A Highland Duchess (11 page)

A great many people were looking up, and following their gazes, Ian understood why. A woman dressed in little more than feathers and netting was balanced on a horizontal bar supported by two cords hanging from the center of the ceiling. She swung back and forth, occasionally raising a leg to expose the degree of her undress, inciting a roar of approval from the crowd that drowned out the singing.

People weren’t standing as much as leaning against each other, or draping themselves over chairs and tables. Most of the patrons were drinking beer. Evidently, if a man came to a place like this it was for one of two reasons—to drink his weight in beer, or find himself a companion for the evening. When he finally found Bryce, it was to discover that he was well on his way to doing both.

Bryce, however, was doing his best to ignore him.

His cousin was seated at a small round table, its three male occupants being entertained by a young woman who was nearly naked—the acrobat above them had on more clothing. She was sitting on Bryce’s lap, her feet on the table, her legs half spread, her giggling accompanying Bryce’s attempts to wedge his hand down her bodice.

Ian stood on the other side of the table, watching the tableau and finding himself curiously unmoved.

Even though they were second cousins, there was some familial resemblance. He and Bryce were roughly the same height and weight. Bryce, too, had the dark brown eyes prevalent in the family. His hair, however, was nearly blond. Despite the fact that Bryce was five years his junior, his cousin looked older. Years of dissipation had given him pouches beneath his eyes and faint red lines around his nose.

His cousin’s greeting—about five minutes after Bryce had seen him—consisted of raising a beer in his direction.

“Why, if it isn’t my cousin. Here to join the merriment, Ian?”

The other two men saluted him with their mugs. Ian ignored them, pulled out a sum of money and placed it on the table in front of Bryce. Was he too intoxicated to take advantage of his offer?

“What the hell is that?” Bryce asked, staring at the money as if it were a hissing snake.

“Passage to Inverness,” Ian said. “Or Edinburgh, if you prefer. You can stay with Mother in the house there.”

“Why would I want to do that? The gambling’s not as good there as here, cousin,” Bryce said. “Everything is better here, don’t you agree?” He gestured with one hand, the other still firmly fixed in the bodice of the woman on his lap.

“I imagine everything looks better from the bottom of a bottle, Bryce.”

His cousin laughed. “The night is advanced, the moon beckons, and I’ve won a fortune at cards.”

“Mother is concerned for you,” Ian said, annoyed at the smirk on Bryce’s face.

“Which is the only reason you’re here, of course. The dutiful son, the Laird of Trelawny.”

“Stop soliciting her for money, Bryce. If you need any, come to me. Leave her alone.”

Bryce sat up, pushing the woman off his lap. She fell with a snarl, rising up on her knees, her hands on his thigh.

“Do you ever stop being responsible for everyone, Ian? Take your money, cousin, I don’t need it. I’ll never need it again.”

“I don’t believe in luck, Bryce. It’s a pity you do.”

“You’re the one to be pitied, cousin. You’re too young to be so old. I, on the other hand, lead a charmed life.”

His two companions nodded.

“A carriage nearly ran him down last week,” one of them said. “Nearly killed the bugger.”

“He’s a damn sight luckier than me, that’s for sure,” the second man offered.

“Go to Inverness, Bryce.”

“So you’re close enough to take care of me, cousin?” Bryce said. “I must decline such a gracious invitation.”

Ian was fast losing his temper. “Then find an occupation for yourself, Bryce, other than soliciting my mother for money. Something, preferably, with a future. Gambling won’t suffice.”

“I have,” Bryce said, leaning back in the chair and reaching for the woman.

She crawled into his lap again, stretching over him like a kitten, before draping her arms around his neck and turning her head to smirk at Ian.

“I’ve been giving my future a great deal of thought, cousin. And I’ve made plans accordingly. You might say that I’ve guaranteed my future.”

His smile didn’t reassure Ian one whit.

Ian folded his arms and restrained himself with some difficulty.

Bryce was at an age to make something of himself. But there was no passion as fierce to him as the game of chance. If Bryce could have parlayed that into a career, he would have been his cousin’s greatest supporter. Instead, Bryce was going out of his way to destroy his future. Or drink it away.

“How?”

“Congratulate me, cousin, I’m about to become a bridegroom. And not to just any bride.”

“And who is the fortunate woman?” Ian asked.

“An heiress.”

Bryce smiled at the woman on his lap while molding his hand around one of her globelike breasts. “God save the moneyed classes,” he said, and the others raised their mugs in agreement. “God save my heiress.”

“God help us all,” Ian muttered.

Chapter 10

E
mma slept well into the morning. When she awoke, her first thought was that she’d missed breakfast, which was probably for the best. The less time spent in Ian’s company, the less temptation.

She debated whether she should leave the room, or remain inside like a proper prisoner. The storm ended her confusion. She opened the door and peered out into the corridor and beyond to the walled garden. Any thought she might have had about spending some time in the garden was moot because of the downpour.

A few minutes later the young maid arrived with a breakfast tray.

“It’s a soggy day, isn’t it, miss?” she asked, placing the tray on the desk. “The master said that he’s busy with his work today, but if you need anything at all, you’ve only to ring and one of us will come.”

She gestured to the fireplace, and to the bellpull hanging beside it.

“I’m also to ask if you’d like a fire, miss. Because of the day.”

“I’m fine,” Emma said, feeling absurdly disappointed that she wouldn’t see Ian. How paradoxical of her that, at the moment she was denied his presence, she yearned for it.

“Could you tell me who’s in charge of the garden?” Emma asked.

The young girl straightened in the act of removing the dishes and cup from the tray and blinked at her.

“I don’t think we have anyone in charge of the garden, miss. It’s always been just the way it is. Oh, the master’s mother comes occasionally and fiddles with things. She plants a few bulbs and trims a few branches but it’s allowed to grow just the way it wishes. It’s a Scottish garden after all.”

“Are you allowed to do whatever you wish, being Scottish?”

“Aye,” the girl said with a smile. “That I am.”

When she was done arranging the dishes, Emma thanked her. Once again the young maid smiled at her, and it seemed to Emma that there was something in her eyes. A touch of compassion, perhaps. For being a prisoner, or for not being miserable in her prison?

This chamber would do as well as her own.

She ate her meal, more lunch than breakfast, and as tasty as the dinner had been last night. She must congratulate Ian on his cook. Perhaps that would be enough of a ruse to go in search of him. How foolish she was to want to see her jailer. How silly could she be? But none of the books in which she’d been so absorbed yesterday captured her attention now. She tried to read, one after the other, and ended up closing the covers, dissatisfied and slightly disconcerted by her inability to concentrate.

What was he doing? What was occupying him to such a degree that he hadn’t even come to check on her?

Had he regretted their kiss? Is that why he stayed away? Had he been secretly appalled by her cooperation? Or would it be more correct to call it eagerness?

Emma lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Two days ago she’d been perfectly content with her life. Two days ago she might have even called herself happy. Granted, there were days when sadness seeped in or when memory overwhelmed her.

She’d been fortunate to escape Anthony’s domination. If her uncle attempted it from time to time, it was a small price to pay. There were enough small victories in her life to compensate for the difficulties. For the most part, people left her alone. Until now, she’d resigned herself to a very quiet and sedate existence.

Suddenly, however, the life she’d planned didn’t seem to be enough. Now, she wanted more. What else she wanted was not so easily defined. The brush of a man’s hand on hers. A masculine glance of appreciation. The whisk of a night beard against her cheek. She wanted a kiss and more.

Passion, ecstasy, bliss—without the price she’d always paid for them.

I
an worked on his notes until nearly midday. Perhaps it was the hours searching the music halls for Bryce the night before that had taken a toll on both his concentration and his linguistic abilities. Or perhaps it was simply the fact that the Duchess of Herridge was still his guest and occupied too much of his mind.

He’d given the Earl of Falmouth a day to obtain the mirror. He should send a footman to recover the mirror, then arrange to send Emma home. Each minute on the clock reminded him of his duty, even as it increased his dread.

He didn’t want to send her home. His reluctance was not solely based on the fact that he’d been overwhelmed by her, by one simple kiss.

The Earl of Falmouth had struck her, hardly the act of a caring relative.

The notes finally done, he walked around the courtyard to the small laboratory he’d created here in London. The equipment was not as expansive as what he had at home, but it would do to occupy him. He needed something to divert his attention from Emma.

Ian lit the sconces against the gray day, then uncovered his microscope. After polishing the lens and arranging the slides in order, he checked the settings and opened his notebook. His work would eat up the hours.

He should talk to her, see if there was anywhere else she could go. Perhaps she had friends with whom she could stay. Or acquire her own establishment. She was a widow, after all, and not entirely subject to the same rules that governed a single woman’s life. Besides that, she was an heiress. Her father had left her a fortune. Surely she had the money to do what she wished.

Anything but live with someone who had struck her.

Why, then, didn’t he simply ask her? Why was he avoiding her?

He should not involve himself in the Duchess of Herridge’s life. Nor did he have any business feeling protective of her.

Strange, that the woman he’d abducted had almost nothing in common with the rumors that circulated about her. Her beauty was undeniable but he’d known other beautiful women. Her intelligence interested him, as did her rarely seen sense of humor. But it was the look in her eyes he found fascinating. Almost as if emotion were buried beneath emotion, layers of secrets hidden in their blue depths. He’d glimpsed fear there, and worry, and more than once a little sadness. He’d been tempted to ask her if he was correct, then counseled himself that it wouldn’t be wise to learn more about her.

What had she been like before her marriage? Had she awakened in the morning eager to explore the day, knowing, somehow, that only good things would come to her? Had she seen each new adventure as something to be treasured, to learn from, to experience? In the intervening years, had all of that joy, all of that excitement and wonder, been leeched from her?

His curiosity about her was unwise and perhaps dangerous. He was due to be married—he should remember that fact.

Before he could change his mind, he summoned the young footman. After giving him an explanation carefully crafted in innuendo and vagaries, he sat back.

“Do you know what I expect of you, Jim?”

The young man was from Lochlaven, a Scot, and therefore loyal. “I am to say that I’m there for the mirror, sir. And then bring it back to you, straightaway. I’m not to let the man know your name or the lady’s whereabouts but only to tell him she’s fine and in good health. Once I have the mirror, she’ll be returned home.”

“Exactly,” Ian said.

He inspected Jim’s attire. The footman was dressed as any young man might be in bustling London: black trousers, white shirt, and a loose-fitting jacket.

“I’m depending on you, Jim,” he said. “Both for this errand, and your discretion.”

The young man nodded. “You have it, sir.”

“Off you go, then.”

After Jim left the room, Ian indulged in a moment of self-congratulation and tried to ignore the fact that it was tempered with regret.

T
he rain had lasted all day, the intensity of the storm varying depending upon the hour. Darkness came early, with the clouds obscuring the last of the sun and thunder heralding the approach of night.

Emma left the dinner tray untouched, feeling very much like a prisoner indeed. She stood, leaving the bed where she’d finally become interested in
Jane Eyre
. Perhaps there was too much of a resemblance between the two of them. She was as lonely as poor Jane and just as certain that the condition would never be rectified.