Rivals of Fortune / The Impetuous Heiress (27 page)

“A Scotsman,” replied the earl. “Scotch is whiskey.”

Alicia blinked. She wasn't used to being curtly corrected, and the man had not even seemed to notice her mockery. Or, if he had, he obviously did not care a whit, which was astonishing. Then she realized that, living so far from town, he probably had no notion of who she was. “What part of Scotland?” she added.

“The highlands. You wouldn't know the place.”

The way he said “you” goaded Alicia into an uncharacteristic rejoinder. “Perhaps I would. My father, the Duke of Morland, has an estate in Scotland.”

MacClain shrugged. “'Tis on the western coast.”

“But what town?”

“Cairnyllan,” he answered, as if to an idiot.

Perdy gasped audibly, and the others looked shocked. Alicia was speechless; no one had ever spoken to her so rudely in her life.

“It's a tiny village a million miles from anywhere,” put in Marianne quickly. “No one could have heard of it. There are only a few cottages and masses of sheep. And our house, of course. The nearest neighbor is fifteen miles!” She looked around for sympathy, and got it. “You can't imagine how dreary it is in the winter.”

“I can,” said Roddy, who was enjoying his exposure to Marianne's charms.

Lord Cairnyllan scowled, and his mother looked uneasy.

“You don't agree with your sister?” said Alicia.

“I do not.”

Unlike Marianne, he had a very slight Scottish lilt to his voice, Alicia realized.

“Oh, Ian likes nothing better than to live at the end of the earth. He hates London,” said Marianne.

“And if I do,” responded her brother, “perhaps I have reason.” His vivid blue eyes fixed Marianne for a long moment.

To everyone's surprise, the girl flushed deeply and looked down. There was a brief uneasy silence, then she raised her head again and tossed back her lovely hair. “
I
can't wait to see it,” she said defiantly, and smiled at Roddy.

He took her lead. “This is to be your first visit?”

“Oh yes. I am to come out, you know. I'm half sick with nerves.”

Though this was patently untrue, it was the sort of remark the group was accustomed to, and the conversation became general as they discussed the approaching Season. Neither of the older MacClains joined in, and Alicia was unusually silent, her attention repeatedly drawn to Ian MacClain. She couldn't quite make him out. She had met people before who professed contempt for the
haut ton
and its activities, but they were most often those who had been excluded from its ranks. Lord Cairnyllan's birth and breeding did not put him in that category; he might lack polish, but he was far from the gawky provincial she had expected. And Perdy had told her he had a good deal of money. She could see no reason for his attitude, or for his treatment of her. Perhaps she had been a trifle patronizing, but she hadn't spoken more than two sentences. And most men turned her teasing aside with a smile, vastly pleased with the attention. His rudeness piqued and angered her.

Watching him talk with his mother, she scanned his face. His russet eyebrows jutted out to shadow his eyes; his cheekbones were high beneath them, and his nose slightly arched. One didn't realize at first how attractive he was; the impression of controlled power was too strong. But she saw now that it was accompanied by an indefinable grace, a quality unlike her own, or Roddy's sophisticated ease. It was the grace of strength and unconcern for others' opinions. Alicia found it intriguing.

At that moment, Lord Cairnyllan looked up and encountered her gaze. She didn't look away; she was no blushing schoolgirl, and she was curious about his reaction. Their eyes, she saw, were nearly the same color. But that did not make them at all alike. She knew from her mirror that hers were a cool, speculative blue, while those she gazed into were bright with energy and impatience.

She held them. Cairnyllan, who had at first seemed surprised, raised one red eyebrow. His mouth curved slightly upward, though not in a smile, and he slowly surveyed her from her silver-blond curls to her slender arms lying along the table. His expression was appreciative, but it held none of the deference to which Alicia was accustomed.

He looked at her as one might a beautiful, but flawed, work of art. She was all very well, his gaze seemed to say, but of no real significance. Alicia was astonished and annoyed: by what right did he assume such superiority? When their eyes met again, both pairs held an unmistakable challenge, and Alicia felt a thrill run through her at the thought of showing Lord Cairnyllan precisely how wrong he was.

Luncheon finished, Roddy suggested croquet, and the young people moved toward the French doors to the lawn. Lady Cairnyllan declared her intention of lying down for an hour and then visiting Perdy's mother, their titular chaperone, who joined them only for dinner. Lady Cairnyllan had been obviously scandalized by this information, which annoyed Alicia. When they had all known one another since nursery days, what could it matter? Then, glancing at Marianne MacClain, she wondered. Marianne had taken possession of Roddy's arm, and was leaning against him and gazing up into his face in a very marked manner.

Lord Cairnyllan saw it too. He opened the dining room door for his mother and bowed her out, but he turned to join the croquet party himself.

Alicia followed him onto the lawn and watched with him while the others chose mallets and balls from among those a footman had brought out. Even Perdy was persuaded to play, rather than escaping to his armchair and a nap, as was his custom after all meals. Marianne MacClain was plainly delighted by the activity, and her enthusiasm was contagious.

“Your sister is a very lively girl,” said Alicia when the game had started and only she and Cairnyllan remained on the sidelines.

He started, as if he had forgotten she was there, then frowned. “Yes.”

“And lovely. She will make a great hit in London.”

“No doubt.” His tone conveyed his low opinion of that accomplishment, and the idea also seemed to increase his concern about Marianne, for he kept his attention on the croquet ground where Marianne sent Roddy's ball flying into the yew hedge and crowed with laughter.

Alicia, piqued, searched her mind for some subject that would gain his attention. She had never encountered this problem before, and it took her a moment. Cairnyllan still did not look at her. “It's a pity you had to leave Scotland at this time of year, when it is beginning to be so beautiful.”

He turned, and seemed to really see her for the first time. “I find it beautiful at all seasons,” he answered, but his voice held speculative interest as well as contradiction.

“We all love our home country best, I suppose. Whenever I go back to Somerset, I feel that.” Amazingly, Alicia saw that she was losing his attention again. She had never had to make an effort to interest a man before. “Why did you come?” she asked bluntly, her famed address thrown to the winds.

He turned back, startled. “What?”

“If you love Scotland so, and hate London, why come? I suppose your mother could have managed your sister's comeout.”

He shook his head. “Hardly.”

Alicia, who was not particularly interested in Marianne MacClain, again sought a subject. She remembered something Roddy had said. “You breed horses, I suppose.”

This time, she caught his interest. “How do you know that?”

Alicia followed up her advantage. “It's obvious.”

“Is it?” His blue eyes narrowed a little. “You saw my team, did you?”

Disconcerted by his quick understanding, Alicia merely nodded.

“Ah. You won't find another such matched set.”

She smiled a little. “I shall tell Lord Peterborough so, and Ottley. They may dispute it.”

Cairnyllan shrugged, dismissing two of the leading lights of the Jockey Club without a qualm.

“Perdy has organized a riding party for tomorrow morning,” added Alicia, ruthlessly sacrificing her host, who, she knew, never rode unless he had to. “The country is not so exciting as Scotland, perhaps, but it allows a good gallop.”

“Unfortunately, my horses are being brought down by slow stages.”

“Oh, Perdy will lend you a mount.” Seeing his contemptuous glance at Lord Perdon, she added, “Or I will.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You?”

Alicia, who had received her first pony at three and was renowned for one of the finest seats in England, met his skeptical gaze. “I. Indeed, I have a young horse I should like to see you try. I am only worried that he is not up to your weight, but perhaps he may be, after all.” She eyed him measuringly.

Cairnyllan looked startled, and amused. “You fancy yourself a judge of horseflesh?”

This was the opening Alicia had been aiming for. “A rank novice. I leave the running of Morlinden almost entirely to Jenkins. He is a genius at it.”

“Morlinden? You have some connection with…”

“It is our racing stable,” she interrupted with careful innocence. “And since Father is so often abroad, I help Jenkins to run it.”

For the first time, the earl looked at her with genuine interest, and Alicia felt a thrill of triumph at having broken his arrogant reserve. As over the luncheon table, their eyes met, and the tension between them rekindled at a heightened level. “Might I see this promising animal?” asked the earl.

“Of course.” And, taking the arm he proffered, Alicia led him through the gate in the hedge and along the gravel drive toward Perdy's stables.

* * *

As she dressed for dinner some hours later, Alicia's thoughts lingered on the afternoon just past. She had much to think about. She could not remember when she had enjoyed herself more, and she could not understand exactly why this should be. She and Cairnyllan had duly examined Whitefoot, and he had admitted her good judgment. Then they had walked on the lawns, and their conversation had drifted to other matters. But whatever they talked of, Ian MacClain maintained his superior attitude. He appeared to believe that he was the sole authority on every question. And his low opinion of town dwellers was unshakable.

Alicia did not spend a great deal of her time or brain power thinking about men. They were a necessary part of the human race, she would have freely admitted, but until today, she had viewed the sex with a measure of contempt. Since her teens, they had been making fools of themselves over her, apparently believing that absurd compliments, reckless antics, and brooding glances would inevitably win her heart and hand. Several of the more courageous, who had actually tried their luck, had discovered the falseness of this premise. She had unhesitatingly refused every offer. Indeed, she could not imagine herself married to any of the men she knew. If they weren't young and idiotic, they were dull, or unattractive, or unbearably self-satisfied. A few, like Roddy, were simply childhood friends who were too much like brothers to think of as husbands.

And yet, she expected to marry. Until today, she had somehow taken it for granted that she would, despite the fact that she had as yet discovered no suitable partner. But the Earl of Cairnyllan had shaken her complacent avoidance of this problem, even while he infuriated her.

He was by no means foolish. He offered no compliments and certainly showed no signs of trying to impress her. He simply conversed with her with considerable intelligence, making it clear that he was more interested in her responses than her beauty or consequence.

Not, Alicia thought, that he was unaware of her beauty. She struggled to explain him to herself. He responded to it, as she did to his attractiveness, on some silent level. It was as if the fact were obvious, and there was no need to mention it.

At this point, Alicia sighed in exasperation at her inability to analyze her feelings, and noticed her maid's set expression. “I'm sorry, Rose. What did you say?”

“I said, if you don't stand still so I can button your gown, you will be late for dinner, Lady Alicia.”

Alicia grinned at her, and did so. A moment later, Rose draped a cashmere shawl over her elbows and stood back while Alicia surveyed herself critically in the long mirror. It seemed very important that she look well tonight, and the glass told her that she did. She had chosen an evening dress of midnight-blue satin trimmed with silver piping at the neck and short sleeves, and Rose had dressed her pale hair
à la
Diane, threaded with dark blue ribbon. A diamond pendant of her mother's completed the toilette to Alicia's satisfaction. She smiled a little, watching her full lips curve in the mirror, then laughed. “I'll do.”

“You look fine as a fivepence, Lady Alicia,” replied Rose.

Alicia laughed again and went downstairs, coming into the drawing room last and greeting the group with such a dazzling smile that Roddy Massingham nearly dropped his quizzing glass into Lady Perdon's low-cut bodice.

They went in to dinner soon after, Lady Perdon presiding with her usual sleepy imperturbability. Glancing from Perdy to his mother, Alicia was again amused by their similarity. It was clear where their host got his plump, sandy-haired physique, his pleasant disposition, and his incurable laziness. Lady Perdon's gown was all the crack, but her expression suggested that she would rather be curled up with the latest novel and a box of chocolates than presiding over a fashionable dinner.

Looking down the table, Alicia intercepted a severe glance passing between Lord Cairnyllan and his mother. At first, she wondered if they had quarreled, then she realized that both were expressing disapproval of their hostess. She turned to Lady Perdon again, trying to see her with the eyes of an outsider rather than those of a girl who had grown up treating her as a delightfully unrestrictive aunt. Her gown
was
rather low considering her ample bosom, she supposed. When she bent forward to flirt with Jack Danforth…but anyone could see it was no more than a game. She felt annoyed with the MacClains again, particularly Ian. How dare he judge in that odious way?