Julia London 4 Book Bundle (131 page)

Kerry stumbled forward—her gloves. Where in the bloody hell were her gloves?

Arthur was surprised but terribly pleased when Barnaby leaned over and whispered in his ear that Mrs. McKinnon had come to call and was waiting in the study. He quickly dismissed his solicitor with a promise to meet again on the morrow, saw the man out, then worked to pace his stride so that it did not appear that he rushed off like a young lad to see his love.

It was actually rather hard to do, for he was eager to tell Kerry of his decision, even more eager to see her glorious face when he did. She would be surprised, grateful, touched beyond words. She would love him always.

He quickened his step.

When he walked into the study, he could not keep what he was quite certain was an idiot grin from his face. Kerry had her back to him; she was bent over the map table.

“Kerry?”

She whirled, and Arthur felt the grin slip from his mouth.

Her face was pale, too pale—the gloves she gripped in her right hand were shaking, and her left hand gripped the diamond at her throat. For one insane instant Arthur thought she might tear it from the slender chain that held it.

“My God, what has happened?” he exclaimed, hurrying toward her. Kerry jerked awkwardly to one side, away from him, and opened her mouth, but there was no
sound. His heart began to beat hard, flooding his body with alarm. “Kerry, speak to me. Tell me what is wrong!” he demanded frantically.

“Thomas,” she managed to get out, and pointed to the desk.

Thomas.
Thomas? Arthur crossed the room to where she pointed, grabbed all the papers there. “What? What would you have me see?”

“A letter …”

His heart dropped to the bottom of his stomach. He frantically searched through the papers he held and found the one that bore Regis’s signature at the bottom. As he quickly scanned the missive, he felt his heart turn to lead, sink to his belly. He had not seen the letter before now. He certainly had not anticipated that she would discover his role in the demise of Glenbaden in this way. He supposed he had thought she would never know of it—why should she? She was never going back there.

He looked up; she stared at him as if he was a monster—no love shining in her blue eyes, just horror. “Kerry, please allow me to explain—”

“What could you possibly say? The letter explains it very clearly, does it not? You evicted me, Arthur. You scattered the McKinnons to all corners of the earth so that Moncrieffe could put his sheep there.”

“No, Kerry, Phillip Rothembow and your late husband did that. I might have directed the final outcome, but it was done well before I arrived in Scotland.”

She stared at him with such disbelief and hurt in her eyes that Arthur could feel it slice into his skin. “Why didnayou tell me this, Arthur?” she asked hoarsely. “Why didna you tell me you would evict me? How could you eat from my table, drink our whiskey … 
sleep in my bed?
”

“Kerry,” he moaned, reaching for her, but she backed away. His hands fell to his side. “I didn’t know it was you when I gave the orders, you must believe me.”

She blinked back tears, looked down at the gloves she gripped so tightly.

“When I came to Scotland and met with Mr. Regis, not only did he not know that your husband was dead, but he made me believe that the man with whom Phillip had partnered had a
surname
of Fraser. It wasn’t until my arrival in Glenbaden that I realized it was
you
I had ordered evicted.”

She recoiled from the word, bumping into the map table. Arthur made another move toward her, but she quickly shook her head and held up her hand. “No,” she muttered.

Panic. Sheer panic invaded him and suddenly frantic, Arthur quickly continued. “Look here, once I realized it was you, I did not say anything because I thought I could repair the thing. I had instructed Mr. Regis to pay a personal call, so I reasoned he had not yet come. When I left Glenbaden, I went directly to Dundee to stop the eviction and see what might be done about the debt.”

That earned him a skeptical look.

“Kerry, listen!” he said, hearing the desperation in his voice. “When I met with Regis in Dundee I realized I was too late. That is why I came back, do you see? I came back to tell you what had happened and to help you somehow.”

Her eyes rounded and filled with tears. “That is why you came back?”

“I came back because I loved you, Kerry. I love you
now
, only more, and so much that I was going to tell you today that we will marry—”

Her shout of hysterical laughter cut him like a knife, flaying open an old, ancient wound. A cold rush swept down his skin, and he unconsciously dropped the papers he held.

“You were going to tell me we would marry, is that it, then? Was I to have a say in it at all?”

“I thought you would want the same,” he heard himself say, and the words burned him—he sounded just like he had all those years ago when Portia had so sweetly denied him.
I thought you would want the same.

“Just like you thought I would want all these clothes, and these slippers, and these bloody gloves?” she asked, throwing the kid leather pair onto the map table. “I think you’ve not any idea who I truly am, Arthur! I am not these things! I canna live this life of leisure and unimaginable wealth! I doona know which spoon is appropriate, I feel myself rot with disuse, and I canna seem to shake the guilt or the fear of being discovered! I
belonged
in Glenbaden! It was my life, my very soul, and you took it away from me!”

His hands fisted tightly at his side in an effort to maintain his control. “I did not take it from you! Your husband robbed you of Glenbaden
long
before I came along! I merely tried to dispose of a bad investment, and in the course of it, I made the unforgivable error of falling in love with you!”

Kerry made a pitiful sound; a tear raced down her face. “Oh aye, I know, for I made the very same unforgivable error, I did. I love you like I have never loved another in my life, Arthur Christian, but I canna be what you want me to be and I willna stay here and pretend that I can! And dear God in heaven, I will
not
let Thomas hang for what I have done!”

“Thomas will not hang!” Arthur shouted at the ceiling. “For God’s sake, I will send my man to Perth at once with a very generous offer to allow Thomas to come to London!”

“You canna simply
buy
his freedom!” Kerry exclaimed angrily. “You canna buy his freedom any more than you can buy my love!”

That stung him badly.
“Damn you,”
he said low. “I gave you those things because I love you and I wanted you to have the finest the world has to offer.”

“No. No, Arthur, you wanted me to be like Lady Albright and Lady Kettering. You wanted me to learn to live like them,
behave
like them. You wanted me to live in a world where it is acceptable to evict people from their homes without even so much as seeing their faces.
You
should never have to worry where you might live, or how you might put food on your table! You have no idea what you did to us!”

The truth in that made him furious, and he stalked away from the desk, glared out the window as he fought for control. After all he had done for her, she would throw it back in his face? “Is it so awful, Kerry? Is what I offer you so detestable?”

“No,” she said, her voice softer. “It is highly desirable. But I find it not as desirable as Glenbaden … or my peace of mind.”

Somehow he found a glimmer of hope in that statement and pivoted around. Guilt was keeping her from him; guilt was giving all that she had seen in London a bitter taste. “Then I will find a way to free Thomas and bring him here, and you may rest easy, Kerry. And when you do, you will surely agree to marry me.”
God, how desperate he sounded.
How desperate he felt. The chaos of it all was slowly churning, slowly spinning them out of control. Arthur held his breath, waited for her response, waited for her to throw herself in his arms and beg his forgiveness for having been so cruel.

But Kerry slowly shook her head. “You truly doona understand how different we are, do you?”

Her simple rejection stunned him. He had to tell himself to breathe, to move. He never would have believed it, not in a thousand years would he have believed Kerry could hurt him so. “Then what do you want?” he asked coolly, finding that small part of himself that had not been cut dead by her rejection.

Tears welled in her pale blue eyes. “I want to go home.”

He closed his eyes, willed the pain from his chest.

“Please doona make me stay here, Arthur,” she softly pleaded.

The final blow, the one that effectively slew him. He could scarcely believe what he was hearing. He had saved this woman from hanging, had brought her to his
home, clothed her in the finest gowns, draped her in jewels, imposed on his friends for her welfare … and she wanted to go home? God in heaven, what sort of woman rejected the highest circle of British aristocracy out of hand? What sort of woman would take the love he had offered her under moonlit skies and silk tapestries and dismiss it so completely?
What sort of woman was she?
Perhaps Kerry was right. Perhaps they were very different indeed.

The old defenses came up after so many years, defenses he had erected and fortified in two dealings with Portia. Defenses he was certain he would never know again, because Kerry had seemed so different.
So real.
Everything he had thought she was seemed false to him now.

“I will think on it,” he said simply, and turned his back to her, unwilling to let her see how she had wounded him so deeply. “I rather imagine if you found your way in you might find your way out again?”

Silence. And then, a very soft
“Aye.”

He listened to the rustle of her new petticoats as she moved across the room and passed through the door. He stood there, staring down at the desk for what seemed an eternity before finally turning to face the room again.

She had left her gloves behind.

Silently, woodenly, Arthur moved to the map table and picked up one of the small kid leather gloves. He turned it over in his palm, unable to stop the memory of the feel of her hand in his from instantly flooding his heart. He abruptly dropped the glove on the table and walked out of the study.

It was over. His extraordinary little journey was over, and the quality of his life had, once again, been altered permanently by a woman’s perfidy.

Julian expressed some surprise before supper that Arthur had not been to call. Kerry shrugged it off as she
pretended to closely examine a painting, and mumbled something about another engagement. But she was aware of the look Claudia and Julian exchanged, and felt the heat crawl up the back of her neck.

After supper, she complained of a headache and retired early. When she was certain the Danes were ensconced in the small sitting room, she stole from her room and down to the kitchens through the servant’s stairway.

She startled Cook badly. “Miss? Is there something I can do for you?”

Kerry flushed furiously, fingered a curl touching her shoulder. “I would speak to Brian, the footman, if you please. Would you be so kind then to tell me where he might be?”

Cook’s mouth gaped open. “Oh no. No indeed, miss, I won’t be party to any such—

“He is from Scotland,” Kerry quickly interrupted. “Like me. I … I’ve a message for him, that’s all.”

Cook stopped shaking her head. “From his brother?”

Kerry nodded.

Cook smiled. “Ah, he’s been waiting to hear from him, the poor lad.”

“Where might he be, then?”

“I will take it for you, mu’um—”

“Ah, no—”
Dear God, she had to think fast.
“It’s … it’s written in Gaelic, you see, and ah, the lad, he canna read it. I shall have to read it to him.”

Cook frowned, obviously thinking. After a moment, she shrugged. “He’s done for the day. I reckon you can find him in his room on the top floor. Third door on the left.”

Kerry thanked her and left quickly before Cook could say anything else. She used the servant’s stairwell again, silently rejoicing each time a floor was gained and she had not met anyone who would question her. When she reached the fourth floor, she hurried to the third door on the left and rapped. She waited, her pulse quickening.

She was about to rap again when she heard the sound of shuffling feet. The door cracked open a hair.

“Brian!”

The door shut. She heard the sound of feet again—more than a pair, she was certain—and then muffled voices. A minute passed, maybe two, before the door opened again. “Aye?”

“Brian?”

The door opened wider, and Brian appeared before her, wearing nothing but a pair of trousers. His red hair was mussed, his lips swollen. A long, very thin and red line ran from his shoulder to his breast, the mark of a fingernail. A furious blush raced to her face as the footman peered down at her. “Aye, lass, what would ye be needing, then?”

She reached in the pocket of her skirt and fished out the blue diamond and held it up. Brian’s green eyes rounded; he flicked her an inquisitive look, then shifted his gaze to the diamond dangling before him. “I need to reach Scotland as quickly as possible.”

I
F THERE WAS
one thing Julian Dane abhorred, it was meddling in another man’s affairs. He usually left that sort of thing up to Arthur—he was so damn good at it. But when it was time for someone to meddle in Arthur’s affairs, he supposed it would have to be him, and he cursed Albright for staying at Longbridge through the autumn!

Julian handed the reins of his horse to a freckle-faced lad at Arthur’s Mount Street house and jogged up the steps to the entry, wondering how exactly he would inquire as to the delicate relationship between Arthur and Mrs. McKinnon. What words did he use to ask if the houseguest delivered to him was ever leaving? Not that he minded having Kerry about—she was actually very pleasant and Claudia seemed to adore her. And naturally, he couldn’t be happier that it had been
his
idea for Christian to trot off to Scotland in the first place. But the woman hadn’t come out of her room since yesterday afternoon, and Arthur hadn’t been to call in three full days now. When Claudia began to fret, Julian had finally reached the inevitable conclusion that he would, unfortunately, have to inquire as to exactly what had transpired between the two lovers to cause this sudden rift.