Wolf, Joan (10 page)

"Lady Vanessa," he said, without waiting for an introduction. "I would know you anywhere. You have a great look of your father."

Van's eyes glittered back at the man who was, unarguably, the most powerful man in Scotland, the chief of Clan Campbell and the MacIans' ancient foe. "I did not know the Countess of Evesham was a Campbell," she said.

The duke looked amused. He was a slender man in his sixties, elegantly dressed in a powdered wig and red velvet coat with a froth of immaculate lace at his throat. His eyes ran over Van's own finery. "I am surprised to find a daughter of Alasdair MacIan in London," he said slowly and thoughtfully. "What
are
you doing here, Lady Vanessa?"

Van switched to Gaelic. "That is no concern of yours, Mac Cailein Mor," she said through her teeth.

"Everything that happens in the Highlands is my concern," he returned in the same language. Lady Linton looked around worriedly. They were beginning to attract attention. She was relieved to see a tall blond head moving in their direction.

"You
are not our king," said Van.

Argyll's eyes locked with hers. "What is Mac mhic Iain up to?" he demanded.

"Nothing that concerns Clan Campbell," Van returned, meeting his gaze with a burning look of her own.

Argyll's cold eyes narrowed in response. Lady Linton swallowed and clutched at the arm of Sir Geoffrey for support. The entire veneer of civilization seemed to have slipped away and between Archibald Campbell, thirteenth earl and fourth duke of his line, and Lady Vanessa MacIan, there sizzled the pure hatred of centuries of clan warfare.

"Your grace." It was Edward's voice, calm and pleasant and faintly tinged with surprise. "How delightful to see you. You know Lady Vanessa, I see. She has been making a visit to my mother."

The duke's eyes stared at Edward in open surprise. "Morar's daughter is visiting
you?"

"Yes," Edward said. His lazy blue gaze flicked around the room. "I'll call upon you tomorrow, Duke, if I may."

"Yes," Argyll said quickly. "Yes, Linton. Do that, please. I shall be at home all morning." The duke's eyes skated past Van's frozen face and bestowed an apologetic smile on Lady Linton. "My dear," he said to Lady Evesham, and the two of them moved on.

Van cursed him in Gaelic under her breath.

Edward put his hand on her bare upper arm. "I am taking my cousin for some refreshment," he said amiably to his mother and Lord Geoffrey.

"Yes, darling," Lady Linton said in relief. "That would be best."

Van opened her lips to protest and Edward's fingers dug into her flesh. "Come along, Van," he said very pleasantly. Too pleasantly. His face seemed perfectly composed but Van saw a muscle flicker once in the angle of his jaw. He began to walk .her toward the supper room.

"I don't want any refreshment," Van said furiously.

"Good." He smiled across the room at the Duchess of Newcastle. They passed the supper-room door and continued on down the hall. Edward snatched a candle from a wall sconce, opened a door on his left, and almost dragged Van into a small anteroom. It was empty and dark save for the earl's single candle. He lit a candelabrum that stood on a side table and turned to face her.

Van rubbed her arm. "You didn't have to drag me," she muttered. The look on his face frightened her a little so she dropped her eyes to her arm. The imprint of his fingers was clearly marked in the smooth flesh.

"I want you out of Argyll's way," he said. "Another minute more and the whole ballroom would have been watching you."

Van flung up her head. "I don't care."

"Well, I do," he replied brutally. "You are my mother's guest and I don't want her involved in any unpleasant scenes. I've told you that before."

"I know." Van's voice now was low and trembling with anger. "You're always giving me orders. Well, I don't have to listen to you. You're not my brother!"

He laughed. Van's eyes widened in astonishment. It had been a sound of genuine amusement. "I've never felt in the least like your brother," he said, and then he was reaching out for her once more.

Van tried to back away, but he pulled her toward him ruthlessly, and before she realized what was happening, his mouth had come down on hers.

At first Van was shocked into immobility. She had had no warning at all that this was coming. His body was hard against hers, one of his hands behind her head forcing her face up to meet his kiss. She was stiff with shock and surprise. Then, as she raised her own hand to push him away, the quality of the kiss changed. The hard, ravaging mouth softened, gentled, sought for a response from her.

A warm tide of feeling rose within Van. Her head stopped pressing against his fingers, relaxed, and then fell back gently against his shoulder. The hand she had raised to push him away curved possessively around his neck. Her lips opened under the sweet pressure of his. His body came further over hers and she was bent back in his arms.

The sound of voices in the hall outside the door brought them back to an awareness of their surroundings. Edward's mouth lifted from hers, although his hands stayed firmly on her back. They stared at each other in silence.

Then, "You shouldn't have done that," Van said. Her voice was woefully unsteady.

His hands dropped. "I didn't intend to." His voice was steadier than hers, his eyes as brilliant as sapphires in the flickering candlelight.

"We don't even
like
each other," Van said a little wildly.

His smile was mocking. "Liking has nothing to do with it."

Van ran her narrow hand nervously over her hair. She was beginning to feel frightened. What frightened her most, she realized, was the fact that she wanted very much to be back in his arms again.

He straightened a black curl. "There. You look all right now."

Van took a step backward. "I'm going back to the ballroom."

His face was perfectly serene. Only the unusual brilliance of his eyes indicated anything had happened to disturb him. "A good idea," he agreed. "I'll wait here for a few minutes."

Van gave him an uncertain look, turned, and fled the room.

Edward remained standing perfectly still for about a minute after she had gone. Then he turned, walked calmly to the window, and smashed his fist into the wall.

"Goddammit," he said in a low and vicious tone. "Goddammit all to hell," And he smashed his fist into the wall once more.

The incident in the anteroom all but banished her meeting with the Duke of Argyll from Van's mind. She played the scene with Edward over and over in her mind. On the surface they appeared to have gone back to their pre-anteroom relationship, but Van knew that something had changed between them. Or, at least, something had changed in her.

She was terribly, physically conscious of him all the time; conscious of the shape of his mouth, the strength of his hands, the width of his shoulders. It was horribly, shamefully clear to her that she was very attracted to Edward Romney. She would never have realized this if he hadn't kissed her.

She was furious with him for kissing her and precipitating this humiliating situation. All thoughts of Charles Edward Stuart were driven quite effectively from her mind.

It was a great relief when Edward went down to Staplehurst for a few days, ostensibly to check on his favorite mare, which was due to foal shortly. Van rather thought he was finding her presence as unsettling as she was finding his.

After all, as she had said on that infamous occasion, they didn't even like each other.

On May 11, 1745 the combined British, Dutch, Hanoverian, and Austrian forces under the Duke of Cumberland were beaten by the French army at Fontenoy, in Flanders, making Marshal de Saxe virtually the master of all Belgium. Edward came posting back to London in haste to attend government meetings. The English, it seemed, had fought with great courage and gallantry but the superior numbers of the French had proved insurmountable.

London was in a furor over the battle. Van, who knew her father would be delighted by the French victory, found herself in something of a quandary. One of her constant admirers, Lord Bradford, had had a younger brother killed at Fontenoy, and one or two other of her acquaintances had lost friends or relatives as well. It was hard to rejoice in the face of their grief.

She was sitting at the harpsichord idly picking out a melody when Edward came in one afternoon after a meeting with Lord Pelham and his cabinet. She heard him hesitate in the hall before he came into the drawing room.

"All alone?" he asked. "Where are all your admirers?"

Van shrugged indifferently and continued to play with one hand. "At their clubs, I suppose."

He walked to the window and stood in the pool of sunshine slanting in through the glass.

"Do you know," Van said over the single soft chord her fingers were playing, "I never realized how much the English hate the French. At home we are so close to France. France is where my father and my brother were educated. It is where my parents met and where my grandfather is buried. We get our wine from France, and our books; our broadsword steel, Mechlin lace, velvet, silk, spices, shot, powder—all come from France. More ships from France call at Inverness than do ships from London." She moved the chord up an octave. "It's strange. I should be happy for a French victory."

He turned to look at her, the sun behind him rimming his hair as if with a halo. "I don't hate the French," he said. "In fact, one of the men I admire most in the world is French."

Van's fingers stilled. "Who is that?"

"Francois Robichon de Guérinière. He directs the king's stables in the Tuileries. It was he who taught me all I know about riding."

"How did you come to know him?" Van asked wonderingly.

"Before the war I went on the Grand Tour. I had read his
Ecole de Cavalerie,
and while I was in Paris I sought him out. He was very kind to me. You see, Van"—his face was very grave, very still—"because governments are at war, that does not mean people must hate each other. I disapprove of French policy. King Louis's adventurism must be restrained. That is why we are at war. But I don't hate the French people. I don't say
'français'
the way you say 'Sassenach.' "

Van's eyes dropped once more to the harpsichord keys. She began to pick out another chord.

After a minute he said, in quite a different tone of voice, "I understand from Lord Pelham that the king plans to make an appearance at the Grenville ball tomorrow night."

Van's head jerked up.

"I presume you do not care to be there to curtsy to him?" His eyes were as hard as his voice.

"I will never curtsy to the elector," Van said stiffly.

"Then we had all better go back to Staplehurst for a week. Mother will think up an excuse. It will look too obvious if we just don't attend. The Grenvilles would be offended."

Van pressed her lips together. "Very well." She gave him a scorching look. "Contrary to popular opinion, I do
not
wish to embarrass Cousin Katherine."

"I am glad to hear that," he replied smoothly. "I'll speak to Mama this evening."

Van began to play another chord and Edward strode out of the room.

CHAPTER 9

"Of course we can go to Staplehurst, darling, if you think it best," Lady Linton said when Edward broached the subject to her. A tiny frown furrowed her smooth brow. "It's an awkward time, unfortunately, but I quite see your point about Vanessa and the king. If her encounter with the Duke of Argyll was any example of what to expect..." Lady Linton shuddered delicately.

"Why is it an awkward time?" Edward asked.

Lady Linton gave him a triumphant look. "Lord Bradford is going to make Vanessa an offer."

Edward's golden brows snapped together. "What?"

"Yes." Lady Linton looked very smug. "He came to see me this afternoon, in fact. Of course I told him that I was not Vanessa's guardian, nor were you, but if Vanessa wishes to marry him, I don't at all see why he shouldn't approach Morar."

"Mama, you must certainly have lost your wits." Edward's face was iron-hard. "You cannot possibly imagine that Morar will allow his daughter to marry a Sassenach? Granted, Bradford is a Tory, but he is not a Jacobite."

"Politics has nothing to do with it," Lady Linton said.

"On the contrary. Where Morar is concerned, politics has everything to do with it," came the grim reply.

"Well... perhaps where Morar is concerned," Lady Linton conceded. "But, my dear Edward, you are forgetting Frances."

Edward had been leaning on the back of a chair and now he came around the front of it to sit down. "What kind of a person
is
Lady Morar?" he asked.

His mother smiled at him. "Frances is a darling," she said warmly. "She was the sweetest, kindest, gentlest girl in the world. She was an only child, you know, and my aunt and uncle doted on her. My uncle was a scholarly man and he taught her far more than girls usually learn. Just fancy! He used to read her Virgil every evening." He raised a brow to indicate that he was suitably impressed. "Well," Lady Linton continued, "when she was nineteen they took her to Paris—for her education—and she met Alasdair MacIan."

Lady Linton sighed reminiscently.

"Go on," said Edward. His eyes had gotten very blue.

"Morar cannot possibly be more dismayed at the thought of his daughter marrying an Englishman than Uncle Henry was at the thought of Frances marrying Morar," Lady Linton said. "They carried Frances back to England immediately and forbade her ever to communicate with Morar again."

The golden brows rose once more. "Obviously they relented."

"They relented. It took a year." Lady Linton shook her elegantly coifed head. "No one thought Frances had it in her to be so unyielding. She did not defy her father, she simply was completely and overwhelmingly unhappy. It was quite clear that if she couldn't marry Morar she would never marry anyone." Lady Linton shrugged. "I know my uncle feared for her happiness with a man like Morar, but he couldn't hold out against Frances. He gave in and they were married. And I believe it has been an exceedingly happy marriage, too." Lady Linton gave her son a pleased smile. "How delightful it will be to see Alasdair MacIan in precisely the same situation as he put Uncle Henry!"