Love Me Forever (6 page)

K
imberly spent a good portion of the day sleeping. It wasn’t very sociable, it being only her second day at Sherring Cross, but she’d had no choice. And even the duchess agreed she should do so when Kimberly had nodded off just as Megan was beginning to discuss the “plan” that would see her on her way to matrimony.

Megan had herded both Lucinda, Devlin’s grandmother, and Kimberly to her sitting room directly after that—how should she put it?—torturous breakfast. The “plan,” as Megan called it, was a strategy that they could all agree on, in other words, how to expose Kimberly to the widest assortment of bachelors at the soonest opportunity to assure her a wide range of possibles that she could then have ample time to consider.

It was mentioned that a number of social events were already scheduled in the coming weeks at Sherring Cross. And a slew of invitations to entertainments elsewhere also needed to
be sorted through and decided on, including several imminent balls.

Kimberly had fallen asleep just as Lucinda, or Duchy, as her family fondly called her, mentioned that one of those balls was in London and a mere four days hence. Kimberly had been about to confess that there was no way she could prepare for an event of that formal magnitude in that short of time, having not a single ball gown to her name, when her eyes had closed for the umpteenth time and stayed closed.

The next thing she knew, Megan was shaking her awake, laughing softly, and telling her to go to bed.

It was, of course, the height of bad manners to fall asleep on one’s hostess, and Kimberly was truly embarrassed. She made her excuses, blamed her cold and the journey. And she wasn’t sure why she didn’t put the blame where it belonged, on the guest in the room next to hers, but she didn’t.

Now, as she dressed for dinner, she also wondered why she hadn’t requested another room today. Having that Scot sleeping nearby was going to disturb her peace of mind, she knew it was. Knowing that she might run into him in the halls, coming to and from her room. Knowing that she was bound to hear him, whether he decided to have a little more consideration for the sort of noise he made or not. She had decisions to make that were going to affect the rest of her life. She didn’t need distractions.

Yet she’d said nothing to her hostess, and now that she thought about it, she still probably wouldn’t ask to be moved. The simple truth was, that even as exhausted as she’d been, and mis
erable with her cold, she’d never in her life been so stimulated. Excitement, fear, thrill, fury, whatever she wanted to call it, MacGregor made her feel it. And she ought to decide whether it was a good or bad thing, before she put an end to it.

The dowager duchess had sent a God-awful tasting concoction along with Mary, to treat Kimberly’s cold, and by the time she was dressed and ready to leave her room, she was actually feeling somewhat better. At least her nose was no longer threatening to run away at the first sneeze. In fact, she’d stopped sneezing, enough so she was able to camouflage some of the lingering redness, or as the case was, rawness, with a little powder. The achiness was also gone from her limbs, adding a little perkiness to her step.

Actually, she was quite pleased with her appearance, all things considered. The lavender dress that she’d had Mary press for her had a draped and sashed waist that allowed her to tie away the looseness in that area. But she really was going to have to do something about her current wardrobe, and decided to ask the duchess if she had a personal seamstress at Sherring Cross, or at least one located close by that she could visit tomorrow. Parties and balls in London? Not until she was properly girded for them.

She’d heard not a sound from the room next door all afternoon, though she doubted anything could have roused her from the deep sleep she’d fallen into. But she’d heard nothing this evening either. Perhaps
he’d
requested a new room elsewhere, now that he was being allowed to stay on, to spare them both any more disturbances. She still couldn’t understand why the duke had changed his mind about letting the Scot stay; he’d
sounded so adamant the night before.

This evening there were several new guests that Kimberly was introduced to when she joined the nightly gathering in the parlor. Lady Hester Cowles and her daughter, Cynthia, were visiting the dowager duchess, and had agreed to stay for the coming week. Cynthia was a lovely young chatterbox of about sixteen years, which made her old enough to socialize with the adults on certain occasions, but not quite used to that privilege yet.

Tiffany Whately was also present, introduced as Megan’s “dearest friend.” She had come with her husband, the Honorable Tyler Whately, for the weekend, and pretty much monopolized the duchess, as the two friends had much to catch up on. Kimberly had wanted to get back to discussing that “plan” she’d fallen asleep on this morning, but it looked like it would have to wait a bit more.

However, she was able to find out that a Mrs. Canterby, an excellent seamstress, according to Margaret MacGregor, was retained full-time by the ladies of the house, and they kept her so busy that it was necessary as well as convenient for her to permanently reside at Sherring Cross. And Megan had already arranged for her to meet with Kimberly first thing in the morning.

That did put Kimberly’s mind to rest on the matter of a new wardrobe. And hopefully the ball that had been mentioned only a few days hence wouldn’t be on the agenda. She had hoped to gradually work her way into the social whirl, until she was comfortable meeting a great many strangers, not start out immediately with extravagant events. However, from the little that she
had heard about the “plan” this morning, the duchess apparently had other ideas.

As it grew near the dinner hour, and Lachlan MacGregor had yet to make an appearance, Kimberly began to hope that she wouldn’t have to endure his company again. She wasn’t to be that lucky.

She was sitting next to Cynthia Cowles, listening to the girl complain about the lack of color variety in her wardrobe—young girls were still trotted out in the inevitable pastels that had been favored for the last century and Megan’s rich green gown had prompted an envious sigh—when the Highlander sauntered into the room, looking exceptionally handsome in a dark burgundy dinner jacket that nearly matched his hair color when the light reflected in it just so. And his thick, unclubbed hair floated about his shoulders, highly unfashionable. Yet when had Highlanders ever conformed to fashion, and on him, well, the style seemed just right. A bit of lace at the neck and cuffs of his white silk shirt added to the dashing effect he presented.

Cynthia’s mouth dropped open. Kimberly had nearly the same reaction, though she managed to keep her mouth closed. No doubt about it, he still attracted her on every level, causing her senses to become vibrantly alive and expectant.

But he didn’t notice her or anyone else for that matter. He came in wearing his charm-the-ladies smile, but there was only one lady he was interested in charming and he moved straight to her.

That lady was the duchess, of course, and since Megan was on the other side of the room, it was impossible to hear what words were exchanged between them. But it became comical, watching
them, as Megan realized he was going to reach for her hand and tried to prevent it. She swiftly moved her hand out of his reach, but had to do it again and again since Lachlan refused to give up, was actually chasing her hand with his until he finally caught it to bring to his lips for a lingering kiss, or at least, he meant for it to be lingering. But Megan immediately snatched her hand back, giving him a frown for his efforts.

Everyone, of course, was watching them. Lucinda chuckled. Devlin scowled. Kimberly shook her head.

Into the silence that followed, Cynthia found her voice, saying in an awed tone, “He’s a veritable giant, isn’t he?”

Kimberly had thought so at first too, but having stood next to him since, she’d been forced to change her mind. “I don’t think so,” she replied.

Cynthia should have been mortified, having made a thoughtless remark like that, and in a voice that would carry. Her mother certainly was. But the girl seemed quite unaware of her faux pas.

As for Kimberly’s reply, Cynthia simply looked at her as if she were daft. So she stood up to demonstrate why she might not consider him a giant. Cynthia’s eyes followed her up and up and finally her expression mirrored some mild self-disgust, as if to say, now why didn’t I notice that before?

“Well, no wonder you wouldn’t think so. You’re a giant too,” the girl said.

Poor Lady Cowles was beet red by that point, but the comment struck Kimberly funny for some reason, and she laughed out loud. It had been so
long since she had done so that it felt strange—yet good. But when she wound down, ending in a smile, she happened to catch Lachlan giving her an odd look. She had
not
meant to draw his notice to her, and having it now, she found herself flustered again. But fortunately, dinner was announced at that moment and the exodus began toward the dining hall.

Megan had made an effort to again limit the chairs at the dining table, but without actually assigning seats and being obvious about her strategy, it didn’t work this time. In fact Kimberly and Lachlan were the first seated and as it happened, at opposite ends of the long table.

Megan was a bit put out. But having witnessed Lady Kimberly’s smile in the parlor, she was still so pleased that she realized the seating arrangements didn’t matter that much.

That smile, genuine as it was, had completely transformed the lady, surprising Megan at first, then delighting her. Amazing what a couple of dimples could do for one’s appearance, not to mention disposition. And although Kimberly still couldn’t be called beautiful in the classic sense, when she smiled, there was a warm, sensual appeal to her features that made her quite lovely indeed. And Megan was thrilled that Lachlan MacGregor had also taken note.

Along that same line of thought, another idea occurred to Megan. She tested her theory at dinner, putting her best effort forth to be amusing and to keep those around her smiling, if not laughing. And it worked. Kimberly relaxed and seemed to thoroughly enjoy herself, and each time she laughed, Lachlan seemed to turn her way.

Of course, it was too bad of him that he was also sending seductive smiles and looks Megan’s way.

Megan sighed, realizing she was going to have to have another talk with him about his continued interest in her—before Devlin took note of it. The only way she’d been able to get around her husband’s stubborn refusal to allow the Highlander to stay was to stress the possibility of matching him with the Earl of Amburough’s daughter. If he happened to notice where MacGregor’s interest lay, albeit temporarily—Megan would see to that—there wouldn’t be any talking around him again. The Scot would be given the boot immediately, if Devlin didn’t take him to task with his fists again instead.

That was, unfortunately, an ongoing possibility, considering Devlin’s antipathy toward the Highlander. But sitting near each other tonight, with only Duchy between them, they seemed to be doing an admirable job of ignoring each other. Too admirable, possibly.

Though it might become apparent to those around them how
completely
they were ignoring each other and cause speculation and gossip, they didn’t have that to worry about quite yet, not until they started socializing outside of Sherring Cross. But then, plans had been made for doing just that within the next few days.

Duchy had managed to convince Megan that putting all her eggs in one basket wasn’t a brilliant idea. As much as she liked and had settled on the notion of helping Kimberly and Lachlan on the path to discovering true love, and as convenient as it was, having both of them in residence to hurry that along, it might simply not be
meant to be. So in all fairness, they each needed to be exposed to a nice range of eligibles. And the Wigginses’ ball in London, only a few days away, was just the thing to get that out of the way.

K
imberly was feeling pleasantly tired as she slowly made her way down the many hallways back to her room. She still hadn’t caught up on her sleep yet, but hopefully she would make up for that tonight. And her cold, miraculously, seemed to be gone completely, thanks to Lucinda’s wonderful, foul-tasting concoction.

All in all, she’d actually enjoyed herself this evening. She’d been looking at all these upcoming social gatherings with something more like dread than anticipation. But Megan St. James had been such a charming and amusing hostess tonight that Kimberly had actually forgotten her reason for being at Sherring Cross.

Amazingly, she’d also been so distracted by her hostess that she’d managed to forget, for brief periods anyway, the presence of the man who so fascinated her. It had helped that he sat at the far end of the table from her, far enough that she couldn’t even hear his voice in whatever conversations he joined in.

It was only when she had the strangest feeling of having MacGregor’s eyes on her that she recalled him at all. Not that she looked even once to confirm if he was staring at her or not. And it was more likely just her imagination giving her that feeling, because he’d have no reason to pay attention to her when the lovely Megan was present.

Kimberly knew exactly where his interest lay. After all, she had overheard everything he’d said to the duchess when he arrived. And not for a moment did she think that their banter had been the kind of harmless flirtation that men and women engaged in. He’d been serious. He meant to pursue a married woman. And that married woman had been obviously annoyed and exasperated with him because of it, not in the least bit receptive to the idea. But that wouldn’t stop him. His behavior tonight proved that.

Kimberly heard the footsteps behind her just as she turned into the hallway where her room was located. The sound caused her heart to skip. It could be a servant, though she doubted it, with such a heavy tread. It was more likely the Highlander, and yet she had left the gathering early, to avoid just such a possibility.

After dinner they had moved from the dining hall to the music room, where Cynthia had entertained them with her skill on the harpsichord. Because it was such a small gathering, by St. James standards, the men had brought their brandies along rather than remain behind to finish them, and those who wished to smoke did so in the back of the room.

When Kimberly left, MacGregor had still been swirling a good portion of brandy in his glass, as
well as being deep in conversation with Lady Hester, so by all counts, he should
not
be coming up the hall behind her. And she knew for a fact that he kept late hours. But her senses were telling her otherwise, were leaping with alarm or excitement—she really wished she could distinguish the two.

Wisely, Kimberly chose not to have another confrontation with him, if it was him, however brief or even if it were no more than a nod in passing. She was positive she’d never get to sleep tonight if she did. So she hurried her step, was actually running the last few, only to realize as she turned the latch on her door that she’d locked it.

Now, why had she done a foolish thing like that? He hadn’t been serious about stealing anything from her, he wouldn’t dare. For her peace of mind, she really only needed to lock the door when she was behind it, not when she wasn’t. Yet it was locked tight, those footsteps were growing louder, and when she finally located the hidden pocket tucked under the folds of her skirt and yanked the key out, she was so anxious she dropped the damn thing. Worse, after snatching it up again, she couldn’t find the keyhole.

And then a large hand spread wide against the door, level with her face, and a Scots brogue was breathing down her neck. “So you dinna think I’m a giant?”

After her haste and anxiety, it was strange to have a calmness come over her now, but that’s what happened. Possibly she’d had one too many glasses of the sweet wine with the meal tonight, or possibly it was no more than resignation. But she was definitely calm now, and when she
turned around to face him, she wasn’t
too
disconcerted to find him practically looming over her, he was so close.

So he’d heard her remark to Cynthia? Amazing that she wasn’t embarrassed by that.

Kimberly raised her eyes to meet his, not too far a distance, really it wasn’t, and answered in a somewhat dry tone, “Hardly.”

That response seemed to amuse him, though he pointed out, “You did enough gawking at me the first time you saw me, as I recall.”

“Possibly because you’re an exceptionally handsome man?” she said.

Putting it in the form of a question had him blushing, though that was likely to have happened either way. He also dropped his arm and stepped back slightly, so that he didn’t seem quite so threatening.

“Then perhaps I’m owing you an apology for my abruptness yesterday when I arrived.”

She could have been gracious, accepted his apology, and let it go at that, which would undoubtedly have hurried him along to his own room, and gotten her into hers without any further ado. She didn’t do that.

Instead she said, “You’re making a habit of owing me apologies, aren’t you?”

It was a provoking question. She realized that as soon as she spoke. Yet she didn’t try to retract her comment or lessen the subtle challenge it issued.

His reaction, however, was to laugh and say, “D’you think so, darlin’? And here I was thinking what a good lad I’ve been—all things considered.”

Kimberly ignored his attempt to put the blame
for his behavior on her, and said instead, “I’ve asked you not to call me that.”

The smile he offered now was somewhat on the wicked side, or perhaps her imagination was running rampant again. “Asking willna always get what you want from me, unless ’tis what I’m wanting tae hear.”

She should have known she couldn’t have a conversation with this man without getting annoyed with him. “And what would that be?”

“From you, maybe—please?”

She quirked a brow. “Humble myself because you haven’t sense enough to see that I am not nor will I ever be your darling? I think not.”

It was another challenge. His hand came back to the door behind her head, bracing him against it. That definitely crowded her and forced her to tilt her head back even farther if she wanted to keep eye contact. Perhaps she should reconsider about his being a giant…

“Never deny what’s possible, and anything’s possible, given fate’s intervention, as well as the quirks of nature and one’s own determination.”

“Then would it be
possible
for you to take yourself off and let me retire in peace?”

He chuckled. “Aye, ’tis possible, but here is an instance when determination’s going tae delay it.”

“What do you mean?”

He smiled a bit too sensually, which should have given her some warning of what he was going to say, but it didn’t. “Just that I havena kissed you yet, darlin’, when I’m feeling this powerful urge right now tae do so.”

“Don’t even—!”

That was as far as she got in her protest, be
cause he bent his head and he
was
kissing her. For an unexpected happening, this one could have won a prize. Never would Kimberly have thought that something like this was possible, yet Lachlan MacGregor’s lips were moving over hers in a light, hesitant manner, and then suddenly, with no hesitancy at all as his kiss deepened for a full tasting.

Kimberly was thoroughly entranced. She didn’t move. She barely breathed. She certainly didn’t think. She simply stood there and experienced the wonder of that kiss and all the pleasant sensations that accompanied it. Even when his tongue made a foray into her mouth, her shock that he would do such a thing didn’t counter the pleasure of it. There were too many unique feelings coursing through her to be overly disturbed by the unexpected.

When he finally leaned back, she was totally bemused. He could have left right then and she wouldn’t have known it. But he didn’t leave. He was staring down at her rather intensely, and when her thoughts finally returned in a rush, they bombarded her with contradictions. Utmost was outrage alongside a desire to kiss him again, which
really
didn’t mix at all.

Kimberly had certainly never experienced anything even remotely similar to what had just occurred. Maurice had given her a short, awkward kiss when she was sixteen, which had been her first. Then he’d given her a more manly kiss before he left on his grand tour. Neither had affected her in the least, but she certainly couldn’t say that about the Scotsman’s kiss. And she had no idea why he had decided to show her the difference.

She resolved to find out, asking him frankly, “Why did you do that?”

He suddenly looked as confused as she was. “I dinna ken,” he admitted. “’Tis possible I have overimbibed and should take myself tae bed, afore I make more of an ass of myself than I have.”

She was disappointed in his response though she had no business being so. What had she expected to hear, that he had kissed her because he simply couldn’t help himself, that it was something he had to do because he wanted to so badly? She nearly snorted at her own thoughts.

To him she said, “Yes, that’s a capital idea. And don’t bother apologizing yet again in the morning, MacGregor. Too many apologies tend to weaken the sincerity one should expect from such endeavors.”

She turned about to make another attempt to open her door. His hand came to her arm, stilling her, and he was once again breathing down her neck, sending a shiver down her spine this time.

“I never apologize for kissing a lass. ’Tis something I’m never sorry for, and that ’twas you I kissed doesna make an exception to that. So dinna be expecting to hear that I’m sorry, because I’m no’ the least bit sorry.”

With that he walked away, leaving her even more confused than she had been.