A Question for Harry (13 page)

Fiona brutally quashed the impulse to lose herself in his arms and in his kiss until the rest of the world and even the past was forgotten
. But she couldn’t do this again, couldn’t allow herself to love him again.

She was stupid
! So stupid to invite heartache once more. Fiona struggled out of his tight embrace with a desperate twist. Her feet hardly hit the ground before her hand snapped out, her palm connecting across his cheek with a crack of denial … though to him or her own longings, Fiona wasn’t sure.

She looked up at him in shock over her violent reaction, seeing the inviting warmth that had lit his eyes fade away, but not to anger, simply disbelief
. Still there was the tenderness that scored her heart. Lifting a hand to her trembling lips, she took a step back and then another, fortifying herself against his undeniable appeal.

Knowing even as she turned away from him that it might already be too late.

“Damn you, Harry. You’re ruining everything. Please, just leave me alone.”

Chapter Thirteen

From the diary of Lady Fiona MacKintosh – Mar 1893

Richard says I must stop hanging about Harry so much. That I will make him uncomfortable! Cheers, I say. Why should he be any more comfortable than I?

I Phillips Ltd.

94 Regent Street

London, England

“Thank you, Mr. Phillips, and again, I do apologize for the rush.” Fiona offered a smile to the tailor as he courteously held the door to his shop open for her. “The rules of apparel are ever-changing at the Royal Wimbledon and at the Commons course and I did want to take advantage of the new concessions to the ladies uniform in time for the Open.”

“It is my honor, my lady,” Phillips told her
. “I am most appreciative of your business. The ensemble will be quite perfect for you.”

“
And you’re certain that I will have it before the tournament in two weeks’ time?”

Phillips nodded
. “It will be on time, my lady. I promise.”

The bell sounded and dulled as the door closed behind Fiona
. Regent Street was buzzing around her, shoppers going every which way about their business. Unfortunately, the maid who had accompanied her was nowhere in sight. No, there she was, Fiona spotted her a street away and frowned. The silly girl was flirtatiously twisting a curl around her finger and smiling coyly up at the burly man hovering over her. She would have to speak to Hobbes about the maid’s lax behavior.

Turning to go after her, Fiona was caught by the arm as she passed an alley and turned in indignation to soundly
scold the ruffian who would manhandle her so.

“Hello, darling!”

“Lord Ramsay, you gave me a start!” she berated him. “I was about to beat you over the head with my parasol. Perhaps I might yet. What are you doing here?”

Ramsay chuckled
. “Other than surprising you, you mean? Did you get my flowers?”

Fiona nodded
. In fact she had several deliveries that morning. From Temple, a bouquet of white and scarlet zinnias for goodness and constancy with some blue violets for faithfulness mixed in. It had been a sweet, friendly gesture. On the other hand, Aylesbury had sent an enormous arrangement of yellow roses and azaleas which in the language of flowers meant forgive and forget, and temperance. She didn’t know whom he thought was in self-denial, him or her.

Either that or he didn’t know the meaning of the flower but Fiona somehow thought he had done it on purpose
. Had Ramsay done the same, or was he ignorant of the fact that his small bouquet of rosebay rhododendron warned the receiver to beware? Most likely he hadn’t thought much of it at all.

“I did, thank you,” she said at last, looking up at him and noticing the cut across the bridge of his nose and a black eye
.

With a roll of his eyes, Ramsay rubbed a finger lightly across the cut at the bridge of his nose
. “I went to find your brother at his dammed club since that butler of yours wouldn’t let me in, I might add. I petitioned him for your hand and he hit me!”

With a wince, she recalled Eve mentioning that Ramsay had done just that
. “What were you thinking? I asked you not to do that at all, did I not? You shouldn’t have pressed the issue when I had already said that I would wait out the season as Francis asked.”

Ramsay scoffed at that
. “All I hear from you is Francis this. Francis that. What about me? Am I just to wait out the season while you forget me? Every time I turn about, you are there with another man. Who was that chap you went riding with?”

“Lord Temple is just a friend,” Fiona assured him
, taken aback by his jealous display. “A friend of the family.”

“Yes, he looked very friendly,” he offered snidely
. “And the other one?”

Fiona
blinked. “Other one? You mean at the park last week? You were there?”

“Yes, hoping for a moment with you!” he said, then sighed dramatically
. “Ah Fiona, don’t you remember all the good times we were having before you left Scotland? I still think I can best you on that seventh hole on the New Course one of these days. Imagine how lovely it would be to play every day. We could do anything you want.”

When he said it like that, it all sounded quite delightful
. He offered a future on her terms. Control, when lately Fiona felt she were losing the reins of her own life.

“We could begin straight away
…”

The rest of his unspoken request was simple enough to assume and Fiona was hard put not to sigh impatiently
. “Lord Ramsay, please do not.”

The question thankfully remained unasked.
“Can I at least offer you a ride home?”

“That’s very kind, but I have a carriage of my own waiting up the street,” she said
. “Perhaps you would like to ride with me and come in and visit with my family for a while?”

“I don’t think we are re
ady yet for polite conversation,” he said, fingering his nose once more. “I will just see you another time then.”

Fiona nodded and watched Ramsay as he turned and walked away
. In a way she felt bad for putting him off so. Her rejections had wrought an undeniable rift in the pleasing companionship that had been a hallmark of their interactions but his repeated insistence that she run off with him willy-nilly and leave an unseemly hullaballoo in their wake was just as displeasing to her.

The issue would need to be addressed if she were continue to hold him as her primary avenue of escape, as Ilona put it
. Especially when there seemed to be others who might be willing to take his place.

With a sniff, Fiona turned on her heel, determined to find her maid and be on her way only to walk straight in to a broad male chest
. “Oh!” she cried, scrambling to catch her parasol and reticule before they hit the muddy walk. “Blast it!”

“Easy
there, Fiona.” With a low chuckle, Aylesbury steadied her with a hand under her elbow, still managing to catch her reticule by the chain. It dangled from one finger a foot above the ground. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Fiona snorted at that
. His presence on a random street in London on a Thursday afternoon was no more startling than his appearance at every event she attended, every outing she went on.  He
infuriated her even more by being entirely too amiable as well and not even mentioning the hard slap she had delivered.

Contrary to her wishes, Harry had not left her alone
. Instead he seemed determined to do quite the opposite and the
women in her family were in collusion with him. It hadn’t taken Fiona long to realize her jest that Aylesbury was a far better choice than Ramsay in her family’s eyes wasn’t far off and subtlety wasn’t even a factor in their scheme to throw them together. Eve invited him to dinner again. Moira, to share their box at the theater. Whether she was riding with Moira, bicycling with Temple or punting on the bloody Thames, he was there. There, offering compliments and pretty words, smiling in that way he had as if being so bloody nice could wash away the past.

Conner had even offered to have him round out their foursome for a round of golf
at Wimbledon Commons, the course played by the Royal Wimbledon Golf Club where the British Ladies Open Championship would soon be held. Fiona had wanted to familiarize herself with the nine-hole course the ladies played on and hadn’t been at all happy to have Aylesbury there to serve as a distraction. Admittedly, Aylesbury had looked rather fine in his knickers, plaid tweed jacket and cap and even impressed her by playing well, telling her it was not his first time.

It was his performance on the links that had softened her enough to go against her better judgment and actually converse with
him normally – or as normally as a sordid past such as theirs would allow. They had argued over Miss Pearson’s introduction of a handicap, how it evened the playing field for groups of variable skill sets and the qualities of the Commons course recently designed by Tom Dunn when compared to her beloved St. Andrews.

That flash of amiability did not mean she was happy to see him.

“Well, you did
startle me! You nearly made me ruin my favorite parasol!”

Aylesbury eyed the frilly concoction with interest
. The parasol was an elegant ivory silk affair reduced to frivolity by the overabundance of black gauze lace hanging from the edges. Cleverly done though, with a crook added at the peak of the dome allowing it to be carried, in all its glory, upright so that the lace hung below the silk as intended rather than draping over it as it would being carried upside down.

It occurred to him then that all of the parasols h
e had seen her with were constructed the same way and always carried like a walking stick instead of over her head. A decoration, that was all. And very dissimilar the simple styling of her walking suit. The ivory silk of her jacket bore a faint black pinstripe, fitting in well-tailored lines from her shoulders, nipping in at the waist with a trio of jet buttons before falling smoothly over her hips to be carried out by the matching skirt in straight lines to the ground. Other than the black buttons, some black cording and a cameo at the throat of her high-necked blouse, there was nothing about her that screamed the femininity of that parasol. Nor the heavily beaded and fringed black reticule, he noted as he handed it back to her.

There was something of a
sensualist hiding beneath Fiona’s severe exterior. In more than one aspect, he imagined. The revelation was a tease to discover what else might lie beneath; a lure Aylesbury was all too willing to fall prey to.

“What are you doing here
? Are you following me?”

“Not at all,” he assured her with a broad smile, but did indeed follow as she
pivoted abruptly around him.  Employing the frivolous parasol jauntily with each brisk step, Fiona continued down the walk. “I was just across the way at my haberdashers selecting a new straw boater for summer. What has you out?” He looked back at the plank hanging over Phillips’ door. “A new habit?”

“No
.” Aylesbury thought that might be all the response he was going to be given until Fiona relented with a sigh. “I was being fitted for a new golfing suit. The ladies’ association has relaxed the rules on skirt length. Hems can be higher and the cut narrower for better motion in the swing.” Snapping her jaw shut, she glanced up at him from beneath the brim of her – now that he noticed – decidedly feminine hat of the same ivory silk and that black gauze gathered about the brim. She said nothing until his eyes left the hat to meet hers, though she looked away just as he did so. “I thought I told you to leave me alone. Please stop smiling at me, my lord; you’re looking far too pleased with yourself.”

“Why shouldn’t I
? It’s a fine day.”

“It is rather dreary really and will most likely rain,” she countered
with a more honest observation of the weather.

“Perhaps then I am merely smiling at the sight of you,” Aylesbury
answered. “Smiles have been a rare thing for me of last. I enjoy them when I can.”

Fiona briefly glanced up at him again
. Words again but Fiona realized that he was looking happier recently than he had when she first came to London, though she doubted she had anything to do with it, despite his words. The bracketed lines she had noticed around his mouth at the Onslow ball had softened some, his lips relaxed though the corner of his mouth jerked up a bit in his amusement. He looked more like the carefree marquis she had once known. That smile just as devastating as it had ever been. It wouldn’t do at all to follow the same path she had once before and fall victim to its power once again.

“
What do you want, my lord?” she asked as briskly as she could.

“You’re out shopping alone, Lady Fiona
. Shouldn’t I offer my company and protection?” he queried smoothly.

“Is yours any better than that of those you think you are protecting me against?” she shot back
. “Besides, I’m not alone. I have my maid with me.”