Joan Wolf (19 page)

* * * *

Frances lay still, feeling the weight of his body as it lay halfway across hers. Her eyes opened slowly to find his dark gaze fixed on her face. She felt herself smiling at him. “I’m sorry about your arm,” she said in a husky voice.

“Frances.” She was incredibly beautiful as she lay there, her pale hair loose on the pillow. She bent her head to kiss his shoulder.

“I adore you,” she said. Her eyes between the long lashes were misty green and tender.

He couldn’t believe her. Not even after what had just passed between them. Pain knifed through him as he remembered how she had smiled at James Campbell. Had she ever said to Robert Sedburgh, “I adore you?” He couldn’t ask her. He thought, suddenly, that she had got her way again.           Well, if she thought he was going to be her willing slave she was mistaken. He rolled over onto his elbow and looked at her with now inscrutable eyes. “Your lovers have taught you well,” he drawled with calculated brutality.

Frances stared at him incredulously. The sudden change in him from passionate lover to cold accuser bewildered her. “What did you say?” she asked faintly.

He merely shrugged and, getting out of bed, began to dress. His actions even more than his words penetrated her dazed mind. He was leaving her. After what she had just done with him, he was leaving her. She felt numbed and betrayed.

Her silence affected him as her anger would not have. He tucked his shirt into his pants and turned to look at her. “You are my wife,” he said. “Don’t ever lock your door to me again.”

   Was that what it was all about? she thought confusedly. An assertion of his rights? He stood there before her, arrogant, domineering, cruel, the man who only fifteen minutes ago had been saying such things to her, doing such things to her. The first drops of bitter gall began to well up in her heart. “You bastard.” Her voice was taut and very low.

He laughed. “You should know about bastards, sweetheart.”

Frances was shaking with passion as she answered “I will never forgive you for this, Ian.”

He shrugged his big shoulders in seeming indifference. “Don’t lock that door again,” he repeated and walked with lazy grace to the door in question and opened it. He hesitated for a moment on the threshold then, without looking back, went through to his own room. It closed firmly behind him.

Frances lay back and stared with burning eyes at the canopy over her bed. She stayed thus until the morning light began to filter into the room. Then she resolutely closed her eyes to try to get a few hours sleep. She would need it; she had a great many things to do before evening fell again.

Chapter Twenty-four

We twa hae paidled i’ the burn,

From morning sun till dine;

But seas between us braid hae roared

Sin’ auld lang sayne.

—
ROBERT
BURNS

Margaret was sitting up in bed the next morning sipping coffee when there came a knock on her door. “Come in,” she called and then stared in astonishment as her sister-in-law, dressed in a tan walking dress, came into the room. “Frances!” she said, putting down her coffee. “What are you doing up at this hour?” It was eight o’clock and Frances had not been appearing until at least ten recently.

“I’m terribly sorry to have to do this to you, Margaret,” Frances replied, “but I am leaving today for Edinburgh.”

“What!”

“Yes. I am taking Nell with me.”

 “Has something happened? Your father?”

   “Papa is fine as far as I know. What has happened is that I am leaving Ian. And I want to be gone before he returns.”

“Dhé,” said Margaret. “Is it as bad as all that?”

“Yes.” Frances’s face was tired and strained looking. but she held her head proudly on her lovely neck and the eyes that looked at Margaret were steady and cool.

“Are you all right, Frances?” Margaret asked anxiously.

“Yes,” her sister-in-law said again.

“How do you plan to travel?”

“I’ll hire a chaise.”

“A chaise! You can’t travel to Scotland in a chaise. Not with Nell. Not in your condition.” Margaret had realized the cause of Frances’s uncharacteristic lassitude about two weeks ago.

“Yes I can,” Frances replied stubbornly.

Margaret pushed back the covers and got out of bed. She went over to Frances and put an arm around her. “Darling, what happened?” she asked gently. Frances merely shook her head, her mouth curving into a line of pain. “Never mind,” Margaret said hastily. “It doesn’t matter. I’m coming with you.”

Frances smiled shakily. “Thank you, Maggie, but that’s not necessary.”

“Yes, it is,” replied Margaret uncompromisingly. “What is more, I’ll see to the transportation. You get yourself and Nell packed.”

“But Maggie,” Frances protested in bewilderment.

“Ian is a brute,” returned his loving sister. “I certainly don’t want to stay here with him. With you gone he’ll only take out his bad temper on me.” She gave Frances a gentle push. “Go on. I’ve got to get dressed.”

“But what are you going to do?” asked Frances, moving obediently toward the door.

“Send for Jamie,” said Margaret. “He’ll know the best way for us to travel. Goodbye. I’ll see you later.” She closed her door behind Frances and then went to ring for her maid.

****

James Campbell did indeed know the best way for them to travel. The Duke of Argyll’s yacht was anchored at Dover. As the Duke was in Ireland and would not be returning for several more weeks, Campbell did not hesitate to place it at the service of his beloved. “I’ll escort you to Dover and then come back to London. I want to talk to Lochaber about us.”

Margaret looked very somber. “Whatever he says, Jamie, it doesn’t matter. I’ll marry you anyway.”

Color stained his fair face. “Do you mean that,
m’eudail?”

“Yes.” He caught her to him and for a long time neither of them spared a thought for Frances or her dilemma. Then he released her reluctantly. “I’d better go, Margaret. I’ll be back in two hours with a chaise and we’ll leave for Dover.”

“All right. And thank you, Jamie. It is not every man who would help in a situation like this.”

   He knew that, and ordinarily he wouldn’t dream of helping a wife run away from her husband. But there had been a disturbingly ugly note in that little scene he had witnessed between Frances and Ian last night. In his opinion Frances was better off out of the way until Ian had had a chance to calm down. And, selfishly, he wanted Margaret out of Ian’s way as well. At least until he had had a chance to see how Ian
reacted to a proposal for the heart and hand of his sister.

****

Nell was bewildered when Frances told her they were leaving immediately for Scotland. “But why, Mama?” she kept saying. Frances trotted out one lame excuse after the other as she supervised the maid who was packing Nell’s clothing. Finally the little girl came over and took a firm hold on her skirt. “Are you and Dada angry?” she asked in a small voice.

Frances looked down into the troubled eyes of her daughter and suddenly knelt beside her. “Yes,” she said honestly.

“Why?” asked Nell, her eyes growing larger and more worried.

“It has nothing to do with you, darling,” Frances said briskly. “It is a quarrel that is strictly between grownups.”

“Oh.” Nell rubbed her hand across Frances’s arm. “Will Dada be coming to Scotland soon?”

“I don’t know,” replied Frances flatly.

“Oh,” Nell said again. But she obediently packed the toys she wanted to take and asked Frances no more questions. Dada was new and exciting and fun, but Mama was the anchor rock of her whole existence. Nell wasn’t going to take any chances on being left behind.

They left London at two in the afternoon and by eight o’clock they were in Dover. They boarded the Duke of Argyll’s yacht and sailed for Scotland with the ten o’clock tide.

   Ian did not return to Mount Street until nine the following morning. His butler met him with the news that Lady Lochaber had departed. She had left him a note. Ian went into the library and tore open the envelope. There were exactly three sentences, for him to read. “I have gone home to Scotland. Margaret insisted on coming with me. I have taken Nell. Frances.”

   Ian was still sitting in the library at one o’clock in the afternoon when his butler announced the arrival of James Campbell. “Show him in,” Ian said harshly.

James Campbell of Ardkinglas came into the room and stood regarding the strong profile of the Earl of Lochaber as he sprawled in a chair staring into the fire. Suddenly Ian turned and his eyes, black and inimical, met the steady blue gaze of James Campbell. “What do you want, Ardkinglas?” he grated. “And what do you know about my wife?”

“I know that your wife is so upset she felt it necessary to leave you. And she does not appear to me to be a woman who is easily upset.” Ian slowly rose to his feet, but Campbell stood his ground. “To answer your other question,” he continued evenly, “I am here to tell you that I want to marry your sister.”

It was a moment before Campbell’s words reached Ian and when they did, his eyes widened. “My sister?” he said. “You want to marry Margaret?”

“I want to marry Margaret. I have wanted to marry Margaret since first I saw her. I think I may take the liberty of saying that she also desires to marry me.” Ian said nothing, and Campbell, watching his face, saw confirmed there what he had” begun to suspect the night of Mrs. Burrell’s ball. “You are a fool, Lochaber,” he said roughly. “What have you done?”

“Christ,” said Ian, staring at him with appalled eyes. “You mean it wasn’t Frances?”

“Lady Lochaber has been very kind to both Margaret and myself. We were aware, of course, of your growing hostility to me. We all assumed you suspected my feelings for your sister and did not approve.”

Ian swore.

“Yes, it seems we have all been dealing at cross purposes,” Campbell said pleasantly. “I take it you do not have any great objections to my marrying Margaret?”

“Christ, man, of course not! After the help you’ve given me, how could I possibly object?”

“Well, you must admit you have hardly been brotherly of late.”

Ian ran his hand through his hair. “That was because I thought ...”

“Yes. I know now what you thought. And I’ll tell you again you are a fool. Not for thinking that I—or any man—might fall in love with Lady Lochaber, but for thinking that she might reciprocate.”

Ian’s formidable face looked suddenly haggard. “Where is she?” he asked.

“I put her on my uncle’s yacht at Dover. They are sailing to Leith. Lady Lochaber plans to go to her father in Edinburgh. Margaret is returning to Castle Hunter.”

“I’ll go after her,” Ian said decisively.

“I’m afraid I don’t have another boat.”

“Dhé. If I go by land it will take me twice as long.”

Campbell frowned. “True. We need a boat.”

“We?”

“
I
am going to Lochaber.’’

Dark eyes met blue. “Very well,” Ian said. “Then let us see about a boat. I’ll go talk to my cousin.”

“I’ll go on to Brooks’. There may be some people there who can help. Meet me there in two hours?”

“Good.” Ian moved to the door with restless energy. “Let’s get going, Ardkinglas.” He paused for a moment and then held out his hand. “I owe you an apology.” The other man took his hand and Ian suddenly smiled. Campbell, as helpless as most against the irresistible charm of that look, smiled back. They stood thus for a moment and then broke apart, leaving the room together.

* * * *

Douglas was working in his studio when Ian called. He came slowly into the comfortable room that served for most of his needs, and regarded his cousin’s strong, exciting face with a notable lack of enthusiasm. “What is so urgent that you must drag me from my work?” he asked crossly.

“I need a boat to get to Scotland,” Ian said baldly. “Do you know anyone who might have one?”

“A boat?” Douglas stared at Ian blankly. “But why?”

Ian’s mouth twisted. “I’ve made a mess of things, Douglas, and Frances has left me. She sailed yesterday on Argyll’s yacht. I want to follow her.”

“I should say you have made a mess of things if you’ve driven her to this,” Douglas responded grimly. “What devil has gotten into you, Ian, that you must behave so outrageously?”

Ian merely looked bleak and said nothing.

“God! And she is expecting a child as well! You ought to be horsewhipped,” Douglas said furiously.

Ian’s head came up. “How do you know about the child?”

    “I’m an artist. It’s my business to observe closely.” There was a pause, then Douglas added almost unwillingly, “I am particularly observant where Frances is concerned.”

“So I see.” Ian’s dark eyes were fixed with sudden shrewdness on his cousin’s face. “My mother was right, after all, wasn’t she, Douglas?” he finally said slowly. Douglas shrugged but Ian continued to regard him wonderingly. “You have always been there, stepping forward again and again to shield her, to help her. I don’t know why I never saw it before.”

“She
has never seen it,” said Douglas painfully. “Why, then, should you?”

“True,” Ian replied bitterly. “I have hardly been seeing clearly these past few weeks. That has now been made abundantly plain to me.”

“What happened?” Douglas asked diffidently, and Ian, who had had no intention of confiding in him, decided to tell his cousin the truth. In a confused way he felt he owed it to him.

“I was jealous,” he said wearily. “Of Ardkinglas.”

“What?!”

“Yes. That was Campbell’s reaction as well. It seems all along he has been trying to fix his interest with Maggie. I thought it was Frances. So I blew up and acted the fool, as Ardkinglas so pithily informed me.”

“Ian, how could you have been stupid enough to believe that Frances would return Ardkinglas’ supposed advances—or anyone else’s for that matter?” Douglas was looking at him in amazement.

Ian was by now sprawled in a chair, his eyes firmly fixed on the tips of his boots. “That is what Campbell said.”