Page 15 of The Elusive Earl (The Bad Heir Day Tales #3)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Both at lunch and in the discussion that had preceded it, Morna had said far too little for Graham’s liking. Discretion had been necessitated at supper by the footman at the sideboard, and thus St. Didier, Lanie, and Peter had carried on a conversation focused on planting, shearing, and Graham knew not what else.

He dragged the brush through his hair one more time. “You’re not going to Almack’s, laddie,” he informed his reflection in the cheval mirror. “You’re off to the library to fetch a book.”

The library lay in the opposite direction of Morna’s door. A detail. He gave the sash of his dressing gown a yank and sallied forth.

Only to be greeted by Morna in similar dishabille halfway down the corridor. “You couldn’t sleep?” he asked. “Off to fetch a book from the library?”

“From the study.”

Which lay in the opposite direction from Graham’s door. “The fire is roaring in my apartment,” he said. “We can discuss literature, if you are so inclined.” He winged his arm. Morna gave him the slightest hint of a smile, and his whole being eased.

He waited until they were behind the locked door of his sitting room before taking Morna in his arms.

“You’re worried, dearest lady. You go quiet when you’re anxious.” And she’d been quiet for hours.

“You’re worried, too, or you should be. I don’t like this plan of yours, Graham.”

She burrowed closer, which Graham liked a bit too much. “It’s not my plan, it’s our plan. Shall we sit?”

Morna drew back and glowered at him. “I came here to scold you. To admonish you to be careful, to take every precaution, to rehearse and review and… If this scheme goes awry, I will follow you into hell itself to take out my wrath upon you.”

He glowered back, or tried to. “Perhaps we’ve spent enough time in the outer reaches of perdition, Morna. After tomorrow, that will all be behind us.”

“Good. Because I have no intention of dwelling any longer in such an insalubrious location.”

Her words were right. Morna’s speech was intended to convey that she was in high dudgeon, poised to call a halt to the whole campaign, but her tone was pleading rather than demanding, and her gaze…

She wasn’t merely worried, Morna was frightened, and that tore at Graham’s heart. “I will take no risks. I will stick to the letter of my marching orders. I will blow retreat at the first sign that I’ve misread the situation.”

“Do you promise me all of that, Graham? No heroics, no martyring yourself for the sake of the castle, no committing crimes that could get you entangled with the law again. Promise me.”

“Morna MacKenzie, would I lie to my affianced bride?”

The smile came again, knowing, a bit impish, enough to drive a strong man to raving.

“Have I missed something, Graham? A proposal possibly? A formal request that I consider marrying you?”

The lady had a point. Not a detail at all.

“Come along, Miss MacKenzie.” Graham led her by the hand into the bedroom and from there into the dressing closet, which was illuminated by a single sconce. The ring was exactly where he’d left it, nestled in a corner of the jewelry box.

“You don’t have to kneel,” Morna said when he went down on one knee.

“I’m not doing this twice, Morna. I’ll kneel if I please to.”

She sank onto his dressing stool, looking a little bewildered and a little amused. “Proceed, then.”

Part of Graham was aghast. He was proposing in a dressing closet . Speaking the most important words of his life not amid the gorgeous Scottish outdoors, or surrounded by the books Morna loved, but amid boots, shirts, and jackets. Not even clean boots, given the pair in the corner.

The scent of leather and starch blended with the fragrance of heather, and the single candle cast more shadows than light. Wrong, wrong, all wrong.

And yet, the moment was right. He had Morna completely to himself, and they had peace and quiet in abundance. What’s more, she had as good as given him permission to propose, and that had to be a good sign. For himself, Graham wanted to go forth the next day secure in the knowledge that he was her betrothed.

For her, he wanted to give her everything he could give her, most especially the heart he’d left with her years ago.

“Morna MacKenzie, I have loved you forever and will love you forevermore. Will you marry me?”

“Yes.”

He rested his forehead on her knee, an enormous weight falling away as Morna stroked his hair.

“You worried I’d refuse you?”

He sat back. “I did not dare make assumptions. I will try never to make assumptions with you.”

“Assume that I love you, too, Graham, and always have and always will. I like to hear the words, by the way. They embarrass me, but from you, I do like to hear them.”

“All my love,” Graham said, holding out the ring. “Always.”

Morna slipped it onto her finger. Thanks to a stealthy raid he’d made on her vanity, the fit was perfect. “That stone is the same color as your eyes, Graham MacNeil. A sapphire?”

“I bought it in Siam. They know what they’re about in Siam when it comes to precious stones. The color reminded me of home skies and of you.”

“You bought it…?”

“On my way home.” He shifted to sit on the cedar chest so they were knee to knee. “I’m supposed to say the purchase was whimsy on my part, but I hoped even then, Morna. I’ve been hoping for years, until I’m consumed with it.”

Hoping and fearing.

“I told a small fib,” Morna said, head bowed.

She was so dear when she was being brave. Also when she was trying to be meek. “Agreeing to my proposal of marriage had better not be part of your dissembling.”

“No part at all. I told you I came here to scold you.”

“And I am duly scolded.” Scolded, and formally engaged and nigh bursting with that joy, despite all the circumstances weighing against both hope and joy.

“I said I would follow you into hell if this plan tomorrow fails.”

“It won’t fail.” Graham would not fail. He could not fail, or… well, he could not.

“I will make good on my threat, Graham. If you can’t pull this off, I will be deeply, deeply disappointed, angry even.”

“We will pull it off. You and I, ably assisted by our loyal familiars. We, Morna. The same we that should have thwarted Brodie’s pernicious nonsense all those years ago.”

She leaned against his shoulder. “Be patient with me.”

He slipped an arm around her waist. “We’ll be patient with each other, or try to be. I can get loud when I’m trying to be patient.”

“I recall that about you. Graham, what I meant was… I will follow you into hell, but I would also, if you are so inclined, follow you into bed.”

Bed. The sensible half of Graham’s mind tried to go off on a flight about offers made under extenuating circumstances and perhaps when tomorrow’s business was behind them... His heart slammed the door on that nonsense. They were engaged to be married.

At long last, they were to be married. “I am so inclined.” He scooped her up and carried her across the dressing closet threshold into the warm, airy confines of the bedroom. That wasn’t quite how the tradition was supposed to go either, but it moved the proceedings into the bedroom, which was close enough to the spirit of the customary ritual.

“You’re sure, Morna?”

“Stop asking me that, and please see to warming the sheets.”

“I love it when you give me orders in the bedroom.” He was rewarded with that smile again, the half-secret, half-amused cross between tenderness and humor.

“Then get out of those clothes, your lordship, and help me out of mine.”

Regret refused to be shed as easily as Morna’s dressing gown. Like the thick wool socks wrapped around her feet, regret joined her in bed. While she snuggled beneath the covers with her woeful feelings, Graham did her the courtesy of tending to his ablutions before the fire.

By taking such care with soap and water, Graham was being either considerate or diabolically shrewd. Morna would have bet her second-favorite shawl—her most favorite was one Graham had given her for her sixteenth birthday—that Graham had bathed thoroughly before he’d gone prowling the corridors. His scent, when he’d embraced her, had been as fresh and airy as a Highland meadow.

Morna had indulged in a good soak as well, but her thoughts had bounced from wanting to drown Uncle Brodie in a horse trough to sheer wonder that Graham had willed his entire personal estate to her. Was that encouraging? Terrifying? A woman could lose her wits trying to fathom Graham MacNeil’s motivations.

Her heart was already a lost cause.

He half turned so the line of his thigh, hip, back, and shoulder caught the firelight just so.

“If you spend any more time with that flannel and basin, Graham, I will soon be snoring. This bed is exceedingly cozy.” And exceedingly large.

He straightened, and Morna’s heart beat faster. Gracious heavens, he was magnificent.

“Morna, if you keep looking at me like that, the bed hangings will go up in flames the moment I set a knee upon the mattress.”

“I’ve always delighted in a roaring bonfire.”

He set the basin on the hearth, as casually as if he were fully attired rather than sporting about in the altogether.

“I’m contemplating something more in the nature of a volcano, Miss MacKenzie.” He stalked across the room. “Or one of those comets that illuminate the entire firmament. Budge over.”

Morna shifted twelve inches away from the center of the bed. Graham climbed aboard, making the mattress dip. Now came the difficult part, the part where she had to have self-possession and competence when, in fact, she was all at sixes and sevens. Their previous encounters had been lovely, but those occasions hadn’t been overshadowed by the knowledge that their enemy was family.

Tomorrow would be dangerous, and Graham was choosing to confront that danger personally.

“I’m feeling a bit befuddled,” he said, drawing the covers up. “But then, I’ve never been betrothed before, so we’re exploring terra incognito . Perhaps you’d like to lead the expedition?”

He lay flat on his back beside her, and such was his sheer mass that Morna was rolled into his side.

“What I’d like,” Morna said, “is to be eighteen, with Grandpapa and the countess still with us, John still wandering about muttering in law Latin, and Lanie still in possession of more of her sight. I am so angry, Graham, at what has been taken from us. Why didn’t we see what Brodie was up to when we could have prevented so much heartache?”

Hardly an impressive sortie into the wilds of passionate abandon.

Graham slipped an arm beneath her neck and cuddled her close. “We don’t know precisely what Brodie got up to, Morna. We have hunches and suspicions and theories. We will know more tomorrow, if luck is with us. What I tell myself is that if you and I had been allowed to pursue our interest in each other all those years ago, we might well have ended up together—I was certainly intent on that goal—but there’s a significant chance I would have been less appreciative of my good fortune.”

“I would not have needed much pursuing, Graham. I was rather determined to be your good fortune and to have you as mine.”

“So we lost years, but we gained wisdom. As a younger man, I would have been proud to marry you, and—you will agree—a bit arrogant about taking you to wife. The arrogance got transported right out of me, I hope. The sadder, wiser fellow in bed with you now will hold to his vows with every particle of his honor and determination, Morna. Not simply the part about fidelity. That would have been yours regardless. I can promise you now that you’ll also have the rest of it—the patience, humor, loyalty, trust, and respect. You are getting a better bargain now than you would have years ago.”

At some point in that recitation, Graham had taken her hand and laid it flat on his stomach just beneath his waist.

Sadder and wiser, yes, and also—Morna’s hand drifted lower—more fierce, more determined, braver, humbler, and irresistibly more attractive.

“We cannot be trifled with,” Morna said slowly. “You are right about that. I wanted the castle to be in good working order if you ever returned. I got it into my head that if I could keep things organized here, you were more likely to return. I took up the reins and to blazes with anybody who tried to question my authority.”

“Trifle with me all you like, Morna. Just go gently.”

She did not trifle, though she did a bit of tickling. She explored the impressive bits and their oddly vulnerable near neighbors, and the curious, warm, slightly crinkly surrounding terrain. She sniffed, she fondled, she listened to Graham’s heart and rode the rise and fall of his breathing with her hand.

Morna still had regrets, but to admit them, to know Graham understood and shared them, meant she could keep her socks on and let those regrets slip away.

“If you were to kiss me now,” Graham said, “you would preserve me from begging. Your future husband’s dignity is at stake, Morna.”

She further imperiled her future husband’s dignity by swinging a leg over his hips and straddling him before granting his request.

“Will you merely lie there while I do all the work?” Morna asked, scraping a fingernail across a flat male nipple. “What of my dignity?”

Graham shaped her breasts through the linen of her nightgown. “What of your pleasure?”

His hands were warm, even through the fabric. Warm and knowing and inventive. “I like that.” An understatement.

“Kiss me, prospective wife. You’ll like that too.”

“Somebody very recently urged me to go gently, prospective husband. My body says let’s leap into the inferno. My heart says I have missed you for so long, and I still need to savor what you offer if I’m to believe you are truly mine.”

“The same for me.” He gently urged her down with a hand on her nape, and the kissing recommenced.

Morna kept the reins for a time, until she realized Graham would let her equivocate all night if she needed to.

“One request,” she said, brushing a hand over his chest. “Don’t leave me.”

At some point in the proceedings, Graham had rolled with her so he was above her, braced on his elbows.

He peered down at her. “I will never leave you. Perish the thought. Damnation be to him who—”

“No, I mean…” She patted his bum, and a fine bum it was too. “Don’t leave me.” A few strokes and a squeeze ensued. “Always before, you’ve withdrawn, and I understand the prudence and courtesy involved, but we are betrothed now.”

He rested his cheek against hers. “I’m trying to think. Betrothed is not wed. That’s as far as ratiocination takes me. You will be impressed that I managed such a big word. A dozen syllables or thereabouts.”

Bless him, he was trying to decide whether to leave the reins in her hands on this decision as well.

“Betrothed means we shall be wed. We shall.” Morna ceased stroking his backside, though the self-denial involved in that sacrifice was prodigious. She was asking a lot of Graham, asking him to trust that fate—never their ally thus far—would allow them the time and safety to wed.

“You’ll wear my ring?” Graham asked, kissing her nose. “Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow and for all the rest of my born days, Graham MacNeil, unless I’m swimming in the Tay or kneading bread dough.”

Another kiss, this one to her forehead. “That’s all right, then. Do you have the least comprehension how distracting a wool sock caressing a man’s calf can be?”

“Yes. Do you have any idea how desperately I desire you at this moment?”

He lifted his hips a telling few inches and began the joining. “I have an inkling or two. You said you needed to savor our lovemaking rather than leap into the inferno.”

She moved with him, and all the heavens began to move as well. “I was lying.”

“Such a propensity for falsehoods you’re developing. I love you, Morna MacKenzie, soon-to-be Lady Dunhaven.”

Ye gods. Lady Dunhaven. She hadn’t even considered that part. “I love you too, Graham MacNeil, and that is an eternal verity.”

He did not leave her, and she would not have allowed him to if he had made the attempt. They fell asleep exhausted, replete, and entwined. Morna’s feet were warm despite a lack of socks, and her heart was at peace.

When she woke in the morning, she was nonetheless alone in the bed. Some nincompoop was humming in the dressing closet, and the sun pouring through the window was wretchedly bright, while Morna was nowhere near as well rested as she ought to have been.

Which thought caused her to smile.

“I left the bed curtains open,” Graham said, emerging from the dressing closet, “the better to feast my gaze upon your wondrous, snoring beauty. Good morning, beloved.”

He wiped a spot of lather from his cheek, one of the most prosaic actions a man could take in the midst of the thoroughly boring job of finishing his morning toilette. He tossed the towel back into the dressing closet and surveyed her, his hands on his hips.

“No,” Morna said, sitting up and patting the place beside her. “No, you are not going down to breakfast just yet. I have plans for you.”

Graham unbelted his dressing gown. “Just as well. I have plans for you too.”

They missed breakfast altogether and instead shared a midmorning tray in the study, where Morna pretended to look for a good book while she also rejoiced—and worried.

“I kept Brodie up playing whist until well past midnight,” St. Didier said. “He cheats, but not excessively.”

“How much?” Graham asked, leading True along the path that led to the geldings’ pasture. The afternoon was brilliantly sunny and almost mild, which was the least boon a newly betrothed man deserved.

“Two pounds. I considered that a reasonable donation to the objective. I made him work for it.”

“Is it work if the task is undertaken before a roaring fire while swilling French brandy and keeping the kitchen awake to send up sandwiches on the hour?”

True ambled along behind, a horse in charity with the world now that spring grass had come in.

“You’re angry,” St. Didier said. “You’re entitled, but today might not be the day to unleash your wrath.”

“Justice and wrath can bear a close resemblance.” Graham had pondered, between kisses and cuddles, the years Morna had spent managing the castle, though she had no rank, no seniority, and only the most attenuated family connection. She’d doubtless sailed through any number of tempests, and all because Uncle Brodie…

All because Uncle Brodie might have accidently poisoned his sister?

Graham opened the gate for True and commended him to the company of the other geldings, who, to a horse, were munching grass and swishing their tails at the occasional fly.

“So peaceful,” St. Didier said, taking up a lean against the post-and-rail fence. “So bucolic. You must have missed this when you were away.”

“Scotland sparkles,” Graham said, fastening the gate. “The grass in the morning, the skies, the waters of the Tay… It’s all nearly magical.” Like Morna’s smiles and laughter, like the steady rise and fall of her breathing when she’d been loved to exhaustion. “Australia has much to recommend it, but it could never be home to me.”

“How long did it take you to realize that?”

“A quarter of an hour at least, but then, I was staggering with fatigue by the time we made port and suffering a touch of the headache. Stop fretting, St. Didier. We’ll confront Brodie, and he’ll have choices to make.”

“Don’t trust him, Dunhaven. He wasn’t playing cards last night like a man whose schemes have been foiled.”

“Let’s get back to the stable. One doesn’t want to be late for a meeting.” One wanted the meeting over, the whole mess with Brodie resolved, and the shadows banished from Morna’s eyes for all time. “How was Brodie playing cards last night, when he wasn’t cheating?”

St. Didier strode along in silence for the length of the fence. “Brodie has another plan,” he said. “He fancies himself clever, and he’s already shown us that if one scheme fails, he’ll come up with another. He’s already fashioned that next scheme and is relishing its implementation.”

The most recent plan—hauling Lanie into the woods—had been fiendishly cruel. “Then we’d best not keep him waiting. You go first. If any of the grooms are malingering, chase them off and tell them to loiter in the servants’ hall until given leave to get back to work. They’ll adore you for it.”

“They’ll adore the undercook’s ankles. You be careful, Dunhaven. Be damned careful, and don’t turn your back on Brodie for any reason.”

“That’s why you’ll be there. To guard my back.” Morna had insisted, as had Peter and Lanie. Graham decided to be touched rather than insulted. Besides, the whole undertaking wanted a witness, and St. Didier—an English gentleman of impeccable repute—was the most disinterested party available.

St. Didier consulted his watch, an elegant gold affair that winked brilliantly in the afternoon sun. “We have thirty minutes. I’m off to take up lurking in the shadows. For the last time, be careful.”

Morna had said the same thing when she’d kissed Graham following the noon meal. Be careful.

In Brodie’s case, Graham would have preferred to be violent, providing the facts supported Graham’s theory of events.

St. Didier took a nip from his flask—more winking gold—and saluted Graham with it. “We happy few and all that. A man who will cheat a guest at cards and leave Miss Lanie shivering in the woods is a creature without a conscience.”

“He’s likely in want of coin as well. One takes heed, St. Didier. Away with you.”

Graham remained in the sun, watching the horses, considering what Brodie’s next moves might be, because St. Didier was doubtless correct—Brodie was concocting another scheme, probably worse than all his previous mischief put together.

And Morna had spent years placating him and managing him and ignoring his snide asides, only to see her sister menaced in return—and her prospective husband.

Waiting thirty minutes was difficult, but well-laid plans proceeded on an agreed-upon schedule, according to St. Didier. Thus, when Brodie appeared in the deserted stable, Graham had just taken up a bench, with the saddle, rags, and leather soap arrayed at his side.

“You summon me to the stable,” Brodie said, “and I find you doing the lowliest lad’s work. Since when do earls clean saddles?”

“I’m hiding,” Graham said, taking up the cloth and applying it to the cantle. “The festivities the other night rather wore me out, and I’m not up to ledgers, inventories, and callers today. One isn’t as resilient in later years as one was in one’s youth.”

Brodie remained on his feet, while Graham sat, trying to exude grumpy harmlessness.

“Do I take it your friend St. Didier will be leaving us now that the grand ball has been endured?”

St. Didier ought to be in True’s empty stall at that moment, listening to every word and ready to leap into any ensuing affrays.

“Our guest has not confided any such plans in me, but then, he’s not much for confiding anything in anyone. How much did he take you for at whist?”

“I took him,” Brodie said, rocking up on his toes. “Five pounds, if you can believe that. The man ponders every card in every hand, and he’s too predictable by half. Is this where you tell me you’ll be returning to Australia?” He extracted a flask and held it out to Graham.

Graham set aside his cloth and accepted the offering, though toasting his uncle’s lies sat ill with him. “Why would I return to Australia? I just got home.”

“Because you aren’t welcome here, my boy, if I might indulge in a bit of avuncular blunt speech. I heard about that business with Lanie at the ball. A nasty prank at best. Somebody is trying to let you know that you are persona non grata , and I shudder to think what form the next message might take. Do drink up. That’s the latest cherry brandy, all the rage in Paris. More fire than cordial and a pleasantly complicated finish.”

Graham uncorked the flask and held it to his nose. “You don’t attribute Lanie’s mistreatment to village spite?” The first footman had confirmed that Brodie had disappeared in the direction of the men’s retiring room, and been gone nigh three quarters of an hour.

“Village spite should never be underestimated,” Brodie said, strolling along the rows of empty stalls, “but based on what I’ve managed to pick up from the staff, Lanie was all but kidnapped, and that is a hanging offense. We can attribute ill-will to the vicar’s daughter or to the Bodeen imbecile, but not the requisite boldness. They are sly creatures, that pair.”

Graham put the flask to his lips and reached not for boldness, but for prudence.

“Valid point. Still, I won’t be returning to Australia. The place is dangerous, and Morna would rather bide in Scotland.”

Brodie chuckled and, when Graham would have returned the flask, waved it back into his keeping.

“Drink up. Hair of the dog that bit you.” Brodie reversed course just before reaching True’s empty stall and returned to the doorway. “So Morna has wasted no time getting her hooks into you? I can’t blame her. She’s been the unpaid housekeeper for years, and she’d be a fool to pass up a chance to wear a tiara, even the somewhat tarnished article you could offer her. You might as well finish the brandy, I have a few more bottles in my stores. Very decent stuff, and you won’t find its like easily.”

Graham put the flask to his lips again rather than bash Brodie over the head for referring to Morna with anything less than respect.

“I have it on the authority of MacHeath’s aunties that a little banishment adorns all the best Scottish peerages, but that’s not what I asked you here to discuss.”

“I would look after the place in your absence, you know.” Brodie glanced behind him, as if that offer somehow merited discretion, but remained standing with his back to the sunshine at the end of the barn aisle. “I have looked after the place, in fact. Morna kept the maids in line, but reminding the steward and tenants of their obligations, listening to their laments, and keeping them from taking advantage, that all fell to me.”

No, it had not. St. Didier had taken a hand, Peter had done his best, and even the ruddy London solicitors had provided epistolary reminders of when the rents were due. Morna had doubtless shown the flag on every tenant property and kept track of who was due for a new ram or who had a son who could apprentice to the castle’s farrier.

But Brodie’s offer revealed his entire hand. He wanted the castle and its revenues for himself, and that required Graham to decamp once more, leaving the family wealth in Brodie’s ever so willing hands.

“Then I owe you my thanks,” Graham said, “for all your selfless hard work and loyalty. Nonetheless, I won’t be turning the castle over to you any time soon, Uncle.”

“You’ll want somebody keeping an eye on the place during your wedding journey, surely? Peter can’t keep two thoughts in his head for the duration of a minuet. The boy is as flighty as my late sister. I’m not saying he’s foolish, but he is young, and in case you hadn’t noticed, he’s smitten with poor, blind Lanie.”

Poor, blind Lanie. Graham nearly tossed the flask at Brodie’s head. He put it in a pocket instead, the better to keep his hands free.

“Lanie’s eyesight is poor, I agree, but she has other skills that compensate for what she lost to measles.”

“I would like my flask back,” Brodie said, “though you must finish the contents if they appeal to you. My sister gave me that particular article. She called it elegant. I call it plain, but serviceable, and full of sentimental value.”

He held out his hand, and Graham ignored it. “Lanie has an excellent nose too,” he went on as if Brodie hadn’t spoken. “She, in fact, discerned that her kidnapper, despite wearing my new cloak, reeked of cigars. Careful interviewing of the staff confirmed that while Lanie was being abandoned in the woods, not two yards from a precipice, you were absent from the ball, Uncle. What have you to say for yourself?”