29
A
nne was amazed when she came downstairs late that same afternoon and found her drawing room abuzz with conversation and the clink of teacups. Several whispered phrases caught her ear, such as "I'll up his pension." "Wouldn't he be the perfect embel
lishment to our Edinburgh town
house?" And "How long did Anne think she could keep him to herself?"
The center of all this attention stood casually at the sideboard like a treasure being auctioned off at Sotheby's.
Anne nodded distractedly at the greetings called out to her before she confronted the scoundrel.
"What is the meaning of all this?" she whispered.
He reached up to straighten his neckcloth. "They want me."
"Want you for what?"
"I'm not sure, but my price is apparently going up
by the minute, and if you keep whispering in my ear like that, it will certainly enhance my allure."
"Sit down, Anne," someone called out, and she glanced up to see a group of women, Nellwyn in the midd
le, waving her over to their corn
er.
"We've been waiting for you for over two hours," Lady Tarbet said. "We thought you might sleep all day."
Anne turned pink as she caught several winks being exchanged at this pronouncement. She sat stiffly at the end of the sofa, remembering that these women had never befriended her before. They had liked David well enough. They'd attended Anne's parties, but never had included her in their silly social circle, and she knew they'd gossiped about her at church when she had arrived on horseback instead of in a carriage or dog-cart.
"I had trouble sleeping last might," she said, accepting the tea that Patrick suddenly appeared to pour her.
"Indeed." Lady Murray arched her eyebrow, and a few envious sighs broke out as he moved between the group.
"An enormous stag in rut woke me up just as I fell asleep," Anne added, annoyed at the way the women kept gawking at Patrick, as if they'd never seen anything like him before.
"Oh, my," Lady Tarbet whispered, lifting her hand to her mouth.
Nellwyn chuckled softly. "That's the same story she told me."
Anne gritted her teeth, well aware that Patrick was
leaning up against the sofa, listening to every word. "There was a stag on the hill," she said emphatically. "A hind was teasing him to distraction."
"As the female of the species tends to do," Patrick said under his breath, and all the ladies except Anne laughed in appreciation, too charmed to care that a butler was crossing class lines to take part in their private conversation. In fact, his cheekiness was part of his charm.
"He was a beautiful animal." Anne had no idea why she felt compelled to explain the situation to a group of women she cared absolutely nothing about, but she couldn't seem to shut her mouth. "Black and muscular with at least an eleven-point rack. The hind was leading him on a chase through the trees."
"It was a sight to behold," Patrick interjected. "Nature taking its course, as it will."
There was a stunned silence; with his comment Patrick had just informed the world that he and Anne had been standing together at her window in the small wee hours, observing the animal in rut.
Once again Anne felt obligated to defend herself. "Sutherland had brought me breakfast in bed when I was watching from the window." She paused, suppressing a shiver at the memory of his body shielding hers. "Fully dressed," she added. "I was fully dressed in my riding habit."
"We were both fully dressed," Patrick said, which of course only made it sound as if the exact opposite was true, which in turn prompted his audience of startled admirers to picture him fully undressed.
The women all took a sip of tea at once, the image of his naked body apparently overwhelming. In fact, it was several minutes before anyone dared speak again. Anne sank down lower into the sofa, her face scrunched into a scowl. Couldn't they see what an imposter he was? Couldn't they t
ell the man was born
to break hearts? Oh, she wanted to strangle him.
"Is it true you were on intimate terms with Her Majesty?" someone asked him.
"I wouldn't exactly call us intimate," Patrick said. "But I wouldn't call us complete strangers either."
"How did you come into her acquaintance?" Miss Cameron inquired avidly.
Dangerous ground. Anne gave Patrick a warning look, which he blithely ignored. The rogue was in his element, women nibbling out of his hand like
…
a herd of deer.
"I fought for the Queen in Bermuda," he said, sitting down on the arm of the sofa next to Anne and totally ignoring her little nudge to get him back on his feet. "In the 71st Light Highland Infantry."
"How brave you are," Miss Cameron's sister said.
"And then you returned to go into domestic service," Lady Murray remarked. "It must have seemed terribly dull in comparison to the infantry."
"Not really." He glanced at Anne, his blue eyes twinkling. "Every day as her ladyship's butler poses an entirely different battle."
"And do you win these battles?" Miss Cameron asked boldly.
Patrick folded his arms across his chest, giving his
famous grin. "No, but as they say it's the war that counts."
Lady Tarbet pulled her chair closer to the sofa. "I have it on good authority that my neighbor Sir Wallace is hoping to court you, Anne. May I encourage his quest?"
Another silence. Anne felt Patrick staring down at her with a chilling expression that sent a shiver down her back. "I really do not care to discuss this."
"Then there is hope for match between the two of you?" Lady Huntly said.
"Anything is possible
," Anne answered vaguely.
"This tea tastes a trifle bitter," Lady Tarbet murmured before Anne could continue. "Sutherland?"
"I don't make it, madam
,"
he said in a tight voice. "I merely pour it."
Anne dared to look up into his face. Naked jealousy burned in his eyes, and she would be lying to herself if she didn't feel a primitive thrill of satisfaction that she had unsettled him. While they both knew that Anne could never feel anything for a man like Sir Wallace, they also knew that their own association was too precarious to take for granted. She could turn around and marry Sir Wallace just to prove her independence, or for companionship, and Patrick would be forced to concede defeat.
He had lost her to another man before. It could happen again, or perhaps he would grow tired of pursuing her. Perhaps he would even turn to one
of the women sitting here in this group who so admired him.
She put down her cup and stood decisively. "Ladies, I shall leave you to ponder my romantic destiny in private. I have an appointment in the ballroom with an army of workmen."
He rose, overshadowing her. "I shall accompany you, my lady."
"No." Her lips tightened. "It isn't necessary. See to my guests instead."
And as usual, he completely overrode her request, following her from the room like a bodyguard while a half-dozen women watched in scandalized envy.
H
e stalked her like a shadow, not saying a single word as she strode briskly to the ballroom to meet the workmen. She'd have to have been stupid not to realize the remark about Sir Wallace courting her had set him off, and she also had to admit his silence was a little intimidating. There was no telling what he might do.
"You are breathing down my neck," she said, turning so suddenly that they collided at the double doorway to the ballroom.
"I thought that was my job." He barred the door with his arm to prevent her from walking away. His voice was angrier than she had ever heard it. " 'Anything is possible.' What was that supposed to mean?"
"You are really getting on my nerves, Sutherland."
"Good. At least I'm getting somewhere."
She wedged herself deeper into the doorjamb to avoid bodily contact. He retaliated by stepping into her, even though he couldn't remember a time when he had used his strength as a weapon against a woman, and they both knew he would never resort to physical force.
"Going somewhere, Lady Whitehaven? Shouldn't you take your butler along with you?"
"Why are you behaving in such an abominable manner, Patrick?"
His smile was humorless. "I'll tell you why I'm behaving like this—because you've brought me about as low as a man can fall without crawling on his belly to prove himself, and if that's what you want, I suppose I'll do that too."
She looked startled, as if she actually thought he would carry out his threat in front of the entire household, and if Patrick believed that getting on his knees would accomplish anything, he would have done so in a second.
"I don't know what I'm going to do with you," she said in dismay.
Just then a carpenter squeezed through the doorway, noticing Anne with a look of relief. "Lady Whitehaven, there you are. We have a worse problem with the roof than I anticipated."
"Dry rot?" Patrick said, stepping a discreet distance away from Anne.
"Aye. It's—" The carpenter glanced at Patrick in hesitation as if he wondered why a butler would speak on her ladyship's behalf. "We'll need to order
wood from Edinburgh, and 'twill not arrive in time for the party Lady Whitehaven has planned."
"We can use Glenferg wood," Anne said, deliberately pushing Patrick out of the way. "That's what my husband did in the past."
Patrick pushed her right back. "Which is why we have the problem you've just discovered. The wood wasn't seasoned, and it shrank."
Anne tried to elbow her way back to a prominent position. Patrick guarded his space like a front-line infantryman, refusing to let her through.
"My
butler
doesn't know what he's talking about," she said over Patrick's shoulder to the speechless carpenter, who had probably never witnessed a jostling match such as this between a servant and an employer.
"That roof could cave in on everyone's head if the wood isn't seasoned," Patrick said, sticking out his left leg so that Anne couldn't sneak past.
She darted around to his right side. "He's full of nonsense, as usual. That roof could hold a hillside."
The carpenter scratched his head. "Actually, madam, your man is correct, although I daresay we'd be safe to wait another month or so if I make the few temporary repairs."
"What did I tell you?" Patrick practically crowed like a rooster, earning a glare from Anne that could have turned a lesser man to stone. "David didn't have a clue as to how to maintain a house."
She would probably have smacked him silly for his remark if the plasterer hadn't interrupted at that
precise moment. Wringing his hands, the workman bemoaned the ruined cornice in the ballroom.
"Please, madam, let me show you some of the newer designs from London," he said as he motioned Anne into the room.
He gestured upw
ard in despair at a moldy plas
terwork frieze of
Hephaestus and Cyclops fashion
ing thunderbolts for Zeus.
"It's ruined," he said, "beyond restoration."
"It was undoubtedly as ugly as hell even in the old days," Patrick said behind him. "In fact, this entire room is a mausoleum of bad taste."
Anne's mouth thinned but there wasn't much she could say as she surveyed the cavernous ballroom. The boar and deers' heads mounted on the wall were moth-eaten monstrosities. The tasseled silk curtains smelled of mildew. Every wall panel was embellished with a mythical deity committing a heinous deed; every alcove boasted a marble bust or coat-of-arms. Ceramic urns stuffed with dusty
peacock feathers filled the corn
ers, and gilt cherubim shot arrows at
unsuspecting guests from a cut-
glass chandelier the size of an iceberg.
"It just needs a wee bit of attention, that's all," she said meekly.
Patrick grimaced. "It needs to be razed to the ground as a kindness to humanity."
The plasterer turned in confusion to the carpenter, who was trailing along to overhear the conversation. "Who is he?" he whispered, nodding at Patrick.
"The butler, I
think," the carpenter whispered back.
"I think plate-glass windows would brighten this room," Patrick said. "Of course, we would not have time to install them before the party."
"Plate-glass windows?" Anne said. "I can't afford to pay for plate-glass with all the debts from the townhouse. Besides, I barely come here once a year."
He moved around her, frowning in consideration. The glazier and his assistant had arrived to consult with Anne, but it was Patrick who had commanded their attention.
"I've been thinking," he said. "We should spend the summers here, away from the congestion of the city. And I'll pay for the plate-glass. Have the glazier make up an estimate."
Anne caught the plasterer glancing at the carpenter, eyebrows raised.
Had they chosen the wrong line
of work? that look seemed to ask. An aggressive butler might lord it over a house
hold, but to pay for repairs
…