Kathryn Caskie - [Royle Sisters 02] (3 page)

She had to rely on her talent for remaining unnoticed. Invisible.

For her very future depended on it.

Lifting the hem of her gown from the floor, she made her way toward the grand staircase leading up to the earl’s bedchamber.

Her heart thudded against her ribs as she crept up the treads to the second floor.

She set her ear to the door and listened. Only silence greeted her. And so she felt for the escutcheon, then bent and peered through the nar
row keyhole. There was no candlelight within. No light at all. Only darkness.

She straightened and stood. Lud, her corset suddenly seemed abnormally tight. The simple act of filling her lungs became difficult, and her breaths ever thin.

This is madness. Madness!

Why, she could scarce catch her breath. But in her heart she knew there was no turning back.

Carefully she set the tips of her fingers on the latch, pressed down, then slipped inside the darkened chamber, easing the door closed behind her.

Heavens, she was actually here—
in the earl’s chamber.

Everything depended on her now. She had to find the letters. She must.

The Old Rakes had said this was their one and only chance. Wait any longer, and the new earl might find them first and deliver them to the Prince Regent. She had to risk it.

Anne blinked her eyes and waited for them to adjust, but not a sliver of moonlight penetrated the bedchamber. The darkness was as completely black as a swath of thick velvet.

If she could just locate the window and part
the curtains to the pale moon. Even as it was rising earlier, the full moon had seemed abnormally close. Its light blue glow might provide enough illumination to assist her in her search.

Her heartbeat pulsed within her ears as she raised her hands before her, and with fingers spread wide, blindly felt her way around the perimeter of the bedchamber until she found the windows.

She grasped the center part in the smooth satin fabric, and at once whisked back the curtains, allowing a flood of cool light to wash into the room.

At once there was rustling behind her, and she whirled around to see a huge shadow moving in her direction. Her eyes went wide with fear.

Lord help her.

She was not alone.

M
y God, could it be?

Laird slid from the massive, oak tester bed and blinked his bleary eyes, quite unable to believe what he was seeing.

But there she was.

His ethereal angel, here, standing in the moonlight in his father’s bedchamber.

No
. Laird pinched the damp inner corners of his eyes with his thumb and index finger. No, no longer his father’s bedchamber, his…the town house on Cockspur was his now.

She spun around, turning from the brightness of the window to stare into darkness. Her form became a dark silhouette framed by quicksilver.
He couldn’t see her delicate face or her amazing golden eyes.

“Who is there?” Her voice was weak, her stance tremulous. She leaned forward out of the well-lit window bay behind her so that her gaze might better pierce the darkness.

She couldn’t see him, he knew, but she was aware he was there.

After all, she had come to him.

Why, he didn’t know. Didn’t damned well care.

His mind floundered in the swirl of brandy his emptiness had bid him to consume. Walking was near beyond him, and he barely managed to remain on his feet as he slowly made his way toward her.

She sensed his presence drawing closer, and nervously slid a foot backward as if to escape him. “Please, who is there?”

There was loud creak as her heel slammed into the skirting-board beneath the window. A thump as her back met a pane of rippled glass. She could retreat no farther.

“It is just me, my angel,” he told her. “No need to run.”

Laird came into the light and stood directly before her.

She did not look up at him at first, but peered furtively down at her slippers. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, and he knew she was uneasy. Her quick, shallow breaths fell softly against the wedge of his bared chest, where his shirt had come open as he had unsuccessfully attempted to sleep off the potent effects of the spirits.

“Do not worry,” he said to her. He smoothed a hand down the length of her arm.

A small gasp broke through her lips, and finally she lifted her chin. As she turned her eyes to peer up at him, a whisper of moonlight caressed her face. “I…I…I can’t—”

Laird eased his fingers over her cheek, then cupped her chin in his hand and angled her mouth upward toward his. “Yes, you can. You possessed the boldness to come into my bedchamber.”

“No
. You don’t understand. I can’t—” she protested thinly.

He covered her mouth with his own then, and muted any feeble protest. Her lips were soft and warm, and after a moment he felt them moving against his.

He groaned and slipped his right arm around
her slim waist, and drew her closer so that he could feel her body against him.

She responded with a firm hand against his bared chest, pushing against him at first, but then he felt her fingers ride up his skin and catch the half-tied neck cloth she found there. Her grip tightened around it, and she pulled hard.

It took him a half tick of the minute hand to realize she was trying to hold herself upright.

Confused, Laird drew back a hand’s width. Her frightened eyes met his gaze for a scant moment before her knees buckled beneath her.

Her free hand scrabbled at the stays beneath her bodice. “I-I can’t
breathe
,” she managed, before her grip upon his neck cloth loosened, her eyes closing as she collapsed in his arms.

Anne squeezed her eyes shut and kept them that way, though every instinct begged her to open them.

This cannot be happening.

But it was.

Anne was aware she was being moved onto something soft…a carpet…no, no, a bed. Yes.

His bed.

But now there was something more.

Do not open your eyes. Just think. Think!

Oh God.
What was he doing?

And then she knew. Large, warm hands were skimming familiarly over her breasts. The ribbon closure of her gown was being tugged, loosened. The fabric parted.

Her stomach began to clench. In another moment all the wine she’d enjoyed earlier, and very expensive wine it must have been, too, would make a return engagement.

She had to break away from him, get out of this bedchamber. But how in heaven and earth could she do it? Elizabeth and Lilywhite had no idea she was in need of rescue. And at the moment, the only advantage she had over the man pawing at her person was the fact that he still thought her incapacitated.

Strong, muscled arms turned her and flipped her roughly onto her belly, and fingers fumbled at the ties of her corset—
opening it
.

No, he wasn’t—

Anne’s eyes snapped wide open, just as she was rolled onto her back. And she saw
him
.

Dear Lord. It was the man who had caught her plucking crystals of cordial from the guests in
the drawing room. The very large, long-legged gentleman.

“Lud, it’s
you
!” she gasped. “The gentleman—”

Only now his legs straddled her hips, and he was most certainly not being a gentleman. He was pulling at her gown. He was leaning over her. His mouth was just above hers.

He was going to—

No, no!

Laird bent and moved his face over her lips, hoping to feel a puff of sweet breath.

Please, please breathe, lass.

He set his thumb on her chin and pressed, parting her lips wider.
Breathe
.

Suddenly her eyes snapped open and a shrill scream all but pierced his ears, making them vibrate and throb.

“Bloody hell!” Clapping his palms over them, Laird lurched backward and retreated, scrambling to the head of the tester bed. “Stop your screeching, wench! You fainted—I was only trying to help you to fill your lungs!”

Her lips clamped shut, thankfully ending her infernal shrieking. She crawled up on her knees and began furiously setting her gown to rights.
“You were trying to help—by tearing my clothing from me?” Her eyes were blazing with fury. “A gentleman does not take advantage of an unconscious woman. I mightn’t have been in London overlong, but I do recognize a beast when I am in the presence of one.”

“No, lass, you have it all wrong. You weren’t
breathing
.”

Her hands were shaking. “T-turn away, I beg you, whilst I dress,” she sputtered as she turned her finger in a tight circle before his nose. “Or at least do show me a modicum of consideration by closing your eyes, and allowing me to preserve what little dignity you have yet to strip away.”

Devil take me.
He closed his eyes.

It was so easy for her to believe the worst of him. So effortless for everyone to believe ill of him.

But, truth to tell, in the past they were usually justified in doing so.

Not this time.

This time he was being…well, chivalrous. He puffed his chest out.
Heroic
.

“Look here, miss, I loosened your corset so you could breathe, ’tis all.” He rubbed his throb
bing temples with his index fingers. “Are you finished dressing now?”

“Nearly.”

There was a shifting of sheets as she scooted from the edge of the tester bed and a light double thump as her slippers hit the floor.

Laird blinked open his eyes. In the moonlight, he could see her arms twisting like a contortionist’s as she struggled to reach the corset ribbon dangling down the center of her back.

“Would you like some help, lass?”

She turned her accusing eyes to him. There it was. That glare again.

Christ Almighty, he was genuinely only wishing to assist, after frightening her so, but even in the muted light he could see she clearly thought otherwise. “I will not harm you, nor touch you otherwise. I swear it.” He reached out for her.

Her eyes widened instantly. “Stay away from me.” She turned and made a sudden dash for the door.

“Oh, dear one, I would not open that door, were I you,” he warned.

She stopped and looked back at him, chin tipped impertinently upward. “Why not?”

“You cannot return to the gathering in your
state of undress. All of London society is below. You risk complete ruin the moment you leave this chamber.”

She looked back at the door, and her hand hovered over the brass door latch for several seconds. Then she spun around and narrowed her eyes, as if studying him for the truthfulness of his statement.

“I mightn’t have the best of reputations amongst the ladies, but you can trust my word. Some might say I am quite an expert when it comes to the subject of ruin.”

Her eyes shifted this way and that for several seconds. Then, having obviously come to some sort of decision, she eased one slippered foot forward, then the other.

“Come now. No need to fear me.” He swung his long legs over the edge of the bed and beckoned to her.

Her chin remained angled to the ceiling as she walked warily toward the bed, then she whirled around so that her back faced him. “Very well. I fear I am forced to accept your assistance.”

Laird chuckled to himself as he began to tighten her corset strings.

“Well now, fancy that,” she gibed. “Your fin
gers are nearly as nimble as a maid’s. Clearly you have had some practice in lacing corsets.” She looked over her shoulder at him, flicked an eyebrow, and then looked away again.

“You might say that.”

“I did.”

Laird grinned. She was clearly fraught with nerves, and yet she felt some need to spar with him.

He reached the centermost lacing just then and pulled it tight, holding it so with his fingers. “What were you doing here in my bedchamber? You already stole my goblet. Were you hoping for something more, perhaps?”

She gasped, then looked over her shoulder at him. He stared solemnly back at her. Immediately she tried to dart forward, but Laird closed his fist around the ribbon lacing he held and yanked back at the lacing, leaving her teetering on her heels for a moment, before she lost her balance and collapsed against him.

He ringed her slim waist with his hands to help her stand, when suddenly the door slammed open and the bedchamber was illuminated with bright light.

“Oh…my…word.” The Countess Ma
cLaren stood just inside the bedchamber, with two footmen, each armed with a flickering six-armed candelabra. To her left stood Apsley, and indeed several other gentlemen and ladies he had not had the pleasure of meeting.

“Mother.”

“Laird…what are you…oh dear God in heaven. Such shame, such shame. You promised me you had put this foolishness aside for the good of the family.” His mother swallowed hard, then steeled herself and narrowed her gaze. “Laird, who, I must ask, is this young woman sitting upon your lap? Do you even know her name?”

Apsley stepped forward. A mischievous grin curved his lips for but a moment before he spoke. “Well, go on, man. Introduce her to your mother.”

Laird lifted the miss from his lap and stood her on her feet, then rose and positioned himself beside her.

The young woman glanced up at him. Her golden eyebrows were drawn, and confusion swirled in her eyes. And damned if he could not have sworn that he saw the flustered miss mouth,
MacLaren?

“I-I…” Laird sputtered. He turned from her and gazed at the countess.

Apsley expelled a dramatic sigh. “Oh, I know it is not how you wished for them to meet, MacLaren, but it has happened. So, please, do allow me.” He crossed the room, and after casting a covert wink at Laird, took the young woman’s hand and, with a gentle tug to set her body into motion, led her directly before the countess.

“Apsley—” Laird began, but it was too late.

“Allow me to introduce you to”—he took a deep breath, then smiled broadly back at Laird—“your son’s
betrothed
.”