Page 18

W hat the devil is wrong with me? Wolfe exited the side garden, shoved through the hedging, and returned to the wide terrace outside the library’s open doors.

As he stepped inside to the cigar haze and the men’s quiet, rumbling conversations, he realized he still clutched the lovely Lady Grace’s handkerchief in his hand.

He hurried to tuck it deep inside his jacket’s innermost pocket, then patted the garment in place, ensuring no bulge betrayed the precious memento he intended to keep.

It didn’t matter that it was stained with his blood.

It smelled of her. Even with his poor beak throbbing from the glancing blow of her elbow, the alluring scent had made its way to him—the soft, tempting sweetness of lilacs and a deliciously entrancing young woman.

It had immediately both soothed and inflamed him.

“There you are, Wolfebourne,” Broadmere called out from across the room. “My apologies for the lingering smoke. Even with the doors and windows open wide, the place never airs well. Must be all the bookshelves. Are you better settled now? Would a brandy help?”

Wolfe was not settled at all, but it had nothing to do with the lingering cigar smoke.

However, he couldn’t very well tell the young Duke of Broadmere that Lady Grace possessed the sweetest mouth this side of heaven.

“I am much better now, thank you. But I do believe it is time to gather the ladies and bid everyone goodnight. I enjoyed this evening very much and thank you for your hospitality. Perhaps you would consider joining me for a hunt sometime?”

Broadmere stiffened and rolled his shoulders, appearing as uncomfortable as if Wolfe had suggested something as treacherous as treason. “Thank you for the invitation, but I dare not accept out of fear for my life.”

“Fear for your life?” Sir Andrew asked before Wolfe could.

“Wolfe’s not that bad of a shot.” Strath grinned and lifted his glass in a mock toast.

“Old Broady’s sisters would draw and quarter him.

” The Earl of Middlebie chuckled, then feigned a horrified expression.

“Fiery lasses, the lot of them. Especially Lady Grace when it comes to hunting. And her sisters would unite to protect her, I grant ye that. Even her Papa bent to her will and forbade hunting on Broadmere lands. ’Tis a wonder the lady even eats meat. ”

“If you ever bothered to observe her at the table, Middlebie,” Broadmere said, “you would see that meat never touches her plate. All the servants know better, and if they don’t, they soon learn.

” He turned back to Wolfe. “Thank you for the invitation, but I do not relish sleeping with my eyes open to ensure Gracie doesn’t do something horrid to me while I sleep. ”

The enlightening conversation made Wolfe remember a gentle nudge and inquisitive snuffling against his leg under the table during dinner.

He hadn’t thought much about it at the time.

He’d been too amused by the fact that he and Lady Grace shared a mutual hatred for pea soup.

“Did one of her dogs dine with us this evening? Under the table, perhaps?”

Broadmere dragged a hand across his eyes and groaned.

“Forgive me. That was probably Gastric. Sometimes he slips past the servants and sneaks into the dining room. Usually, he stays at Gracie’s feet and avoids all others.

She found him as a pup wandering the streets of London and brought him home.

I am surprised he made it to your end of the table, because she constantly slips him tidbits.

Please accept my apologies. I will speak to her—again—about securing him in her room during dinner parties. ”

Wolfe couldn’t help but grin. The more he learned about the enigmatic Lady Grace, the more he liked her. “Leave it be, Broadmere. No harm done.” He winked. “And I would not wish the lady upset with me because I complained about her hound.”

An immediate interest lit in the duke’s eyes, like a spark from the strike of a flint. “I would not wish the lady upset with you either. By the way, are the banns soon to be read in Binnocksbourne, since Lady Margaret and her mother have joined you here in the countryside?”

“Forgive me, but I find myself in need of air.” Sir Andrew abruptly stood and hurried outside into the night.

Wolfe stared after the man of which he knew very little. The knight had always traveled with Lady Margaret and Lady Longmorten. He had been somewhat of a personal guard or equerry to them even before the Earl of Longmorten had died.

“Oh dear.” Broadmere frowned, his gaze following Sir Andrew. “I do hope nothing was off with the meal. Is anyone else feeling unwell?”

Middlebie rose, refilled his glass, and lit another cigar. “The meal was fine.” He turned to Strath. “Course, we Scots possess the constitution of Highland goats, aye?”

“Aye, we do.” Strath stood, set his glass aside, and gave Wolfe a subtle, narrow-eyed look. “But perhaps it is time to gather the ladies and be on our way.”

“What a shame,” Broadmere said. “My sisters will be so disappointed. I am sure Merry planned to regale us with a few lively tunes on the pianoforte.”

“Another time, perhaps.” Wolfe tipped an almost indiscernible nod to Strath. His friend wished to talk about something. Wolfe couldn’t imagine what that something might be.

As Broadmere and Middlebie made their way out of the library, Wolfe purposely lagged to speak with his friend. “What is it, man?”

“Who hit ye?”

“Why would you ask such a thing?” Wolfe glanced back at the open door leading out to the garden.

Sir Andrew had yet to reappear. Of course, knowing the man and his odd and sometimes rude ways, he had probably gone round to the carriages to idle away the remainder of the evening.

Even though he was a well-respected knight and a war hero, he did not seem to mix well or hold his own at gatherings.

Wolfe turned back to Strath, who had remained silent, his smug expression speaking volumes. “Well?”

“The others failed to notice, but I’ve not hit the spirits as hard as they.

Yer nose is unnaturally red, and I daresay the night air is not cold enough to turn it to such a shade.

” Strath spared him another critical once-over, then flicked at a spot on his cravat.

“Blood. From that red nose of yers, I’d wager. Again, I ask—who hit ye?”

“Now is neither the time nor the place to have this conversation.” Wolfe nodded at the women trickling into the hallway.

“Ye think those women of yers will fail to notice the state ye’re in?

” Strath emitted a quiet snort. “I doubt Lady Margaret will comment, but I grant ye, old Lady Longmorten will bend yer ears until they glow as red yer nose.” He poked Wolfe in the shoulder.

“Dinna move. In fact, back into the library with ye. I have a plan to save yer arse and yer ears.”

They had saved each other’s lives innumerable times during the war, and only a little less often during peacetime. Wolfe trusted Strath implicitly, so he did as the man suggested.

It wasn’t long before Strath reappeared. “Come. We need to leave through yon doors to the garden. My Sarah is seeing yer women and that odd Sir Alexander home in my carriage because ye and I have a business proposition to discuss. Then ye will be good enough to deliver me home in yer coach.”

Strath’s diplomacy and ability to convince a person that they really wished to do something they usually wouldn’t agree to never ceased to amaze Wolfe. “How the bloody hell did you manage that?”

“Scottish charm. Now, on wi’ ye afore Broadmere and his sisters get suspicious and come out of the parlor.

I told them ye’d had to rush outside again.

He fears the salmon in the pie must have turned, because he ate none of that and neither did Middlebie or myself.

But we must go now because some of his sisters surely must have eaten it and will know it was fine. ”

Wolfe hurried back across the room and out into the fresh night air, filling his lungs to expel the stench of the cigars. Strath caught up with him as they made their way around the back of the large manor house and headed for the circular drive out front, where Wolfe’s carriage waited.

“Now, as I asked before,” Strath said as they strode through the darkness, “who punched ye?”

“Lady Grace.”

“Lady Grace? What the devil did ye do to her?”

“I caught her as she fell from the trellis she had climbed, and she did not punch me. As she dropped into my arms, her elbow caught me in the nose.” Wolfe flexed his fingers, remembering the feel of her warm, soft weight against his chest. She had fit him perfectly, and left him more than a little certain she would fit him perfectly in any other position as well.

Strath caught hold of his arm and yanked him to a stop. “Ye caught the woman as she fell from a trellis? Was she attempting to escape ye by climbing the wall?”

Mildly insulted, Wolfe glared at his friend. “She did not know I was in the garden. She was attempting to escape the party, which she found extremely loathsome, since her brother is trying to marry her off to satisfy the requirements of his parents’ will.”

Strath huffed. “So the rumors are true, then? The lad must see his seven sisters wed afore he gets his fortune. Word has it his father possessed a golden touch, and the family is richer than Croesus.”

“But according to Lady Grace, the sisters must marry for love—not for power or politics.” Wolfe couldn’t imagine such a union.

His father had never truly loved any of his wives.

He had been fond of them—at least for a while—but they had been more like items he collected to keep him amused.

“Is such a thing truly possible? A marriage built on love?”

Strath snorted. “Dinna speak like that in front of my Sarah or she’ll box yer ears for ye. Of course a love match is possible, ye silly arse. I love my Sarah, and she loves me.”