Highlanders (41 page)

A rare flash of anger flared. “Is that how you see my mother; an English noose strangling you?”

His father’s blazing eyes snapped onto him. “You are never again to insinuate that I disparage your mother.”

Shame coursed through him. He’d gone too far. The truth was, it was King George III who had placed the noose around their necks when he’d ordered the marriage of the newly widowed marquess to an English duke’s daughter. The marquess, despite his faults, knew his duty to king and family, and brooked no disrespect against his English wife. 

“My apologies,” Erroll said.

“I am sorry your duty is such a burden.” His father’s gaze bore into him. “Do you believe Ash is powerful enough to protect your sister Olivia from Lydia’s wrath once we’re gone?”

No. Sweet Lydia would sacrifice everything to ruin the son and daughter of the marquess’ beloved Moira MacLean.

*****

Kidnapping was a crime, but a wedding must take place, and Eve had reconciled herself to the fact that she had to get Lord Rushton married to Grace before their father enforced his will. She slowed as she and her mother entered the ballroom of Lord Grendall’s party. Her mother strolled on without looking back as Eve scanned the crowd. Her gaze caught on a tall man on the dance floor but when he turned, she saw he wasn’t Lord Rushton. Nevertheless, her pulse refused to slow. He shouldn’t be here, but the ballroom was immense and she could easily miss him in the crowd. The time was ten thirty, and she hadn’t encountered him at the other four soirees she had already visited. If all had gone as planned, Lord Rushton had been shanghaied and was on his way to Gretna where Grace waited to marry him.

“Eve?”

Eve turned toward her mother, who had stopped a few feet away and was looking at her.

“Are you coming?”

“I see Miss Haverly,” Eve said. “I want to say hello to her.” When her mother frowned, Eve said, “Don’t worry, I will join you directly.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “I will wait with Lady Collins there in that alcove.” She pointed to the right wall where a group of ladies stood, then started in that direction. “Do not be long.”

Eve angled left toward the first of the two columns on that side of the room. She reached the column and allowed herself to release a slow breath. This night couldn’t end too soon for her liking.

“Really—” Eve stilled at the sound of Lady Annabelle Quincy’s silky voice leaching around the column “—how did their father decide which of them to saddle Lord Rushton with?”

“And how did Lord Rushton go from one sister’s bed to the other?” demanded a second woman, Lady Willamina Consworth, if Eve wasn’t mistaken.

Throughout the evening, she’d overheard women making low comments within her hearing, pretending to be unaware of her presence, but none so rude as this.

Lady Quincy tittered a laugh. “I can’t imagine his lordship settling for the older sister.”

Disgust rolled over Eve.

“Perhaps the younger sister did not prove to be as tasty as he had hoped,” Lady Consworth said.

“Apparently, Eve Crenshaw was not all that interesting either,” Lady Quincy whispered. “Laura Greenwood was seen leaving Rushton’s hotel room this morning.”

“No,” Willamina breathed. “It seems the earl has no intention of giving up his pleasures even long enough to wed.”

Had she heard right? Lady Greenwood visited the earl’s hotel room today?

“Why should he change simply because he’s marrying?” Lady Quincy said. “After all, they are only daughters of a baron. Getting compromised is the only chance they have of marrying a man like Rushton.” She giggled. “Imagine, if he marries Eve Crenshaw. Why, the three of them might—”

Fury swept through Eve and she nearly stumbled in her haste to circle the column and confront the women. They took a surprised step backwards toward the wall.

“Lady Quincy.” Eve swung her glare onto the older of the two gossipmongers. “Lady Consworth.”

“Miss Crenshaw,” Lady Consworth sputtered.

“We did not see you there,” Lady Quincy said.

“Of course you did,” Eve said.

“Miss Crenshaw—”

“Do not act as if you didn’t say those things just to be spiteful and crude.”

“How dare you?” Lady Quincy hissed.

Lady Consworth cast a glance around them. “Keep your voices down.”

“Why?” Eve demanded, raising hers. “So no one else learns how cruel you are?” The ladies’ eyes widened. “Or perhaps you are worried that people will guess your true feelings?” Eve snapped.

“What true feelings?” Lady Consworth said stupidly.

“Willamina,” Lady Quincy said under her breath.

“That you are jealous Lord Rushton did not make an assignation with you in the gardens.”

A malicious gleam lit Lady Quincy’s eyes. “So it is true, your sister did meet him in the gardens.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Eve retorted.

“But you just said—”

“I did not say Grace met him. I said you wished he had met you. For pity’s sake, are you so dense that you don’t understand plain English?”

Lady Quincy gasped.

“You said those things about me and my sister just to be mean, knowing I was within earshot. So don’t act indignant when I do not remain silent.”

“Miss Crenshaw,” Lady Consworth said. “There has been a mistake. Please—”

“There has been no mistake,” Lady Quincy said in a harsh whisper. “When your sister couldn’t trap him, you decided you could do a better job of it.”

Eve stared. “Are you insane? I did not trap him. He came to my room.”

Triumph shone in Lady Quincy’s eyes. “We heard your father discovered the two of you in bed together, and that you shot Lord Rushton. Frankly, I thought the story was too fantastical to be true. I see I was mistaken.”

“Annabelle,” Lady Consworth tugged on her arm.

“The two of you naked…”  Lady Quincy tsked and shook her head in disapproval.

“Naked? That is a bald-faced lie,” Eve said. “I was fully clothed, as was Lord Rushton.”

“I did not see your sister arrive with you,” Lady Quincy said, “and I have not seen Lord Rushton. Is it possible they—” Her gaze jerked past Eve and her eyes widened.

Eve started to twist to see who approached, but a large body bumped into her back. She whirled to face a tall, blond gentleman.

“Pardon me,” he quickly said.

“Lord Paisley,” Lady Consworth said.

“Lady Consworth. Lady Quincy.” He looked expectantly at them and Lady Consworth finally said with a flutter of one hand, “Oh, Lord Paisley, may we present Miss Eve Crenshaw.”

He once again faced Eve and this time grasped her hand. “Miss Crenshaw.” He bent over her fingers, his face angled slightly away from the other ladies. His eyes lifted to meet hers in the instant his mouth brushed her hand, and he winked.

Eve blinked.

He straightened, his face all respectability. “Again, my apologies for ramming into you.”

“You did not ram into me,” she said. “But thank you, my lord, I am unharmed.”

“I am immensely relieved.” He turned his attention to Lady Quincy. “I believe I saw your brother a moment ago, Lady Quincy. He was looking for you.”

Surprise flickered in Lady Quincy’s eyes, followed by suspicion, but she quickly demurred. “Thank you, my lord. I will find him.”

“Allow me to escort you. The crowd here is the largest I have seen tonight. You are sure to be trampled.”

Her mouth pinched in obvious frustration.

“Lady Consworth,” he said. “Perhaps you would like to accompany us.”

“Oh, yes, of course.” She took the arm he proffered.

He canted his head toward Eve. “Very nice to have met you, Miss Crenshaw.” Then he led them away.

Eve stared. What had just happened? Why had a gentleman she didn’t know winked at her? Were the malicious things Lady Quincy and Lady Consworth said a part of the gossip that others believed? Did Lord Paisley believe—understanding struck. Lord Paisley had bumped into her as she was about to say things that would have gotten her deeper into trouble. He had saved her, and the wink had been his way of telling her so. He must have been standing on the other side of the column and—oh Lord, how much of their conversation had he overheard?

“Miss Crenshaw.”

Eve jumped, then silently groaned when recognition struck. Of all the people who could ruin her plans, Lord Richard Somerset was that man. It had been too much to hope that she wouldn’t encounter him tonight. She forced a smile and faced him.

“My lord.” She extended her hand.

He lightly grasped her fingers, bowed, then released her. “Am I fortunate enough to be the first to claim a dance?”

“I have only just arrived and—”

“Good. I want to speak with you.”

Private conversation with Lord Somerset was the last thing she wanted, but she could find no way to protest as he led her onto the dance floor. Her heart sank when the orchestra struck up a country dance. They would be on the dance floor for half an hour. He pulled her into the line of dancers and took his place opposite her. They approached one another in time to the music, bowed, then backed into their former positions. She stepped with her left foot, then the right, and everyone in line followed as one, until the partners again approached one another and slowly circled each other.

“Did you receive my card?” he asked.

“I did. Thank you.”

“I will call him out, Eve.”

She faltered in her step, but caught herself. “That is not necessary,” she whispered.

They danced back into separate lines, then forward again, this time switching partners. The guilt she’d grappled with since devising the plan to marry Grace to the earl resurfaced with a nervous turn of her stomach. Lord Rushton did not wish to marry her or Grace. In the end, however, Grace was the better choice. She would accept him for the man he was and embrace a life separate from his. Grace was a beautiful woman. The time Lord Rushton spent in her bed would be pleasurable. If he eloped to Gretna Green with her, the polite world might talk, but nothing more, for they wouldn’t know the elopement had been a kidnapping.

When Eve came back around to Lord Somerset, they locked arms and swung around.

“I do not believe you invited him into your room,” he said.

Blast the man. If he thwarted her plans, she would call him out. That was the trouble with a man who believed a woman to be above reproach: he simply couldn’t accept the possibility she could be less than the paragon of virtue he saw her as. A mistake Lord Rushton wouldn’t make. Her father was right. The earl had no illusions where women were concerned. The realization pricked her pride.

They separated again. She stepped right and circled the gentleman diagonally across from her. He smiled as they clasped hands and shuffled forward and back, then separated. The couples once again stood opposite one another as each couple on the end pranced hand in hand down the center of the two lines. When their turn came, Eve stepped toward Lord Somerset, he clasped her hand, and they whirled. Before she realized it, he had maneuvered her out of the line of dancers and into a small alcove to their left.

Her heart sped up. She had no intention of eluding the scandal with Lord Rushton only to have her father sign a marriage contract with Lord Somerset because gossipers saw her in a private alcove fraternizing with him. Lord Somerset stopped and she turned back toward the ballroom, but he stepped in front of her.

“My lord.”

“I saw your marriage announcement in the paper,” he said.

Eve gasped.

“Just as I thought,” Lord Somerset said. “Your father is forcing the marriage.”

“No, I promise you, he is not.”

The viscount’s eyes darkened and frustration bubbled to the top. Why hadn’t he fixed his interest on Grace instead of her? Grace adored attention. Eve had met Lord Somerset a year ago and, while he was cordial, he’d given no indication he felt any tenderness for her. But three months ago he had approached her father in regards to his suit toward her. Of course, her father had rejoiced that a reputable man showed interested in her and gave the viscount his blessing.

“I do not believe you are marrying Rushton of your own accord,” he said.

“You assume too much, sir. You do not know me well enough to know what I would or would not do.”

“Are you saying that the gossip that has been revived about you and Lord Blane after all these years is true? Are you loose?”

Eve stiffened. “I am saying, it is none of your concern.”

“Miss Crenshaw—Eve—you do not have to do this. Sit down, let us talk.”

She shook her head. “I will not sit down.”

“Marry me,” Lord Somerset said.

Eve stared. “Sir, please.”

“It is obvious he’s forcing this marriage.”

”Things are not always what they seem,” she whispered.

“Things are rarely as they seem,” drawled a familiar male voice.

Eve jerked and Lord Somerset whirled to face Lord Rushton. Behind the earl, the blazing light of the ballroom haloed his large frame and she was reminded of an avenging angel. No. Not an angel. An incredible male demon rising from the pits of Hell.