Undressed (Undone by Love) (3 page)

He looked elegant, yes
. Refined. As if he led a life of lazy indifference and genteel leisure. As was probably the case, Brenna decided. Suddenly she realized how rude she must appear, sizing him up like livestock. A blush infused her cheeks with sudden warmth as she reached for the door, prepared to flee. “Ye must excuse me, sir.”

“Wait,” the man called out, and she forced her feet to still
.

Reluctantly, she turned back to face him
. For a moment, neither spoke.  

“I apologize for startling you,” he said at last
. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Colin Rosemoor.”  He bowed again, more exaggeratedly this time.

And how should she identify herself
? Brenna? Margaret? She barely knew who she was anymore, and the uncertainty left her more than a little off balance. “I am Brenna, Lady Maclachlan,” she said at last, the familiar words rolling off her tongue. “From Castle Glenbroch,” she added, simply to fill the silence.

“Scottish, eh?”  His full lips curved into a smile, and Brenna noticed a faint cleft bisecting his strong chin
. “I should have known. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady Maclachlan. I say, though, you look so familiar. Have we met before?”

“We havena met before, I’m certain.”  As always, her brogue thickened when her emotions ran high, as they were now
.

“Are you visiting Lord and Lady Danville, then?” he asked, his tone conversational
.

“Aye, I am
. For...for the Season.”

“Splendid.”  He looked past her shoulder, to the empty hall, then retrieved his watch from his waistcoat and flipped open the case
.

Brenna took two steps back but stopped when he raised his eyes to hers again, returning the watch to his pocket
.

“And has your husband joined you here in Town?”

“Husband?” 

“Here on business, perhaps?”

“Ye misunderstand, sir. I have no husband.”  Why ever would he think she did?

“Oh, pardon me
. I just assumed that, well...” He waved one hand in a dismissive motion. “And have you yet made the acquaintance of my sister, Miss Jane Rosemoor?”

He thought her too old to be unmarried, she realized
. She tipped her chin in the air, her pride pricked. “No, I havena made her acquaintance. I’ve only arrived within the fortnight,” she answered, her voice cool.

“Well, then, you must have Lady Danville make the introduction
. Jane’s the best sort of girl. I’m sure she’d enjoy dragging you about Mayfair and making the proper introductions.”

Brenna arched a brow
. “Indeed?”

“And I’ll wager she won’t hold your Scottishness against you.”

He was teasing her, of course. Still, the comment piqued her temper. Was that how everyone would see her? An aged, Scottish spinster, fit for nothing save parading about drawing rooms, engaging in naught but idle chatter and frivolous entertainments?

She could do long columns of sums in her head, keep ledgers, plan crops, and buy livestock
. She was solely responsible for the livelihood of Glenbroch’s tenants, people she’d known her entire life—people who depended on her, people who cared about her. And she’d left them—left them all—in the hands of her steward, capable though he was. And for what? To come to London where she’d be judged as uncultured, uncivilized, should she let her true self show; where she knew no one save strangers. Strangers who shared her blood but not her life, till now.

“Good day, sir,” she choked out, turning toward the doorway
. She dashed to the stairs, nearly blinded by the tears that had suddenly welled in her eyes.

Home
. She wanted to go home.

Damnation, was it something he’d said? Colin watched in surprise as the woman fled from him as fast as she could—with tears in her eyes, at that. He shrugged, retrieving his watch once more. Where the hell was Ballard? Colin’s patience wore thin. He’d give him two more minutes, no more.

He returned his gaze to the now-empty hall
. Something about the woman had intrigued him. No doubt she was pretty enough, though not the type he usually found himself attracted to.

This slip of a woman—Brenna, she had called herself—barely reached his shoulder, and she looked fresh from the nursery
. Until he studied her face, that is. Her hair, an indescribable mix of red and gold, had been pulled back into a coil on the back of her head in an almost matron-like arrangement. And her eyes, the color of the sea, seemed to reflect a degree of knowledge and experience that most English misses lacked. Beyond that, there was something so very familiar about her. Yet he could not quite put his finger on it. He slapped his gloves against his palm, growing more impatient by the moment.

“Rosemoor, old boy, what brings you here
? Thought you’d be at White’s by now, enjoying a hand or two.”

Colin looked up as Hugh Ballard strode into the room at last
. “I went to your lodgings, and your man told me I’d find you here. Don’t tell me you have not yet heard the news?”

Ballard’s brow rose
. “News? No, I’m afraid I’ve only just arrived here from Sussex and have been preoccupied with news of my own. Wait, let me guess,” he said with a grin. “Miss Lyttle-Brown has at last accepted you.” 

Colin scowled
. “Quite the opposite, I’m afraid.”

In response to Ballard’s look of astonishment, Colin quickly apprised his friend of the recent happenings at White’s and Mr. Lyttle-Brown’s subsequent refusal to let him speak with Honoria.

Ballard let out his breath with an audible rush. “Bloody hell.”

“Well said
. Now what am I to do? He’ll have me entirely discredited by suppertime.”  Colin began to pace before the window, his hands fisted by his sides.

“Perhaps I should have a talk with Miss Lyttle-Brown and plead your case,” Ballard suggested
.

“Would you?”  Colin stopped pacing and turned to face Ballard
. “No doubt she’ll attend Lady Brandon’s soiree. If you speak with her first and smooth the way for me, I’ll be able to set things to rights with her tonight.” 

“Very well, then
. I’ll do it straightaway. But wouldn’t you like to have my news first?”

Not particularly
, Colin thought. But he decided he’d best be gracious. “Of course. What news have you?” 

“A sister,” Hugh said, smiling broadly.

“What do you mean, a sister?”

“Haven’t you heard the oft-told tale of my twin sister, snatched from our home when we were but infants in the cradle?”

“I suppose I have. I thought the child was long presumed dead.”

“And she was
. My parents hired an investigator after the kidnapping, but their man found nothing. The kidnappers’ trail went quickly cold. The case was closed. Very recently, a deathbed confession—from a wet nurse, if you can believe it—reopened the investigation, and the child, now a woman, has been located and brought to her rightful home.”

“After all these years
? That’s astonishing.”

“Isn’t it
? She has my mother’s hair and my father’s eyes, even the Ballard nose.”

“You must be beside yourself, then,” Colin offered
.

“Well, old boy, it’s both a blessing and a burden
. She’s well past the marriageable age, so I suppose she’ll be left to my care for the rest of her days.”

“Surely your parents will generously dower her
? If they’re so sure of her identity.”

“They are, but I’m not certain any gentleman of breeding will take her off our hands, dowry or not
. She’s coarse and stubborn, not at all schooled in ladylike charms or behavior. Nor is she the least bit grateful for being discovered and rescued from her deplorable situation, and I’m afraid she’s far too intelligent for her own good. And I’ve left out the worst of it—she’s a Scot.”  Ballard spat out the word as if it were distasteful.

Colin looked toward the empty doorway in surprise
. A Scot? Of course! That was why she had looked so familiar. He recalled her face—full, rose-tinted lips, a fine nose, round aqua-colored eyes under finely arched reddish-gold brows. No doubt she was Ballard’s sister. The likeness was striking, now that he reflected on it.

“But...” Colin sputtered at last, “but she’s not really a Scot, not if she’s your sister.”

Ballard strode to the desk under the bookshelves and picked up a clear-glass paperweight. “She might not be a Scot by blood, but she’s all Scot in disposition. My mother has an arduous task ahead of her, if she’s to civilize her in any manner fit for the drawing room. But it shall be amusing to watch her try, won’t it?”  He set down the paperweight with a
thunk
.

With a yelp, some sort of creature leapt out from behind the desk and streaked by, nothing but a silvery blur
.

“Whatever was that?” Colin asked.

“The wretched cat my sister brought with her,” Ballard answered with a sneer. “Nothing but bad luck, I say.”  He shook his head, his frown giving way to a wry smile. “Anyway, society will get their first glimpse of my sister tonight at Lady Brandon’s soiree.” 

Colin’s scowl deepened
. Dear Lord, he’d only engaged the poor girl in conversation a minute or two before she’d fled in tears, and he was nothing compared to the dragons of the
ton
. Lady Brandon was perhaps the cruelest, most critical of the lot. What were they thinking, taking the girl out in society so soon? A shudder snaked up his spine. If they meant to ruin her prospects, then this was the surest way.

Colin shook his head
. A wave of pity washed over him, temporarily distracting him from his own desperate plight. Blast it, the girl was Ballard’s sister—where were his protective instincts? Colin’s own brotherly sensibilities were affronted.

“You must speak to your mother,” he said
. “You cannot allow this sister of yours to go to Lady Brandon’s soiree. Surely you must see that?”

“Don’t be a spoilsport, Rosemoor.”  Ballard reached up to draw one finger across a dusty tome’s worn spine
. “She must go. It’ll be amusing, I assure you.”  His voice held an unfamiliar edge, and Colin felt his own jaw tighten in response.

Something did not seem quite right about his friend today. He seemed restless; his face looked strangely pinched
.

Colin forced himself to shrug off the sensation of unease
. He had worries enough of his own to occupy his mind without involving himself in Ballard’s problems. He would think on it no more. “I should go to my lodgings,” Colin said, suddenly wishing to remove himself from Ballard’s company.

“Very well.”  Ballard clapped him on the back
. “I’ll go at once to Berkeley Square and have a word with your Miss Lyttle-Brown. You’ve really gotten yourself into a bind this time, haven’t you, old boy?” 

“I’ve done nothing wrong,” Colin protested, chafing at the injustice of it all
. He liked to gamble, yes. But his misdeeds went no further. One might call him a bit reckless, perhaps, but he was a man of honor and integrity above all else.

“If you say it’s the truth, then I believe you,” Ballard said with a smile
. “I’ll do my damnedest to convince the lady of your innocence.”  He reached up to straighten his cravat as he strode toward the door.

Colin hesitated briefly before following suit
. For a moment he considered telling Ballard not to trouble himself, that he’d convince Honoria of his innocence himself. No, he wavered, retrieving his gloves and hat. What harm could come of it? Perhaps she’d listen to Ballard.

Besides, the situation couldn’t possibly get any worse than it already was
.

Chapter
3

“There now, Margaret. You look lovely.”  Lady Danville patted Brenna’s hair in place. “That’s all, Celeste.”

“Yes, your ladyship.”  The harried-looking lady’s maid bobbed a curtsy and hurried out.

“That gown is simply stunning, isn’t it? Madame Vioget works wonders.”

“’Tis lovely, indeed
. I thank ye for your generosity, Lady Danville.”  Brenna swallowed hard, barely able to believe that the young woman staring back in the looking glass was her. Never in her life had her hair been dressed so intricately. She glanced down at the emerald-green silk gown she wore, its bodice generously encrusted with seed pearls. She felt like a stuffed pigeon, trussed up for a feast. Worse still, the cut of the neckline was positively indecent, and she could barely breathe, tightly laced into a rigid corset. She was terrified of exposing her breasts, small as they were, if she
did
manage a breath. Did they truly expect her to go out in society in such a state of undress?

Apparently they did
. Lady Danville reached for her hand and helped her to her feet. “Come now, Margaret. I hear the carriage. Promise me, dear, that you’ll remember what I’ve taught you. And do your best to rid your voice of that awful brogue. I won’t have my daughter sounding like some barbarian.”

Brenna resolved at once to make certain her accent sounded as Scots as possible for the remainder of the evening
.

“And you must call me
Mama
,” the woman added, patting Brenna’s cheek with a gloved hand.

Brenna tipped her chin in the air
. “Only if ye will agree to call me
Brenna
.”

“But...but,” the woman sputtered, “your name is Margaret, after your father’s mother, God rest her soul
. You were christened Margaret Elizabeth Ballard, right before my very eyes. You cannot expect me to call you anything else.”

“But I was
re
christened Brenna Margaret Elizabeth, and I’ve answered to that name for six-and-twenty years now. Ye canna expect me to suddenly answer to another.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed
. “I shall speak to your father about this.”

“As will I,” Brenna challenged, refusing to lower her gaze
.   Lady Danville was a stubborn woman, indeed, but Brenna could be equally stubborn if she chose to be. They had that much in common, if nothing else.

The maid reappeared in the doorway
. “The carriage is here, mum.”

“Thank you, Celeste
. Tell Lord Danville we will be down directly.” 

“Very well, mum.”  Celeste bobbed a curtsy, and disappeared back down the hall
.

Lady Danville turned back to face Brenna
. “I hope you will make us proud tonight, Margaret. I’ve waited many years for this.”  Her mother reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze, tears shining in her eyes. “My only daughter, at last taking her rightful place by my side.”

Brenna returned the pressure, instantly regretting her ill temper
. These people had suffered so dearly. “I promise I will do my best to make ye both proud.”  And she would, as best she could. She owed them that, at least.

“Very well, dearest
. After all, it will be difficult enough to secure you a husband, given your age and your, well...”  Her voice trailed off, and she waved a hand in dismissal. “But I do
so
want to see you married well and happy.”

Married well by
her
standards, of course. To some insufferable English gentleman who looked down his noble nose at Highland Scots, who would have no interest whatsoever in Castle Glenbroch and its inhabitants. Brenna shook her head carefully, ever mindful of her hair’s elaborate arrangement. No, she did not need them to choose a husband for her. She did not need a husband. She especially did not need an
English
husband.

With an inward groan, she followed her mother out to the waiting carriage
.

***

“Well, man, what did she say?”  Colin stepped up to Ballard, his brows drawn. His friend looked uneasy, unable to meet his eyes as the two men ducked behind Lady Brandon’s ebony pianoforte.

“It seems you were right, old boy.”  Ballard clapped him on the shoulder
. “Sinclair got to her first. I did my best, but I’m afraid she wouldn’t have it. Miss Lyttle-Brown is a stubborn chit, if ever there was one. Sinclair managed to completely convince her of your guilt.”

“Damn him.”  Colin shoved his fists into his pockets.

“And if that weren’t enough, her father has threatened to remove her to the countryside at once if she so much as glances in your direction.”

Ah, but they’d be long gone to Gretna before her father had the chance
. Colin almost smiled at the thought. “Is she here?”

“Shall we take a look
? It’s quite a crush tonight, isn’t it?”

The two men stepped around the pianoforte and began to make their way across the cavernous drawing room
.

“Ballard, a word, if you will.”  Lord Barclay’s imperious voice halted them.

“Lord Barclay,” Colin said, acknowledging the venerable old marquess with a bow. “Good evening, sir.” 

Lord Barclay’s eyes met Colin’s for an instant before he averted them
. “A word, Ballard,” he repeated, his voice as flinty as steel—as if Colin weren’t standing there, as if he weren’t worthy of the man’s notice.

Colin’s hands began to shake with rage
.

Ballard looked to Colin with a shrug
. “Sorry, old boy,” he whispered, before turning his full attention to Lord Barclay. “Of course, sir,” Ballard said, and then followed Barclay out.

With an oath, Colin began to shoulder his way across the room
. Bloody hell, where was Honoria? She would hear him out, and she would know he spoke the truth. Unless he’d misjudged her.
Seriously
misjudged her. Had he been blinded by her beauty and practiced charm? Quite possibly, he realized, stunned by the thought. He reached for a glass of champagne and gulped it down in one long draught.

He pushed his way across the room, increasingly aware of scornful glances directed his way
. A trio of debutantes whispered behind their fans, their eyes flashing maliciously above the pleated silk. A pair of gentlemen sneered and turned their backs to him as he passed. No one spoke his name in greeting, not one single soul.

Increasing his pace, Colin accomplished the far side of the room at last and flung open the pair of doors leading out
. As soon as he stepped into the warm, humid night, he froze, staring blindly up at the bright moon. He inhaled sharply, discerning the cloying scent of roses over the earthy smell of freshly turned soil.
The garden
. He would go to the garden and take a moment to compose himself, he resolved as snippets of conversation floated on the breeze from the drawing room behind him.

“Rosemoor...He’s done it this time...won’t be welcome in a fashionable drawing room in Mayfair by morning...a shame, isn’t it
? His family is so lovely.”

Dear God, he was ruined
.
Ruined
. The knowledge hit him with an almost-painful force. With a roar of frustration, Colin stormed down the single flight of stone stairs and across the small square lawn below.

Leaning against the trunk of a linden tree, Brenna looked up at the moon and sighed, hoping the familiar sight would bring her comfort and slow her racing heart. Her eyes skimmed across the inky celestial canvas as she mentally catalogued the stars’ positions. There was Leo, to the right of the moon, and the brilliant, twinkling speck that she knew was the planet Jupiter. She sighed again, more deeply this time. Tonight had been a disaster. The young ladies of the
ton
were so lovely in appearance, such dazzling beauties like Jupiter itself. Yet she was unexceptional, the faintest star, barely visible to the naked eye. She’d felt awkward and coarse among them, completely incapable of joining in their conversations about painting and music and fashion. She’d been mostly ignored once the initial curiosity had worn off, and she’d been happy to fade into the furnishings.

But then Lady Brandon had taken out her quizzing glass and held it up to one eye, appraising her without the slightest bit of pretense
.

“A Scot, are you?” the woman had said at last, her voice as cold as ice
.

“Of course she’s not a Scot,” Lady Danville answered
. “She’s my daughter.”

“But raised where, my dear?” the woman pressed, her pale, watery eyes flashing angrily despite her overly polite tone.

Lady Danville’s cheeks reddened. “It does not matter where—” 

“Let the gel answer, Harriet.”  Lady Brandon silenced Brenna’s mother with an imperious glare
. “The poor child
can
speak, can she not?”

Brenna felt a flush climb up her neck
. “I assure ye I am fully capable of speech.”   

“I’m pleased to hear it
. Perhaps you can sate my curiosity, then, and tell me where you were raised.”

“In Lochaber, just south of Fort William,” Brenna answered, her voice cool and composed despite her discomfort
. “At Castle Glenbroch.”

“Lochaber
? The Highlands, then?” Lady Brandon asked.

“Indeed.”  Brenna raised her chin and met Lady Brandon’s disdainful gaze
. “’Tis the western Highlands. Lochaber has fared well since the Butcher’s ravages following Culloden.”  As Brenna paused for a breath, she noted the wide-eyed, scandalized expressions surrounding her.

“Jacobite,” someone to her right whispered vehemently
.

Lady Brandon leaned forward in her chair, her blue-veined hand clutching her cane so tightly that her knuckles turned white
. “Is that so?” she finally said in reply, all pretense of politeness now gone. “The ‘Butcher,’ eh? Well, some find the Highlands charming, I suppose, but I’ve never seen the appeal of such a horrid place. Everyone so ragged and unattractive, the landscape so barren and bleak.”  She waved one thin, clawlike hand in dismissal. “It’s positively depressing. I hear that Lord Stafford is taking great pains to improve the land in Sutherland.”  

“Improve the land?”  Brenna’s voice rose a pitch
. “You call burning roofs over the elderly and infirm an improvement? ‘Tis murder!”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, gel
. How old did you say you were?”

“I dinna say, my lady
. But if ye must know, I am six-and-twenty.”

“Hmmm.”  Lady Brandon’s thin lips curled into a sneer, and the woman swept her gaze from the top of Brenna’s beribboned head to her dainty silk slippers
. “Six-and-twenty and not yet wed? I’m not at all astonished, given your impertinence.”  She turned her attention back to Brenna’s mother. “Well, Harriet, you’ll have quite the time of it, civilizing her, won’t you?”

Brenna could only stare at her own hands, clasped tightly in her lap, as a titter of laughter followed the woman’s outburst
. Fearing what she might say if she remained another moment in the dreadful woman’s presence, she rose unsteadily, her head held high. “Ye must excuse me, Lady Brandon. Could ye direct me to the ladies’ withdrawing room?” 

In reply, the woman tipped her ostrich-plumed head toward the doorway
. Brenna bowed stiffly before sweeping off in that direction with as much dignity as she could muster. She had no intention of going to the withdrawing room, of course. Instead, she had headed toward a set of double doors at the far side of the crowded drawing room. Before she knew it, she had found herself crossing a lawn and entering an ornamental garden laden with fragrant roses.

The muffled strains of a harp reached her ears as she moved away from the linden tree and sank onto a nearby wrought-iron bench
. Why ever had she agreed to come to London? This was madness; she didn’t belong here. Yet these people were her blood, her kin. How could she deny them? Especially the brother she’d always longed for?

The breeze stirred, balmy and velvety against her much-too-bare skin, and Brenna shivered despite the warmth
. She glanced down at her gown in irritation. Why, she might as well be out in her nightclothes. She knew she’d been gone far too long, that she should force herself to return to the party. Yet she was loath to leave this peaceful spot where the moon and stars kept her company, as they always had.

The sharp crack of a snapping twig startled her, and she sprang to her feet
. Pounding footsteps seemed to appear from nowhere, gaining speed, and Brenna took two long strides toward the house before slamming into something solid. The breath knocked from her lungs, she tumbled to the lawn with a yelp.

“Oof, what the devil?” a decidedly male voice ground out beside her
.

Brenna blinked hard, attempting to regain her equilibrium
.