Her Scottish Groom (3 page)

He noticed that she formed the words carefully, as if struggling to force them out.

Still somewhat at a loss, his lordship groped for a reply. “I had no notion of disturbing you, Miss Quinn. By all means continue reading.” He moved toward the liquor cabinet. “I only wish to drink a cognac before returning to my hotel.”

“Well, that is a fortuishus—fortu—” After a few more attempts to pronounce
fortuitous
, she gave up. “It’s your lucky night.” She held up an empty snifter under his shocked gaze. “Papa keeps his spirits locked up, but I had the same thought. I wager you don’t even know where he keeps the key.”

Glancing inside the open cabinet, he saw an empty space in the line of crystal decanters. Wrenching his gaze back to his fiancée, he gaped as she held up the missing container.

“I have no idea what this is, but I highly recommend it.” She swirled the liquid around its interior, and chuckled, an unexpectedly musical sound. He realized he had never heard her laughter. “It tastes
like fire going down, but do you know, I have not felt the least draft for over an hour.”

Striding over, he relieved her of the decanter despite her protests. Up close, alcohol-scented breath confirmed Miss Quinn’s words. His fiancée had indeed imbibed a good portion of the drink.

He examined the level of cognac remaining. “How much of this have you had?”

“I don’t precisely recall.” Under his incredulous eyes, she wrinkled her brow as she pondered the question. “I remember bringing the decanter over after my second glass because I kept tripping when I walked over to refill it.”

“Never mind.” He bit off the words before returning the decanter to its place and shutting the cabinet doors. Seeing the key where the girl had left it in the lock, he turned it, and faced her once more. From her position in the large chair, she regarded him with a puzzled expression.

“Aren’t you going to have your drink?” She picked up the snifter again, peering mournfully into its empty bottom.

“You need to get back to your room at once, Miss Quinn.” He ignored the mulish expression on her face. “As it is, you shall feel quite wretched tomorrow.”

“Ha!” She ejaculated the syllable bitterly. “I shall feel wretched anyway.” She shot him an unexpectedly shrewd glance. “So will you.”

Thrown off balance for a second time, he resorted to his most formal manner. “I assure you that I shall feel nothing of the sort on such a momentous occasion.”

“Stuff!” She straightened in the chair, tensing
her body as though to spring. “You came in here for a drink for the same reason I did.”

“And what reason is that?” Wondering if her family had forbidden her to speak for fear of exposing a sharp temper, he braced himself in case she flew at him.

“You don’t want to marry me any more than I want to marry you.” She did not make a move to attack him, but her accurate assessment of his feelings startled him into taking a step back.

“Whatever gave you that idea?” Never mind that she spoke the truth; one did not betray one’s emotional state in public. He paced a few steps to the dark fireplace, dropping his eyes.

“You only like pretty women. Everyone says so.” The anger left her voice. “I mean, look at me.”

Although not a command, he lifted his eyes and did as she said. Miss Quinn stood once again, regarding him steadily from her place in front of the chair. Even with those appalling nightclothes tied at her waist like a pudding bag, he could detect the slim curves they covered. His gaze lingered on the full breasts that rose and fell with her agitated breathing.

And for the first time he found himself able to examine her face. Brown tendrils gleamed around a firm jaw where they had escaped the thick braid hanging down her back. Her mouth with its full, curved lips hinted at sensuality.

“I have mirrors, you know.” Her voice broke into his thoughts. Although slightly slurred, it held nothing but a matter-of-fact acceptance of her appearance. It occurred to him that part of her reticence in their courtship might result from growing up
with a beauty for a mother. Certainly they had conversed more in the last quarter of an hour than they had in the months previous.

“Oh dear.” She swayed suddenly and clutched at the cushioned chair for support. “The room is tipping!” She stared at him accusingly.

He sighed. Moving toward her, he picked up the book from the floor. It had fallen open at a page detailing the mathematical composition of a Palladian building.

“You were reading this?”

She shrugged, her face closed. “Just thumbing through it.” A bitter smile twitched across her lips. “I like to look at the pictures.”

He shelved it and returned to her. “Allow me to escort you.” Holding out an arm he waited for her to take it.

Instead, she put her hands behind her back and tried to step away from him. Stumbling over a leather-covered hassock, she nearly fell. His hands shot out to catch her and she grabbed onto them with a gasp. Holding her upright, he prayed for patience.

“Apparently I am doomed to assist inebriated members of your family to their bedrooms tonight.” As she emitted an outraged shriek, he scooped her into his arms and strode out of the library.

“Put me down!” She struggled to get down for a few minutes, then ceased. “Bother! You’re making things spin again!” With a small groan, she buried her head in his shoulder as he strode toward the foyer.

“That’s the cognac, not me.”

“Really? Why on earth do men drink so much of it, then?” She raised her head for a moment, winced, and let it fall to his shoulder again. A silent laugh shook
him. Clearly she was a stranger to spirits. Something inside him relaxed slightly and he chuckled at the absurd situation.

“At least you’re easier to carry than your brother.” She did not reply, merely linking her arms around his neck. To his surprise, he enjoyed the soft weight of her body. Her chest rose and fell in a deep breath and he wondered if she had fallen asleep. He cautiously set one foot on the bottom step.

He nearly lost his balance as she burrowed her face farther into his neck and inhaled again. “You smell wonderful.”

“Thank you. If you don’t mind, it would be most helpful if you did not move excessively while I’m going up the stairs.”

“Mmmmmmmm.” She sighed contentedly, and he had hopes of getting her to her chamber undiscovered. If word of this escapade got out to society, both their reputations would suffer. A moment later, she lifted her head slightly. Risking a quick glance at her face, he saw her staring at the carved banisters with an intent expression.

“Do you know something?” She asked the question in a ringing voice, and he hushed her.

“No, listen to me!”

“Miss Quinn, I beg you not to awaken the servants.”

Obligingly, she lowered her voice. “I’ve always thought those carvings look like something from an overambitious wedding cake.”

“An apt observation. Pray be quiet.” A sheen of sweat broke out on his brow. While his fiancée weighed considerably less than her brother, he had not carried James up the staircase. His breathing became more labored as he neared the top.

“You sound like my mother. She never wants me to talk either.” Kieran felt a flash of sympathy for the woman as his fiancée whispered on. “Do you know, she picked out the banisters herself? In France. And the gargoyles. Hello, boys!” She sang out the greeting and waved at the statues. In the light from the foyer below, he could have sworn the damned things smirked at him.

“They are indeed revolting, but I must ask you to remain silent.” Having finally reached the top of the stairs, he set her on her feet and leaned on the nearest gargoyle, gasping for breath.

She stood staring at him, swaying slightly on her feet for several seconds. Then she slowly folded into a pile on the floor, looking up at him in confusion.

At least she remained conscious, he thought grimly. “Right, give me your hand.” He took the proffered appendage and pulled her to her feet, none too gently. “‘Once more unto the breach.’”

“Henry the Fifth
, Act Three, Scene One.” She nodded sagely as he hefted her into his arms once more. “Do you care for Shakespeare, your lordship?”

“He’s tolerable.” A low ache began to spread across his back. “You appear to be familiar with him, however. Have you attended the play often?” He rolled his eyes at the ridiculous conversation.

She shook her head. “Oh no! Mother would never let me see one of Shakespeare’s plays. They’re dreadfully improper.” Her voice lowered at last. “She doesn’t know I read them. I stole the book from my brothers.” She giggled. “That was five years ago and they still haven’t noticed it’s missing.”

“Very clever of you, but we really must not wake up the rest of the house.” He whispered in hopes of encouraging her to do the same. At the sight of the footman outside her door, he stopped short. To his alarm, the girl failed to take his subtle hint.

“See, Eoghan, I said I’d be back!” He tried unsuccessfully to hush her. “Do you know, Lord Rossburn hates the banister, too.”

The servant met his eyes in horror. “Mary, God, and baby Jesus, I’ll be sent back to Belfast for sure.”

“Is there a discreet female you can fetch to help get Miss Quinn, er, settled in?”

“Wait here.” The stripling scurried off into the shadows.

He eased her back onto her feet, this time sliding an arm around her waist before she collapsed again. He strained to listen for any sign that they had been overheard. Thankfully he heard nothing until the brush of feet on the hall carpet and a circle of candlelight heralded the return of the footman.

His relief vaporized when he recognized Mrs. Helford. She came forward to assist her granddaughter.

“Granny!” His fiancée almost literally fell into her arms. “Lord Rossburn and I were enjoying some cognac in the library!”

The old woman pinned him with a ferocious glare. He held up both hands. “I assure you, madam, when I entered the library in search of refreshment, Miss Quinn was already there. In an advanced state of inebriation, I fear.”

She scrutinized him for several seconds before addressing the girl. “Diantha Susanne, is that true?”

She giggled. “I got into Papa’s best liquor, and there’s nothing he can do about it.” She tried to snap her fingers, then stared at her hand in bemusement when she failed. “It did taste odd at first, but I got used to it easily enough. Lovely stuff!”

“I doubt you’ll think so in the morning.” The dry tone of her grandmother’s voice sailed over her head. Mrs. Helford sighed and addressed him.

“I suppose it’s a blessing that you found her instead of my fool daughter and her husband.” She muttered to herself. “What did they expect, keeping the girl locked up like one of their collections? You there!” The hovering manservant snapped to attention. “Get down to the kitchen and warm a large pot of coffee—you and nobody else. If anyone asks, you’re bringing it to me. Bring it here and mind no one catches you.”

Nodding, the young man hurried away.

“You can safely turn Diantha over to me, young man.” She spoke with the crisp air of a military officer. At the mention of her name, the girl looked up before sagging back onto her shoulder. Alarmed, Kieran reached to relieve the small woman of the burden. She waved his assistance away impatiently.

“You get yourself back to your hotel. I’ve a great deal of work to do if she’s to show up at church unimpaired.”

He regarded the pair of them with concern. “I quite understand, madam, but will you not need help getting her into bed?”

Despite the circumstances, the old woman
chuckled. “My late husband weighed nearly two hundred pounds in his prime and I certainly helped him to bed often enough. Now shoo!”

On the short walk to his hotel, Kieran shook his head in disbelief. Despite her condition, he had enjoyed his fiancée’s company more in the last hour than he had in the previous six months.

Accompanied only by James Quinn, his lordship stood attentively before the altar of St. Martin’s the next morning. As the moment for the bride’s expected arrival came, he joined the assemblage in peering down the long nave to the church doors. Unlike the guests, however, he remained unsurprised at her absence. As much as she had had to drink the night before, he had half expected to receive a note from the Quinns delaying the ceremony.

He should have known better. His prospective mother-in-law had expended too much time, effort, and money on this ceremony to delay it because of the bride’s indisposition. The church swam with swags of exotic blossoms in shades of peach and pink. They hung between the arches along the main aisle and fountained up in filigree holders attached to every other pew. Additional vases of blooms rose in waves on the altar steps behind him.

If the woman had crammed any more of the bloody things in, he thought, the entire church would drown in a sea of petals. The vulgar female
now sat alone in the front pew on the bride’s side, dressed in an elaborate toilette of aquamarine blue satin and lace that suited her coloring admirably. Under ordinary circumstances, she would enjoy her solitary place under the gaze of New York’s elite, but she seemed as confused as everyone else as the minutes ticked by. Her fair skin flushed as whispers ran through the crowd and gentlemen surreptitiously consulted their pocket watches.

“Where is the stupid girl?” James muttered the question out of the side of his mouth. From her pew, Mrs. Quinn’s glare snapped to him and he subsided. By now, several guests were staring at Kieran, eager to see if the aloof British aristocrat showed any sign of discomfiture.

He merely shifted slightly on his feet and gazed disinterestedly at the choir stall above the back of the church, currently occupied by a boys’ choir that served as a fashionable charity. To one side of them stood a tenor who repeatedly patted sweat off the jowls overflowing his formal collar.

Beyond the pillars supporting the stall, he watched the bridesmaids take turns peeking out of the great double doors, no doubt searching for any sign of Miss Quinn’s arrival. A flurry of activity ensued when the doors opened, but only the bride’s grandmother entered. Duly escorted to the front pew by Thomas, she seated herself. Catching Kieran’s eye, she gave a slight nod. A tension in his shoulders he had not noticed earlier eased somewhat.