A Highland Duchess (3 page)

“I hardly think the word emigrated applies to Lady Sarah,” he said.

“You know her, then?” She’d never met Lady Sarah, either at her wedding or Anthony’s funeral.

“I do,” he said.

“Did she send you here?” she asked.

“Duchess, where is the mirror?” he asked softly.

She turned her head and looked out the window. Now she wondered if he had caused the lamps to be extinguished, the better to climb up onto the roof and not be seen.

“I don’t know anything about the Tulloch mirror,” she said, glancing over at him. “I must insist you leave. If you do so now, I’ll not call the authorities.”

“You’re very brave, Duchess. Aren’t you worried that I could harm you?” He sat impassive, arms still folded, watching her.

She folded her arms in an identical posture and frowned at him.

“If you’re going to harm me, then do so now, because I’ll not help you steal from me.”

“I don’t consider retrieving the Tulloch mirror to be an act of thievery, Duchess. I am merely attempting to return that which was illegally taken.”

She wasn’t the least bit reassured about her safety. She looked around for a weapon but there was nothing nearby. The lamp would have to do. She could break it over his head.

“I’ve never been guilty of violence against a female, Duchess,” he said, as if guessing her intention.

“But you have, against a man? Is that supposed to reassure me?”

“No,” he said. “Nothing I’ve said tonight was meant to reassure you.”

She blinked at him, surprised at his honesty. “You mean to intimidate me.”

“Of course,” he said, smiling at her again.

She had had enough.

She stood, and before he could grab her, marched to the door, and would have opened it had he not seized her from behind. One arm wrapped around her waist, lifting her. His free hand pressed against her mouth as if he guessed, rightly, that she was about to scream.

“You’re the most surprising woman, Duchess,” he said.

She kicked him.

He laughed and she kicked him again.

“Your Grace?”

Her maid was on the other side of the door.

The intruder reached out and locked the door before Juliana could turn the latch.

“Your Grace? Are you all right?”

“Tell her you’re fine,” he whispered into her ear.

Emma shook her head.

He made an exasperated sound.

“Your Grace?” Juliana said. “Do you not need my help readying for bed?”

“Tell her no,” he whispered, “or I shall have to hurt you.” He turned her chin so that she could see him. There was no humor in his gaze, and not one speck of amusement on his face. “Perhaps I haven’t been guilty of harming a female up until now, Duchess, but I’m certainly capable of it.”

Emma reluctantly nodded.

Slowly, he released his hand from her mouth, resting his knuckles against her cheek, almost a reminder that he would not hesitate to use force.

She took a deep breath.

“I don’t require any assistance tonight, Juliana. Go ahead and retire for the night if you wish.”

“Are you certain, Your Grace?”

“I am very certain,” she said, making her voice firm and strong. “Sleep well.”

“Thank you, Your Grace, and you as well.”

Should her maid sound so surprised? She’d bid her good-night on many occasions.

The thief moved back from the door, releasing her.

“Very good, Duchess,” he said.

Emma sent him a look that should have scorched him in place before sitting on the chair beside the window once again.

“Take every mirror in the house. I, personally, will see to it that a wagon is loaded up with every single mirror I possess, if it will banish you from my home.”

“It’s not any mirror, Duchess. It’s a hand mirror made of gold. It’s quite old, with Latin writing on the back. I understand that the most recent addition to it is a ring of diamonds around the glass.”

He stood leaning against the wall, his arms folded in place, his ankles crossed. He looked as if he were perfectly comfortable standing there for as long as he wished, and she had the sudden and disconcerting thought that he probably could and would.

She lay her head back against the chair, closed her eyes, and simply ignored him.

H
e studied the Duchess of Herridge and knew that this errand had been foolish. What he should do was leave the same way he’d come and vanish from her sight.

However, he wasn’t about to leave without the Tulloch mirror, sensibility be damned.

The chance of her recognizing him was relatively low. He and the Duchess of Herridge did not move in the same circles. He was given more to science, and she was a recluse due to her mourning.

“How old were you when you married the duke?”

She opened her eyes and looked at him. “Is that any of your concern?”

“Put it down to curiosity,” he said. “Add to that the fact that you don’t look more than seventeen now.”

She only frowned at him.

“How old?” he asked, wondering why he insisted.

One hand peeked out from the material of her skirts. She clenched it into a fist as if the question were a painful one.

“I have no intention of discussing personal matters with you. Leave my house.”

“He was in his fifties.”

“You needn’t tell me my husband’s age,” she said.

“When did you meet? At the altar?”

“Again, I see no reason to discuss personal details with you.”

“Emma!”

They both turned toward the door.

“Juliana says that you are acting oddly. Are you ill?”

“Who’s that?” he whispered.

“My uncle,” she said, her gaze fixed on the door.

The sound of the key in the door had him looking for a place to hide. Well, now, he had truly gone and done it. He could just imagine the headlines in the newspapers.
Earl of Buchane Found in Lady’s Boudoir
.

Evidently, the Duchess of Herridge was as loath to be found with a man in her chamber as he was to be discovered there, because she pointed to a wardrobe in the bedchamber. He made it into the wardrobe just as he heard the door open.

He pushed aside a few of the dresses in order to make room. What was the perfume she wore? Something that reminded him of spring nights. And what was this silky garment in his face? He brushed it aside, his fingers straying across the lace.

Had he gone insane? He was Ian Hamilton McNair, Earl of Buchane, Laird of Trelawny, and he was hiding in the Duchess of Herridge’s wardrobe.

“What is this about you not requiring your maid, Emma?” a masculine voice asked. “Are you feeling ill? Or are you simply being rebellious?”

“I’m not ready to retire, Uncle,” she said. “I merely wished to spare Juliana the hours of waiting for me.”

“Nonsense,” he said. “The servants are here for your convenience, not the reverse.”

“Nonetheless,” Emma said, “I am not fatigued as yet, Uncle. Or are you now dictating when I rise and when I go to bed?”

“That attitude does not become you, niece. Everything I’ve done since I’ve arrived in London has been for your greater benefit.”

“Does that include gambling away my fortune, Uncle?”

Ian heard the slap and for a moment debated leaving the wardrobe. To do so, however, would be to make the situation even worse than it was.

The second slap, however, rendered the point moot. He was hurtling out of the wardrobe and toward the tall figure standing in front of the duchess, even now raising his hand to strike her again.

The look of shock on the older man’s face was almost worth the disaster of this night. Ian gave himself a second to contemplate it before letting loose with a right hook. The man stumbled, gripping his jaw, but came back at him faster than Ian would have believed possible. Evidently, Emma’s uncle had some boxing experience.

Ian had more.

Two quick left jabs, another right hook, and the man was sprawled on the floor, arms flung out, his hands still curled into fists.

Emma remained silent, simply looking at him over her uncle’s supine body. The man moaned and blinked a few times. In a moment he’d be back on his feet.

“Well, hell, Duchess,” Ian said, the enormity of what he’d done just now striking him.

He grabbed her wrist, pulled her out of the room and down the stairs to the front door before she could say a word.

Chapter 3

A
ll in all, Ian’s escape from the Duchess of Herridge’s house was easier than his entrance, and a damn sight safer than scaling the roof.

He led her to his carriage parked across the square. When she looked at it, then at him, he knew she was probably wondering if he’d stolen the ebony vehicle with its brass lamps.

Ian stepped aside and allowed her to precede him inside, but before he followed, he needed to give instructions to his driver. The rain-soaked wind was chilling. Ignoring his own discomfort, he stood at the head of the carriage, trying to decide where to take the Duchess of Herridge.

His own town house? He needed time to figure out how to get out of this situation without doing any further damage to the duchess’s reputation. Taking her to his home wouldn’t be the wisest decision. However, a hotel was out of the question, and he didn’t know of any lodging houses. His only other alternative was to call upon one of his friends. What kind of man would engage an innocent bystander in an act that was, at its heart, illegal? The same kind of man who would abduct a woman. No, he couldn’t involve anyone else in this ill-conceived, idiotic situation.

He called up to his driver. “Home, Thomas.” He would just have to find a way to ensure that no one knew who she was.

Ian entered the carriage, closing the door behind him. He sat back against the cushions and studied her, wondering what it was about her that was so appealing.

She was willowy and of average height, but so were a hundred women he’d met. Her dark brown hair was thick and springy, curling in tendrils around her temples as if to call attention to the perfect oval of her face. Her eyes were almond shaped and such a piercing blue that they reminded him of summer skies over Lochlaven.

“I find your perusal of me rather insulting,” she said.

“Do you? Even more so than your abduction?”

He reached over and pulled the shade down, covering the window close to her before doing the same on his side of the carriage.

“They are both equally as distressing,” she admitted.

“I have the feeling, Duchess, that I am going to do a great many things that will end up distressing you. Let me proffer an apology now for all of those acts.”

“I’m not your confessor,” she said. “Instead of apologizing, why don’t you simply stop your carriage and allow me to exit?”

“How will you explain my presence in your wardrobe to your uncle?”

Instead of answering him, she placed her hands together and rested them demurely on her skirts. He had never been given to studying a woman’s hands before but hers were lovely, with long, slender fingers.

She seemed suddenly intent on the small compartment fitted with a clock and a traveling quill and ink. A moment later her attention was directed to the window shade. Why he was irritated about the fact that she thought anything was more interesting than conversation with him, he had no idea.

He’d abducted the woman; he wasn’t here to converse with her.

The sooner he could figure out a way to get her back to her house without any damage to her reputation, the better.

The rain on the roof punctuated the silence between them.

She folded her arms in front of her chest and it was then he noticed she was shivering. Her dress was dotted with rain, and until this moment he’d not considered that she would be cold.

He took off his coat, bent forward and arranged his jacket around her shoulders. She didn’t move or make it easier for him but became a solid block of flesh, her arms close to her sides. He simply ignored her fierce frown, pulled her forward and arranged the jacket so that at least her shoulders were covered.

“I haven’t much practice in the art of abduction,” he said. “If I had, Duchess, I would have ensured that you brought your shawl or coat.”

She didn’t answer but her frown lessened a degree or two.

“We have a dilemma, you and I, one in which I need your assistance.”

There, the full fury of her frown was back.

“You have intruded upon my privacy, assaulted my uncle, and taken me from my home. Now you wish my assistance?”

“I will concur with your litany of charges, Duchess, all except for the one about assaulting your uncle. Your uncle needed assaulting. Your cheek is still red from his blow.”

Her hand went up to her face, her palm cradling her cheek.