Scandalous Lords and Courtship Page 27

  From instinct, she leapt to her feet. “Wait!”

  Both pistols swung back to her. “Sit,” the owner growled.

  Etta held up both palms placatingly. “Of course.” She sat slowly, giving Mrs. Ross time to get farther away. The greater the distance between them, surely, the less certain the gunman’s aim. “It just struck me, we might have a way out of this situation. Why do you want this treasure? To improve the lot of your families?”

  “Of course,” the chief robber said loftily.

  More likely, he’d got into some drunken boast and was now determined to see it through or lose face before his equally fat-witted friends. But she nodded sympathetically. “Then I have to tell you, the money in my library desk will do you all much more good than any imagined treasure. Even if the treasure were real, you’d surely all be taken up by the law for selling something so prominent—which must belong to the government, I’m sure—and what use would you be to your families then? Take the money as a gift, and salvage something from this fiasco.”

  The chief scowled at her, looking for the catch.

  “She’s got a point, Tam,” said the man who’d failed to stop Mrs. Ross’s escape. Nicol, the leader had called him.

  “Aye?” said the man with the pistols in disbelief. “And what’s to stop her accusing us of stealing the money and sending the law after us?”

  “Jesus,” Nicol said. “She’ll do that anyway, whether we have it away with a few pounds or weighed down by a ton of bloody gold! With just notes we can at least run faster!”

  “No one’s running anywhere!” Tam, the leader, snapped. “We’re going to get the treasure and leave on her ladyship’s horses.”

  “Well, that’s another thing,” Etta said apologetically. She wanted to draw out the conversation, to make possible some kind of situation where the intruders could be overpowered, or, at least, got rid of without anyone being hurt. A slim, desperate hope, but one she had to hold on to.

  “What is?” Tam demanded.

  “There are no horses in the stable, apart from my mare, and I doubt she’d take the weight of one of you, let alone all three of you, supplemented by treasure or not.”

  “You’ve got more than one horse!” Nicol scoffed.

  “Oh yes, but my men took them, looking for my missing estate manager.”

  The three men exchanged glances. Etta’s throat closed up with fear for Mr. Ross. She suspected they’d seen there was no one guarding the house. They may even have seen the men leave. Perhaps they hadn’t thought ahead, or just believed the resources of the comparatively wealthy to be limitless.

  “They’ll be back very soon, before it’s completely dark,” Etta warned. “So I’d advise you to conclude your business quickly and be gone.”

  “We’re not afraid,” Tam retorted. “Why should we be when our pistols point at you?”

  She laughed. “My good man, I’m of no value to anyone. I am a stranger here.”

  Nicol and the gunman exchanged worried glances.

  “She’s gulling you,” Tam said. “She’s trying to convince us she knows nothing about the treasure. Which means she does. Very well, missus, two minutes, and then he shoots—”

  “Me,” Etta finished for him. “I understand, though sadly, I will not then be in a position to tell you anything.”

  “Which is why we won’t shoot you,” Tam said triumphantly, striding across the room. “We’ll shoot…her.” He seized Morag by the arm and dragged her to the middle of the floor so that the gunman could point one of his pistols at her while the other remained on Etta. “How many servants are you prepared to see die before you tell us?”

  Up until then, Etta had been acting and talking on blind instinct, some inner voice assuring her that she could control the situation if she stayed calm and talked, that she would not let anything happen to her people. But at that moment, the reality hit home with enough force to make her dizzy. Blood drained from her face and, for an instant, her vision blurred. She could not reason with these men because they couldn’t afford to believe the truth. And she could not stop them shooting whomever they wished. She didn’t have the information they wanted.

  Her vision cleared, leaving her staring into Tam’s flat, hard eyes.

  And then someone knocked on the front door. A loud, sudden banging that made everyone jump and exchange glances.

  Tam and Nicol strode to the window and peered toward the front door.

  “I can’t see anyone,” Nicol said.

  “Well the door didn’t knock itself,” Tam retorted. “They’ll be standing too close in for us to see, so there can only be one of them, two at most. It’s not her men back.” He chewed his lip. “Answer it. Bring whoever it is in here.”

  Nicol nodded without enthusiasm and went to obey.

  “Not a sound,” Tam warned everyone. “And you,” he added to Etta, “need to start thinking about your choices. How many lives is your treasure worth?”

  “None,” she whispered.

  The tension in the room was strung as tight as a bow. Even straining her ears, Etta could hear no conversation from the front door or the hall. No footsteps.

  And then, very slowly, Mrs. Ross walked into the room, carrying a large, covered box. Behind her, came her husband.

  “Mr. Ross!” Etta exclaimed, jumping to her feet, for his face was bruised and his upper lip swollen.

  “Sit down, my lady,” he said sternly, and Etta was so surprised that she did.

  “What the…?” Tam began.

  Mrs. Ross set the apparently heavy box down at Tam’s feet. It was covered by nothing more exotic than a rather grubby coat. She stepped aside. “I’ve brought you the treasure. Now take it and go.”

  “Good God,” Etta uttered. “There really was treasure.”

  All eyes rivetted on the box as Tam bent and twitched the coat away.

  And that was when all hell broke loose.

  Mr. Ross thudded his joined hands onto Tam’s shoulders, flattening him. At the same time, the window exploded. A man leapt through the hail of shattered glass and hurled himself across the floor into the stunned gunman.

  “Rob,” Etta whispered in sudden, fresh terror. Mrs. Ross clutched her, and the room seemed to fill with men. Archie was one of them.

  Etta found herself staring at the box of “treasure,” which contained a ham, two loaves, a jar of pickles and several fat cabbages. The box had only ever been a distraction. Hysterical laughter threatened. She wrenched her eyes free of the box and searched frantically for Rob.

  On one knee, he held one of the gunman’s pistol’s in his left hand, while his right fist crashed into the man’s jaw. A complete stranger to her caught the second pistol. Rob rose to his feet, soaking wet from the rain, and spun around until his eyes locked with Etta’s.

  She drew in a shuddering breath. All her people were still standing. The pistols had never fired, and the man who’d wielded them lay unconscious on the carpet at Rob’s feet. Tam and Nicol stood captives, each held by two men.

  She swallowed. “Light the candles in the drawing room, Morag, it’s cold and dark in here.”

  Rob began to laugh.

  Chapter Seven

  A few minutes later, she sat alone before the fire in the drawing room, shivering uncontrollably. Rob had said nothing to her since his arrival, let alone touched her, when what she really wanted was to feel safe in his strong arms. Instead, he’d organized the binding of their prisoners and their bestowal in the old carriage in her coach house. Two of his men were under orders to drive the miscreants into Inverness and deliver them to the authorities.

  Mrs. Ross was tending to her husband’s injuries. The servants, having built the fire and given her a glass of brandy, had left her alone, no doubt to comfort each other and discuss the bizarre events of the evening.

  Etta slid off the chair to kneel on the rug before the flames. She felt she’d never be warm again. She sipped her brandy. At least it heated her insides.

  The dr
awing room door opened and closed. Etta glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see Mrs. Ross and quite prepared to tell her to retire. She would at least say that she’d be happy to wait until morning to hear and understand everything that had happened. Even though she wanted very badly to know everything now.

  But it wasn’t Mrs. Ross. It was Rob Ogilvy.

  He wore the same rough working clothes as when he’d crashed so spectacularly through the parlor window. His knuckles were grazed and he looked thoroughly disreputable.

  Her heart turned over.

  He walked across the room and crouched down in front of the fire beside her. His intense eyes searched her face for an instant, and then his breath caught and his arms went around her, holding her close in to his damp person.

  “I was so afraid for you,” he whispered into her hair.

  “I was so afraid for you…” The rest was lost in his mouth as it seized hers. With a sob, she threw one arm around his neck, pressing closer with sheer need. His hands moved up and down her back, pulling her into him as though he couldn’t get enough of her.

  His open mouth left hers and pressed kisses to her cheek, her throat. One fumbling hand took the glass from her and pushed it onto the hearth, where it fell over and spilled. Etta didn’t care, and Rob didn’t even seem to notice. He pushed her back until she lay full out on the rug and his hand swept the length of her body, making her gasp. He kissed her mouth again, and then her throat before dragging his lips down to her chest.

  She arched into his caressing hands as they swept over her body, from her breasts to her hips, seeking and finding the comfort of his hardness . He drew a breast free of her bodice and fell upon it like a starving man, kissing and nipping until she moaned.

  She pushed urgently at his rough coat until he shrugged it off. He loomed over her, and slid his hand under her skirts to her thigh.

  “Let me love you,” he whispered. “Let me…”

  “Let you?” she repeated on a sobbing breath, as his fingers found the hot wetness between her legs. “I insist upon it.”

  Etta had been used to the civil duties of her husband, and then to the sophisticated seduction of her noble lovers. This wild, desperate need was altogether new and utterly irresistible. In the candlelight, without even undressing her, he took her, driving into her as if he owned her. And God, she wanted to be owned. She clung to him, meeting everything and begging for more. He gave it until the pleasure exploded into something far beyond any she’d ever known. This, this was the culmination of love.

  Love…the beautiful, terrifying word flooded her as waves of joy crashed through her. He collapsed on her, sinking his mouth to hers, perhaps to muffle his desperate groans as he found his own release.

  Their hearts thundered together and slowly, gradually calmed. He dragged his open mouth across her jaw to her ear. “I didn’t mean it to happen quite like that.”

  “What if someone had come in?” she murmured, almost surprised that her lips could still move.

  “We’d have been caught in flagrante and would have to marry.” Slowly and reluctantly, it seemed, he smoothed down her skirts while she righted her bodice, and then he sat, drew her into a sitting position and fastened the buttons of his breeches.

  But that was as far as he went toward respectability. He’d already closed the drawing room door. If they were discovered thus, she would be compromised, whatever they had or hadn’t done. Presumably, that was his reasoning, too, for he rose and poured himself a glass of brandy before he rejoined her by the fire. He slipped his arm around her.

  Smiling into the flames, she let her head fall onto his shoulder. Something huge was happening. Something that went beyond the girlish adoration she’d once harbored for Derwent, overwhelming even the greatest comfort and pleasure she’d found in clandestine liaisons.

  Love.

  But she couldn’t and wouldn’t say the word. Instead, she said, “How did you know to come here? Was Mrs. Ross in on your plan?”

  “My men and I went to the caves by the waterfall, where I was sure your villains had to be hiding out. They weren’t there, but Ross was, and he knew they were coming here for you. I’ve never covered that distance so quickly.”

  “I sent everyone out looking for Mr. Ross,” she confessed.

  “I know. I’d probably have done the same. We met up with them and we were making plans when Mrs. Ross bolted out of the house. So, we devised a better plan. The Rosses slipped around to the back of the house and came in through the kitchen to distract your captors with fake treasure. My old friend Alastair knocked on the door and took care of the villain who was stupid enough to answer it. Then he gave the Rosses the signal to enter the parlor. I was watching from the window. I apologize for the window, by the way.”

  “I forgive you,” she said lazily.

  “James and Archie have boarded it up for the night. I’ll send for someone to repair it in the morning.”

  He drank a little of the brandy, then offered her a sip. She took the glass, feeling his eyes warm on her face. Every inch of her responded to his closeness.

  “What?” she asked lightly, although his scrutiny deprived her of breath.

  “I was just wondering.”

  “What were you wondering?”

  “If you would allow me to escort you to your bedchamber… and there make love to you for the rest of the night.”

  Her body heated in instant response. “For the rest of the night?” she teased. “Don’t you want to sleep?”

  “We can sleep in the morning.”

  Oh God. “You’ll ruin what’s left of my reputation,” she managed. At that moment, she didn’t care.

  “I have a plan for that,” he assured her, rising to his feet and drawing her with him. “Are you saying yes?”

  “You know I am.”

  ***

  Several hours later, she lay curled against him, her cheek resting on his naked chest, her body finally sated and yet still singing with joy. She had believed the world could hold no greater pleasure than the wild fulfilment he’d given her in the drawing room, but the last few hours of slow, tender loving had opened the door to new levels of sensuality she’d never dreamed of. She adored Rob’s hard, lean body…and all the delicious things he could do with it. All the delicious things she’d done to it. She’d found so much joy in pleasing him.

  Now, the short, Highland night was over. Dawn seeped through the curtains around the bed. Rob was still here, and she didn’t think she could keep her eyes open for a moment longer. She had never slept by a lover’s side before. But it seemed he had no intention of leaving. She was glad. There was comfort and sweetness in lying naked with him like this.

  Memory of his words in the drawing room came back to her and she smiled against his skin.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Exactly what is your plan for dealing with our inevitable discovery?”

  He smiled into her hair--she could hear it in his voice. “It’s irrefutable.”

  “You’re going to bribe my maid?”

  “Would that work? No, my plan is better.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “Marry me.”

  She closed her eyes, waiting for a new pain that never came. “I don’t want to be married.” She seemed to be reminding herself as much as him.

  “You want to be married to me,” he assured her. “We’ll have fun together. We can travel—to London and the rest of the world, if you like. And we can come home whenever we wish.”

  His hand stroked her hair. She felt his lips among it again. “I believe you belong here, Henrietta. With me.”

  Now the tears came. “I don’t, Rob. I’m not the woman you think I am. And I won’t do it again. I won’t marry without love.”

  He moved, looming over her. “Don’t you love me?” he asked ruefully. “Even a little?”

  Her heart thundered, but curiously, she wanted to make the declaration. She didn’t want to hide it. She wanted him to know.
>
  “I do love you. I don’t know why or how it has happened so quickly. But I love you.” His intense eyes bored into hers with renewed turbulence. Apparently speechless, he cupped her face between his hands.

  She touched his cheek, his lip with her fingertips, and smiled. “It’s not my love that concerns me. It’s yours.”

  His smile was instantaneous and dazzling. “Then the plan is perfect, for I’ve loved you since I first set eyes on your masked face at the ball.”

  “No, you haven’t,” she denied shakily.

  “Yes, I have,” he said, kissing her firmly and thoroughly. “Now,” he said breathlessly, “we have to get married.”

  ***

  The wedding took place the following week, in the little church at Lochgarron village. It was a quiet ceremony, with only a few of the Ardbeag and Lochgarron households present. And the Duke and Duchess of Roxburgh. The Duke gave the bride away, an honor Etta had bestowed upon him with the words, “I am told this is all your fault, so it’s the least you can do.”

  The Duke smiled. “I didn’t even introduce you.”

  “But you made sure we were under the same roof at the ball, and sure to meet again over the sale of Ardbeag.”

  “I merely made such encounters possible. You and Robert did the rest.”

  “Why?” she asked, bluntly. “Why did you throw us together?”

  He hesitated, then flicked a speck of imaginary dust from his immaculate cuff. “I sensed a subtle, restless unhappiness in you. I have long sensed an unfulfillment in him.” He smiled faintly. “And you have a similar sense of fun. I thought you might suit. How gratifying to be proved right.”

  The simple ceremony was remarkably short, but even so, she couldn’t help the sudden attack of panic as she spoke her vows. She remembered only too well the last time she’d made those promises. Derwent had made them too and kept them no more than a day. What was she thinking, giving herself into another stranger’s power?

  Just because she melted in his arms. Just because he made her laugh and…

  And it was over. No longer Lady Derwent, she was Mrs. Ogilvy, the lady of Lochgarron and Ardbeag. As they walked out of the church, she gazed up at him with something approaching dread, even regret.