Samantha James (12 page)

He gazed down at her. Gentle as his tone was, she sensed impatience. She chafed at his superior height—and at her inability to read what was in his mind when he saw so keenly into hers.

“And precisely what is it that I suffer from?”

“Merely this, Duchess. I wed a lovely Irish rose. But I’ve discovered my Irish rose has many thorns.”

Maura’s lips tightened. “And I have wed a prickly Scottish thistle.”

Alec lifted his gaze heavenward. “Ah,” said he, “a wife with both beauty and wit. What more could a man ask for?”

“I will not lie. It is how I feel.” Even as she said it, Maura cringed inside. What a hypocrite she was. “I prefer to remain here at Gleneden.”

Alec had leaned a hip against the top of the bridge, his legs crossed leisurely at his ankles, his arms across his chest. A breeze ruffled his dark hair across his forehead, lending him a boyish look.

But there was nothing boyish about the rest of him. His shirt was unbuttoned, revealing a wedge of dark, hair-roughened chest. Maura felt her mouth go dry. He said nothing, merely gazed at her, and all at once she recalled the feel of her lips trapped beneath his the night of the masquerade. So warm, so hotly persuasive. Sternly, she checked the thought.

“Did you hear me, sir?”

“I heard you,” he said mildly. “Nonetheless, you may wish to make an early evening of it. We’ll be leaving at dawn, and I should hate to have to come help your maid in getting you dressed, particularly when I would much rather assist you in getting undressed. But”—a slow smile crept along his lips—“I am happy to render assistance in either case.”

The cad! So he thought he had won, did he? He delighted in tormenting her. Everything about him—his almost lazy demeanor, that devilish smile that now curled his lips—proclaimed his smugness. She chafed at his self-righteousness.

Yet clearly he could not be persuaded otherwise.

“Very well, then, Scotsman. If it’s my company you wish in Glasgow, you shall have it.”

He offered his arm. “Excellent. I’m glad I was able to persuade you. I should hate the thought of being in Glasgow pining for my wife.”

Pining, was it? Ha!

She smothered a biting retort just in time.

Better to risk one battle, she reminded herself, than lose the war.

Upon their arrival at the train station in Glasgow, Alec handed his wife into a hack, while a young boy stowed their two bags. Alec couldn’t help but smile while the horses clopped along the narrow streets. Maura’s pretty little nose was pressed against the window. She reminded him of a child who was making her first visit to the city.

“It’s very old, isn’t it?” she said.

“Glasgow?”

“Aye.”

“It is. The Romans built fortresses here in the first century, and the city itself in the sixth or seventh, by St. Mungo. Some legends claim he was related to King Arthur.”

“And rather smelly, too.” She grimaced.

“It’s become a city of industry. The shipyards have brought both wealth and pollution. It’s much like Edinburgh, in that there is an Old City and New City. I must say, I prefer Edinburgh. Now there’s a city to take your breath away. Edinburgh Castle stands guard high over the Firth of Forth. It’s quite a sight to behold.”

“I wish I could visit there, then.”

“I’m sure you shall. And London, too.”

Maura was well aware she wouldn’t visit either. As soon as she had the Circle of Light in hand, she and Murdoch would be off to Ireland and Castle McDonough.

When they arrived at the hotel, the doorman greeted Alec. “Your grace! Lovely to have you as a guest again.”

“Thank you, David. And this time I’ve brought my wife.”

“Then may I congratulate you both!” The doorman bowed low over the hand she extended. “Your grace, I hope your stay is a pleasant one.”

They were shown upstairs to a grand suite. It was immense, with lavish, textured walls and billowing brocade draperies. A sitting room adjoined the bedchamber, where three steps led up to a wide four-poster and tester.

“I hope the room is to your liking, your grace.”

Maura felt herself grow tense.

“I’m sure it will be, Edward.”

The door closed.

Alec turned, glancing over to where his wife stood near a small side table. Her bonnet dangled from her fingertips. Her shoulders were stiff and square. He was well aware that she was on the defensive.

“Perhaps, your grace,” he said to her, “a better question would be whether or not the room is to your liking.”

Maura turned. “This is my room?”

“Indeed it is.”

“And yours?” she queried.

Alec inclined his head, aware of the two lines of worry that gathered between piquant black brows. “I believe the bed is more than large enough for the two of us.”

Their eyes locked. Hers flitted away, then skidded back to his. Her chin went up a notch. “Is the hotel filled to capacity, then?”

He shrugged. “I’ve no idea.”

“Then perhaps another room may be secured.”

She masked her anxious panic well. Alec, in turn, was both annoyed and angry. He held it at bay.

“Why? It’s not the first time we’ve slept in the same bed. Not even a fortnight has passed since
you were quite eager to share my bed. Of course, now that you are my duchess, that zeal does seem to have passed.”

There was a protracted silence. Maura said nothing.

“I am known here at this hotel, Irish. I won’t have it bandied about that my wife and I are on such terms that she must have her own room.” A slight edge crept into his tone. “We may not sleep together at Gleneden”—not yet, he thought—“but we will tonight.”

Maura took a breath. “I thought it was understood. You wanted my company, nothing else.”

“As you reminded me our first night at Gleneden, I’ve already seen to the plucking of the fruit. Why, then, are you so ill at ease? I am fully capable of keeping my desire under restraint.”

Maura gritted her teeth. Damn his persistence. Damn his arrogance!

“I do, however, continue to wonder where my bold, amorous pirate has disappeared—and when she will reappear.”

“And if she does not?” Her tone was honeyed.

He slanted her his most disarming smile. “Well, then, I shall simply have to go about making her reappear.”

Maura’s guard went up threefold. So did the beat of her heart.

“Now come, Duchess, let us go out for a stroll.”

She blinked. “I thought you had business here.”

“And so I do, so let us be about it.” He walked smoothly to one of the double doors and held it wide. “After you, your grace.”

Maura was left with no choice but to precede him.

Their “stroll” consisted of exiting the hotel and turning to the right at the corner. She sucked in a breath. Her gaze slid from one side of the street to the other. There was no question it was a street of exclusive shops. When he tried to lead her into the nearest one—the sign above said
MADAME ROUSSEAU—
Maura hung back.

“Your grace,” she said tartly, “I thought this was settled yesterday. There is nothing that I require. My wardrobe is quite satisfactory.”

Alec’s eyes narrowed. “Irish, I would advise you not to cross me,” he stated bluntly. “Once I’ve made up my mind, there is no changing it. I agree it may cause many a head to turn, but if you will not enter Madame Rousseau’s shop—my mother, a woman of utmost fashion, favors it above all others, even those in London—then you leave me no choice. I’ve no aversion to pitching you over my shoulder here and now.”

He didn’t particularly intend to follow through,
but her expression made him itch to carry out the threat.

Several people passed by. Maura remained where she was, her gaze damning him with emerald fire. Faith, but the chit was stubborn!

“Which shall it be, Duchess?”

“You wouldn’t dare,” she said from between her teeth.

“Are you prepared to take that chance?”

Maura’s mouth opened, then closed. Alec read in her expression a mounting uncertainty.

“It is not a demand I make,” he pointed out. “It is merely a question that requires one of two answers, either yes or no. Now what shall it be, your grace? Will you enter under your own power? Or will you enter under mine?”

Maura glared.

“I see in your eyes the inclination to do me bodily harm,” he said lightly. “Pray do not. At least not here. I should much prefer that it occur”—there was an unholy gleam in his eyes—“in private.”

The ice reflected on her lovely features should have frozen him solid, but she entered the shop.

Behind the counter was a petite, fashionably dressed woman of perhaps fifty or so. Only a few streaks of gray at her temples declared her age.
Slanted dark eyes lit up with pleasure as soon as she saw Alec.

“Your grace! A pleasure to see you!”

She must have been quite a beauty in her day, Maura decided. She quickly revised it when Madame Rousseau stepped out from behind the counter, as slim as she must have been in her youth. At the sound of her voice, several girls slipped from a curtained area, carrying tape, scissors, and pins.

“Madame,” Alec greeted. Lightly, he kissed her fingertips. “May I present my wife, Duchess of Gleneden.”

Madame gave a little curtsy. “
Enchanté,
your grace,” she said with a laugh. She glanced back at Alec. “Oh, but many a heart will break when it is learned that the Black Scotsman has taken a wife!” Her manner became brisk. “How may I help you today?”

Alec slid an arm around Maura’s waist and brought her close. “Madame, would you allow me to confer with my wife in private for a moment?”

“Mais certainement.”
Madame bowed her head and gave a low curtsy. She clapped her hands, and her assistants disappeared behind the curtained area. “Please ring ze bell whenever you are ready.”

“I thought we settled this yesterday.” Maura was tense, her tone very low.

“Did we?”

“We did,” she said levelly.

“We did not,” he countered smoothly. “I concede, however, that you continue to amaze me. And you continue to bemuse me, as well. A woman who completes her toilette in minutes. A woman who abhors shopping and spending her husband’s money! You are quite unlike any other.”

Maura wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or not. She chose to take it as one. “Thank you,” she said crisply. “Now may I return to the hotel?”

He ignored the question. “Irish, you have the chance to spend whatever you like, on whatever you want, on as many gowns as you want. Most women would be in heaven.”

“As you just said, I am not like other women. And I hope you don’t mind my frankness, Scotsman, but it seems rather reckless of you to give a woman carte blanche in a shop such as this.”

Alec couldn’t believe it either. He took a deep breath. He didn’t understand it. He didn’t understand her. This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? She’d put herself in his bed in order to gain the right to proclaim herself Duchess of Gleneden. And now with his fortune in hand—all that it
could buy—she shunned it! In the same way she shunned sharing his bed!

Or did she play at being coy in order to persuade him he was wrong? Either way, he was both angry and affronted.

“A bargain,” he said suddenly. “What if we make a bargain?”

She eyed him warily. “What sort of bargain?”

He caught her elbow when she instinctively stepped back. He chuckled. “Not that sort of bargain, Irish.”

Maura moistened her lips. “What, then?”

He leaned an elbow on the countertop. “Here is what I propose. Let Madame and her assistants obtain your measurements. Then you may choose one item from Madame’s shop—gowns, slippers, whatever you want—any article of female attire that you want. Cost is of no consequence.”

She gave a shake of her head. “But there is nothing I require.”

“I didn’t say to choose what you required, Duchess. I said choose something that you want. Something that will make you happy.”

Maura’s gaze whisked to the table of silk stockings behind him, then back to his face. “Are you not afraid I’ll send you to the poorhouse?”

He laughed. “You can try. Try as hard as you like.”

“And what if I say no?”

“Unless you pick out something you want, I’ll buy the whole damn shop.”

“What!” she cried.

“I will,” he vowed.

She cocked her head to the side. “Why do I have the feeling there is more to this bargain?”

“In turn, I will choose one item as well. Once we return to Gleneden, you will reveal your choice, and I will reveal mine. But once we are home, you must promise you will wear whatever I purchase…and whatever you purchase. That is the bargain.”

Maura pursed her lips in avid consideration. Alec sucked in a breath, his gut on fire. He resisted the urge to cover her lips with his, trace that delectable pink pout into his mouth and let desire lead where it would.

He settled for tracing the pondering frown between her brows. “Is that agreeable to you, Duchess?”

“If I am to save your fortune, then it appears I must,” she grumbled.

A smile grazed his lips. It blossomed into a low, full-bodied laugh. “All right, then.” He trailed a finger down the curve of her cheek. “Madame?” he called out. “Her grace is ready for her measurements.”

When she was done, Alec got up from the chair just outside the dressing room. “My turn to chat with Madame.”

As soon as he was gone, Maura went straight to the table of silk stockings. Picking up a pair, she let them slide through her fingers. Madame had looked at her a bit oddly when she told her what she wanted. And now Maura was giddy with pure delight. She felt like whirling around and hugging herself. Very soon she would have her very own pair of silk stockings.

Alec’s voice came from behind her. “I see you’re quite taken with those. They’re quite fine, aren’t they?”

Maura was too busy happily congratulating herself to notice that he wore a cat-who-swallowed–the-cream sort of smile.

They dined that night in the hotel dining room, a lovely room done up in hues of bronze and gold. Candlelight winked off the chandeliers.

Maura ate sparingly. She reached often for a delicately etched goblet—with a generous pour from the waiter—then chanced to catch Alec’s scrutiny as she raised it to her lips.

He slanted her a knowing grin.

Maura quickly lowered the goblet to the table.

With every moment, every second, he sensed
her growing nervousness. She declined dessert, ducking her hands beneath the table. Every so often her gaze flitted toward the stairs.

Alec swirled his after-dinner brandy, then leaned back in his chair. He was well aware of the reason for her uneasiness.

“Is something wrong, Irish?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact.” She raised the back of one hand to her forehead. “Oh, dear. I find I am developing a most dreadful headache.”

He tipped his head to the side. “How curious.”

“Curious?” she echoed.

“Perhaps it’s the wine.”

She glanced at him oddly.

“Wine does seem to have various effects on you,” he pretended to muse. “If you recall, the night of Lord Preston’s masquerade, it piqued your ardor for me quite handsomely.” He trailed a fingertip down the line of her jaw. It tensed beneath his touch.

The rogue! He was enjoying this! But she admitted to herself that he was right about one thing—handsome was indeed the very word that came to mind whenever he was near, and equally as much when he was not!

“Your grace, I should hate to ruin the evening, but I fear the ache is growing quite abominable.”

Alec had the feeling she was telling him in no uncertain terms that
he
was quite abominable.

“Perhaps we should summon a physician, then.”

“No!” she said quickly. “A little rest and I’m sure I shall be right as rain.” She pushed back her chair. In an instant he was there beside her, a strong hand cupping her elbow as they reached the winding staircase.

“Irish, perhaps I should carry you. Your headache must surely be making you weak.”

On the sixth step, she gritted her teeth.

“Really, Maura, this is most unwise. Lean on me. Save your strength.”

She caught sight of him in the mirror on the landing. He was laughing at her, the knave!

As soon as they entered the suite, Maura realized how badly she’d misjudged him.

And how foolishly she’d underestimated him, for his hands were already at the buttons on the back of her gown.