Alec looked up, took note of his secretary’s face and the telegram he held. “What? Another catastrophe?”
“That’s for you to say, sir,” James guardedly replied.
Alec took the offered missive and swiftly scanned it.
Long ride for nothing. I’m sure you have a perfect excuse. Don’t bother. I hate excuses.
Alec groaned.
“I’m sorry, sir,” James said. “Would you like to reply?”
“I’d better. The telegram to Miss MacKenzie went out this morning, right?”
“Shortly after eleven, sir.”
“It reached her home?”
“At two, sir.” The men had telegraphed on their return to Inverness. On Dalgliesh’s particular orders.
“What the hell went wrong?”
“Do you want the men to ride up tonight and find out?”
Alec eyed his secretary. “Do I detect a note of discouragement in your voice?”
“Yes, sir. Jed said the road was almost nonexistent at the end. And in the dark?” The import was clear.
Alec sighed. “Very well. No sense in risking life and limb. I’ll make my apologies to Miss MacKenzie when I see her tomorrow.”
After James walked out, Fulton offered his employer a broad grin across Alec’s desk. “An apology. Now, there’s a first for you. I wish I could be there to see it.”
“Very amusing. Perhaps you could come along and I’ll send you in first to take the initial artillery rounds.”
“If only my full attention wasn’t required here to see that your mines aren’t blown away by Rhodes’ inept militia, should it come to that,” Fulton drawled.
Another groan as Alec slid into a disgruntled sprawl. “Jesus, being in love requires some major adjustments.”
“You mean you can’t just walk away and forget their names?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean,” the earl said with fastidious malcontent.
A small pause developed. Lengthened.
“On the other hand,” Alec grudgingly noted, finally breaking the silence, “the advantages far outweigh the disadvantages.” He shoved himself upright in his chair and smiled faintly. “I actually like her name and, more to the point, her. And that’s a much more consequential first, my dear Fulton.”
“Well then, boss, it seems some bowing and scraping are in order tomorrow.”
“Christ, I suppose so.” Alec grinned. “How exactly does one do that?”
CHAPTER 30
A
S IT TURNED out, he had to learn on the fly, for the moment he was announced the following evening and entered Sir Gavin’s sitting room, four pairs of male eyes and one female’s looked up and glowered at him as if he were the devil incarnate.
Or perhaps it was because of his mud-caked boots and breeches. Not that a coating of mud wasn’t a small price to pay for surviving the perilous roads. But whatever the reason for the manifest displeasure, he decided, advancing into the room, it was up to him to dispel it. He smiled his very best smile that had been known to assuage the mistrust of obstinate men, jealous women, and pious martinets—the sadly dull Queen included.
“Allow me to apologize most profoundly for all the trouble I caused yesterday. I have a very good explanation, although, under the circumstances,” he added as the frowns remained in place and no one moved in their chairs, “I understand an apology is hardly enough to redeem myself.”
“Damn right, it isna enough. She dinna get home until near ten, I’ll have ye know,” Sir Gavin growled, the drink in his hand sloshing over the rim in his indignation. “It was a bloody dangerous ride.”
He didn’t need that fact pointed out to him with the state of his clothes, and his horses still nervously curvetting in the yard. “I’m so very sorry. I’m afraid my telegram must have reached you too late. But the emergency I referred to in my telegram had to do with my son, Chris. May I sit down—ah, well, let me explain it to you.”
Standing here.
“Just as the train was leaving the station yesterday morning, I received news that two constables were at my door serving custody papers. My—er—soon-to-be ex-wife had sued me for custody of Christopher.”
He heard Zelda’s sharp intake of breath, felt his suit might be in the way of prospering, and quickly went on. “Naturally, I immediately returned to the house and sent the constables on their way. Without the boy,” he added, his nostrils flaring at the memory. After a nearly imperceptible pause, he said in the temperate tone he was exercising before the—newly adjusted—four and a half accusatory stares, “At that point, it was imperative that I go to London.” He wasn’t going to mention Violetta again. “It took some time to resolve the issue, but in the end, the custody suit was dropped, my son was safe, and I was able to return to Munro Park. But by then, it was too late to resume my travel plans.” He finally looked directly at Zelda, who sat in a chair beside her father, looking more pale than he remembered. “I’m so very sorry.” He spoke as if only she were in the room, his brows slightly drawn. “If there’s any way I can make amends for the distress I caused you, please tell me. That you risked those trails at night alarms me no end. It was my fault entirely,” he said to a woman for the first time in his life. “
Everything
was my fault,” he added very, very softly, not sure he hadn’t lost her forever, thinking too that this must be how it felt standing before a firing squad. But then he went on because he’d learned long ago that it was necessary to take risks. “If I might, I’d like to fetch Chris. He’s waiting in the entrance hall. And a six-year-old’s not very good at waiting.”
Zelda instantly came to her feet and swiftly advanced toward him. “Poor child out there all alone. And after that long ride. Why didn’t you say Chris was with you?”
“I wanted to explain first. I didn’t want him to hear about the constables having come to take him away. Creiggy had whisked him upstairs as soon as everyone realized what was happening.” As Zelda reached him, he debated taking her hand but chose prudence. “Come, say hello to Chris. He’s been looking forward to seeing you.”
He kept pace with her as they walked from the room, her family following close behind. “I didn’t dare leave Chris behind after what Violetta did,” he explained, as they traversed the carpeted hallway. “I told him we’re going hunting. I hope you don’t mind.”
She gave him a jaundiced look. “There’s things enough I mind, but that’s not one of them. You can imagine what I thought when you didn’t come.”
He had no intention of pursuing that topic. “Whatever it was, you were wrong.” He risked a small smile, took note of her response, then took a further risk and grinned. “If you knew what I did to get here, you’d fall on your knees and thank me.”
“Is that a fact?”
But she was smiling now and her color had returned. “You might think about it later,” he murmured, taking a chance and winking. “The falling on your knees part.”
She met his eye and sniffed like women do when they don’t mean it. “Libertine.”
“Nevertheless, I guarantee you’ll like it.”
“I have something you might like as well. Some news.” She hadn’t been going to tell him right away or perhaps at all. She thought she’d first see if he deserved to know. And he’d looked unslept but now she knew why.
At the unmistakable delight in her voice at the word
news
, he grabbed her wrist and dragged her to a stop. “What news?”
“Lord, Alec, I can’t tell you now.” She shot a look behind her and hissed,
“Move!”
He moved. But he also slid his fingers downward, took her hand firmly in his, and felt a kind of exaltation reserved for heavenly ascensions and Derby wins. He leaned in close and whispered, “Are you sure?”
“Please, Alec, not now.” Another worried glance over her shoulder.
“When then?” It was true. Your heart could skip a beat.
“After dinner. Don’t do that,” she nervously said as he pulled her close. “Let me go. They might shoot you.”
“Then I’d have to shoot back.” At her shocked look, he allowed a small distance between them, although he didn’t release her hand. “I was only teasing, darling. I’m not armed.” He was, of course. He knew the Highland code of honor, and she had four brothers and a father, not to mention the usual Highland home, in which weapons were the decor of choice, the walls awash with swords and targes and firearms. “Chris will go to bed early. Come with me when I tuck him in.”
“If they let you stay.”
His brows lifted. “Seriously? Am I on probation?”
“Oh, yes. Definitely. You must have seen the militant glares.”
“I was mostly concerned with yours.”
“You’re forgiven. How could I not after your explanation?”
“But it wasn’t good enough for your family?” He seemed surprised.
“You’re married.” She lifted her brows in pointed intent. “I believe that’s considered a deterrent to courtship.”
“If that’s all they’re concerned about,” he crisply said, “I can address those misgivings. I won’t be married for long. For any number of reasons, none of which need concern you, I have Violetta in an agreeable frame of mind. Don’t look at me like that. I offered her enough money, that’s all. And she’s getting married to the Marquis of Mytton, so she’ll be advancing in the peerage. A definite plus for Violetta.”
“Mytton! He’s already married.”
“More business for Fitzwilliam. I promised our counselor a peerage, too, if he wants it.”
A teasing light shimmered in her eyes. “You’ve been busy.”
“Just a little,” he said in vast understatement. “All for you, my darling. Now here comes Chris.” Alec bent and held out his hands.
A moment later the fair-haired child charging them, head down, was swung up into Alec’s arms, and after a quiet admonition from his father, quickly said, “Thank you for inviting us for a visit, Miss MacKenzie,” after which he immediately launched into a high-pitched enthusiastic account of their trip, the gun his father was going to give him for hunting, and the horse he’d been riding instead of a pony.
While Chris rattled on, his voice swooping higher and higher, Zelda gave him her full attention, and Alec contentedly gazed at the woman he loved, inhaled her sweet, heady scent, felt the warmth of her body against his, and didn’t care whether he was on probation or not.
He’d managed more difficult situations than this.
No one had threatened to kill him—or at least not yet, he drolly thought, glancing at the four men a short distance away measuring him for his coffin.
Dinner was awkward, although he’d sat through worse. One didn’t occasionally make the effort during the Season without having attended a dinner party in which liquor alone served to preserve one from gross incivility.
And he was in good company tonight; the Scots liked their whiskey.
Fortunately, on Zelda’s suggestion, Chris had been included in the guest list. Unaware of the charged atmosphere with the reassuring ordinariness of his father’s expression and conversation, the young boy kept up a continuous chatter. To which Zelda mostly responded, although Alec easily replied as well when required. He also caught Zelda’s admonishing glances from time to time when he held his glass up to be refilled. But a good many drinks aside, he was disturbingly sober.
While the MacKenzie males were clearly unhappy.
He practically leaped from his chair when Zelda said after dessert, “It’s getting late, Chris. Your father and I will take you up to the nursery.”
“Don’t be long,” Sir Gavin growled.
Zelda looked up as she took Chris’s hand. “For heaven’s sake, Da. You’d think I was ten.”
“We won’t be long, sir,” Alec politely replied. Having been seated across from Zelda, he walked around the end of the table and took Chris’s other hand. “It’s been a long day for a youngster. I expect Chris will go directly to sleep.”
“But I’m not tired, Papa!” A common childish protest at bedtime.
“Then you may stay up once you’re in bed. I brought some of your books along. If you’ll excuse us, gentlemen,” Dalgliesh said with a faint dip of his head, and as the trio exited the dining room, Alec spoke quietly for Zelda’s ears alone. “They haven’t shot me yet.”
“You shouldn’t have drunk so much. I was beginning to panic.”
“No need. I’m sober. Raw nerves.”
She cast him a playful look over Chris’s head. “You?”
He grinned. “I know. The world must be coming to an end.” He blew her a kiss. “We’ll have to build a new one for ourselves.”
“I’d like that.”
“We’ll go wherever you want. We’ll engineer our own Arcadia. You decide where.”
“Are we going somewhere?” Chris interjected, having heard the last comment addressed to Zelda in a normal tone of voice.
“We’re thinking about it,” Alec said. “Miss MacKenzie’s going to decide where.”
“May I help decide? May I, may I? Creiggy says I know my atlas better than you did at six.”
“You’ll have to ask Miss MacKenzie. She’s in charge.”
Chris’s astonishment was unmistakable. His father had always been the ultimate arbiter in every decision; even Creiggy deferred to him in the end. “Since when?” he guardedly said, his gaze shifting from one adult to the other.
“Since a month ago.” Alec’s smile was as bland as his voice, but then epiphanies needn’t be all rattle and thunder.
“Really,” Zelda said on a small indrawn breath.
“Did I forget to mention that?” His voice was soft as silk.
“Are you going to get all lovey-dovey like Henry and Baptiste’s sister? They’re forever doing
this
.” The little boy pursed his lips in a parody of kissing. “Creiggy says they better get married soon or she’ll know the reason why. Are you and Miss MacKenzie getting married, Papa? I hope so.”
“We thought we would.”
“When,
when
?”
Alec caught Zelda’s eye and grinned. “It depends on a few things.”
“
What
things?”
“Grown-up things.”
“You’re not going to tell me,” Chris said with a boyish pout.