Julia London 4 Book Bundle (128 page)

“I know.”

“I should hope so,” Lady Paddington said absently, as she tried to fit her hands into gloves that were far too small. “There is a bit of talk going around town. We really can’t have that.”

“No, of course not.”

“I daresay Alex will not be pleased when he returns from Sutherland Hall,” she added, and paused to check her ringlets in a large oval mirror.

Arthur took her red velvet cloak from a footman. “Now, Paddy,” he said, holding the cloak out, “You know as well as I, Alex shall be delighted to make Mrs. McKinnon’s acquaintance.”

“Oh! Of course!” the woman said, and shot a quick, sheepish glance at Kerry as she slid into her cloak. “Yes, of course he shall! I am merely making comment.”

Arthur pulled the cloak around her throat and nodded at the footman. “You best be going now or you’ll be late for your supper with Mrs. Clark.” He pressed a kiss to her fleshy cheek.

Lady Paddington blushed with pleasure. “Such a dear boy.” Her gaze flicked to Kerry. “Good evening, Mrs. McKinnon.”

“Good evening, Lady Paddington,” Kerry responded, and presented an awkward curtsey, uncertain whether it was a proper moment for doing so or not.

“Well then!” said Lady Paddington, and nodded to the footman to open the door. As she marched out, Arthur behind her, Kerry could hear her calling to the coachman to be quick and open the carriage door before she caught her death of cold.

Arthur returned a few moments later, smiling sheepishly. “Forgive her. She is an old woman with some rather definite ideas.” He paused; his smile broadening. “Ah, my darling, how beautiful you are tonight.” He caught her hand and lifted it to his mouth.

That warm, sweet flush she always felt when Arthur complimented her seeped through her skin so quickly that Kerry had to remind herself there were things that had to be resolved. But before she could say anything, Arthur caught her around the waist, began to lead her away from the foyer. “I’ve a surprise for you,” he said. “I know you have been missing Scotland.”

With every breath, she missed it. “That is true,” she murmured.

“Well then, we simply must do something about it, mustn’t we?” he asked as they walked into the salon.

An uninvited, insane little hope suddenly invaded Kerry’s mind. Her heart began to beat a little faster; she quickly looked up, examining his expression, the hope becoming more absurd and larger as her imagination raced—

He meant to take her home.

He meant to take her home!
Somehow, he had devised a plan that would allow her to return to Scotland! She abruptly pulled away from his embrace, twirling to face him. “I’m going home!”

The puzzlement that washed over his expression instantly dashed her hope. “Oh, my love, I would not think of taking you back, not now, not under the circumstance! I think it will be a long while before we sort through your troubles, and until then, I wouldn’t allow you within a hundred miles of Scotland.”

Her heart sank. Of course he wasn’t going to take her back. Her fear was quickly turning into a stark reality—she would never see Scotland again.

Clearly confused by her reaction, Arthur watched her closely. She turned abruptly away from his watchful
gaze, fell limply onto a chair and tried to catch her fool breath.

“I am sorry, darling. I did not mean to imply that we … You understand that we cannot go to Scotland, do you not?”

Oh, she understood all right. Understood so clearly that her heart felt leaden in her throat. “I … I doona know why I thought so.”

“Kerry.” Arthur squatted down on his haunches beside her, and with a sad sigh, touched her cheekbone. “I know you miss Scotland. So do I.” He flashed a quick, wry smile and withdrew a small velvet box from his coat pocket and looked down at it in his hand. “When I saw this, it instantly reminded me of the blue morning mist in Glenbaden. And when I moved it, it fractured the light, and I could not help but see the heath, the green hills, the dark blue of the loch. But when I picked it up, it reminded me of a star. It reminded me of you—you are like a Scottish star I caught hold of in my hand.”

Kerry gasped softly.

“My hope is that you will think of Scotland every time you look at it.” He reached for her hand, turned it palm upward, and placed the box in it. “And when I look at it, I shall think of your eyes, the stars of Scotland.”

What was in the box left her speechless—never in her life had she seen such a precious jewel. It looked to be a diamond, pale blue and about the size and shape of a robin’s egg. She had never seen anything like it; it hung from a simple braid of gold and was beveled all the way around so that light was refracted into every color on God’s earth. The gem was magnificent, worthy of a queen … 
not a poor widow.

Kerry’s vision suddenly blurred; raw emotion filled her heart as quickly as the tears filled her eyes. His generosity was overwhelming. She did not deserve anything so fine, and it was inconceivable to her that a man of Arthur’s stature could believe that she did. She felt him
take the box from her hand, felt his fingers brushing the bare skin of her neck as he fastened the necklace on her. The gem hung like a stone against her chest.

“I canna take it. It’s too much, Arthur.”

His hand moved over hers, squeezing tightly. “I’ve only begun, Kerry. Look here, feel it,” he said, lifting her hand to it around her neck. “This was made for you—it
is
Scotland, clear and beautiful and shining, just like you. No other woman could wear this stone, only you.”

“I doona deserve this—”

He suddenly clasped her face between his hands, forcing her to look up. “
Never
say that. You deserve the finest the world has to offer! You deserve this and much more! Oh God, Kerry, can’t you see what you have done to me? Can’t you see how much happiness your smile brings me? And if this brings even a
hint
of that smile, it is worth every farthing I have! I want you to have it!”

How easily he banished every doubt, every worry from her head. Kerry suddenly threw her arms around his neck, burying her face in his collar and squeezing her eyes tightly shut so that she would not cry. Arthur laughed, the sound of it reverberating in his chest. With a quick tug, he toppled backward, pulling Kerry along with him, so that they were prone on the expensive Aubusson carpet, Kerry on top of him.

Arthur groaned. “Now this, madam, will very quickly bring a smile to
my
face,” he teased her, and laughed into her mouth when Kerry kissed him with all that she had.

They made fast, hard love on the carpet in the salon—neither showing any fear of discovery—then afterward arranged their clothes and hair as best they could and rang for tea.

After the tea was drunk and the teacakes devoured—by Arthur, that was, as Kerry was too awed by the stone around her neck to eat—Arthur said, “I’ve spoken to
Kettering and all is arranged, but I shall greatly miss these interludes.”

“What?” she asked.

Arthur smiled, casually told her what he had planned to ensure that she was properly chaperoned. She was to reside with the earl of Kettering.

Kerry was immediately on her feet, pacing wildly, Arthur calmly watching her. “I willna go, Arthur. You canna ask me to—”

“But you must. Sweetheart, you can’t know how it pains me to let you go, if even so close by, but I cannot allow you to remain under my roof without a proper chaperone. There is nothing else to be done for it—until Alex and my mother return from Sutherland Hall, there is really no one to see after your virtue.”

“My virtue!” she fairly shrieked, and gave a shout of hysterical laughter. “My virtue is of no consequence! I willna go!”

“Yes, you will,” he said as if discussing the weather. “I’m very sorry for it, but staying at Mount Street is impossible. Paddy was right—talk is already beginning to circulate among the
ton.
When I encountered Lord Enderby at the Tam O’Shanter earlier today, he inquired after my houseguest—don’t you see? For the sake of propriety—
your
propriety, you must go.”

“Why should you care about propriety now, may I ask? We came all the way from Scotland with no regard for it!”

That earned her a dark frown. “It is your reputation I would protect, madam. This is not something I will debate—you will go to Kettering House first thing on the morrow.”

“You didna care so much for propriety in Glenbaden!”

And that brought Arthur to his feet. “Glenbaden,” he said evenly, “is a far cry from London, where I’ve my family name to protect, my brother’s position in the House of Lords to consider. I will avoid scandal to the extent that I can, Kerry. There is no point in arguing.”

There was to Kerry, but Arthur was clearly determined. He refused to listen to her pleas, and at one point, threatened to leave for his club if she didn’t stop debating him. But Kerry was born of stubborn Scottish stock; the debate raged on over supper until, in a moment of sheer frustration, Arthur slapped his palm to the table and roared,
“Enough!”

Silence quickly descended. After a moment, Arthur picked up his fork.

“How long do you mean to leave me there, then?” she asked.

He slowly lifted his gaze to a painting of a fox hunt above her head, his jaw working, his fork frozen in midair. “I don’t rightly know.”

The truth … the regret … in his voice was plain. Neither of them could deny any longer the quandary in which they found themselves. Kerry put both hands flat on the table and spread her fingers, staring blindly at them as her mind whirled. “We canna continue on like this,” she said softly. “This … this dilemma must have a solution.”

“It is not a dilemma!” he said sharply.

Kerry looked at him, saw the doubt swimming with the determination in his hazel eyes. She loved him, and God, she could see that he loved her. But it was impossible. “Arthur … we canna pretend forever.”

A strange look came over him; he dropped his fork, his hand curling into an unconscious fist. “What is it you think we pretend? Do you think I pretend to love you? Do you pretend to love me?”

“No, of course not. But this,” she said, flicking her wrist at the space around them, “this finery, this grandeur isna real, Arthur. Pretending that you and I … well, it can never be real—”

His whole body seemed to jerk as if she had struck him. His goblet toppled over, the fine crystal breaking into several large pieces when it hit the cherrywood table, wine spilling onto his lap.

Arthur surged to his feet, tossed a linen napkin on to the spill and stared down at the dark stain on his thigh. Kerry stood, too, but Arthur quickly gestured for her to sit. “Please, finish your meal. Jesus, where is Barnaby?” he fairly spat, and stalked from the table in search of his butler before Kerry could even open her mouth.

C
LAUDIA
W
HITNEY-
D
ANE
, the countess of Kettering, could not have been happier if Arthur had announced he was the long lost brother of little Queen Victoria. She actually had to physically restrain herself from covering him with kisses for having the courage to follow his heart instead of social convention.

And she had to restrain herself from punching Julian for laughing so hard.

In the spacious study of Kettering House on St. James Square, Julian was almost doubled over with laughter as Arthur dryly related the shooting that had introduced him to Mrs. McKinnon.

Claudia didn’t think it so amusing. She might have done the same thing in Mrs. McKinnon’s shoes. She glanced at the woman, sitting stiffly on the edge of a chair, her hands gripped tightly in her lap. Her white knuckles were the only outward sign of discomfort. She watched Arthur, smiled pleasantly when Julian laughed, politely declined Claudia’s offer of more tea. To look at her, one would not know she was an impoverished widow from Scotland. One would not guess that Arthur Christian had fallen in love with a woman so scandalously without pedigree.

She did not have to be told that Arthur loved
Mrs. McKinnon—she had deduced it the moment she saw Arthur look at her, for it was the same expression of hunger and longing she had seen on Julian at one time. Arthur could not keep his eyes from her. Claudia could see why he was so entranced. Mrs. McKinnon, while not a beauty in the classic sense of the word, was lovely. With stark black hair, pale blue eyes, and skin that looked like porcelain, she had an air of pretty simplicity about her, an openness that was not often seen in London. Her expressions, unlike those of the ladies of the
ton
, were natural and unaffected. When she smiled, she smiled fully, the skin around her eyes crinkling. When surprised, her body radiated with it. There did not seem an ounce of pretension in Mrs. McKinnon.

Which was precisely the problem. One look at the two of them and it was obvious they were in love. Not that Claudia wasn’t all for a happy union between them, oh no. As a champion of women’s rights, she was thrilled that someone like Mrs. McKinnon could catch Arthur’s eye. But having suffered from the scandal surrounding her marriage to Julian, Claudia had no desire to see how scandal might unfold with Mrs. McKinnon. And it would. There would be no hiding who she was—no connections, no blood ties, no sophistication borne of spending years in drawing rooms of the uppermost echelons of society. The
ton
could be merciless when it came to women like Mrs. McKinnon.

No, this had to be handled very delicately.
Very
delicately.

A supper party with a few of their most trusted friends was the first step, Claudia had already determined as much. Mrs. McKinnon would be slowly introduced, her entry into Arthur’s world carefully constructed as their good friend come to visit for a time. The launching would begin just as soon as Julian stopped laughing at Arthur’s tale of what sounded like a rather adventurous summer in Scotland.

————

There were moments, albeit brief ones, over the next two days that Kerry felt as if she could somehow learn to live in this world. She secretly liked the fact that she was allowed to sleep past sunup, and that a very cheerful woman brought her hot chocolate and toast every morning before she had even put a foot to the floor. But for every moment she believed she could live like this, there were two more that left her feeling restless, out of sorts, and woefully inadequate for the salons of London.