “Thank God, lass. Thank God.”