The Scot
Suddenly, she understood why he was offering the thing she most desired. “It is you,” she whispered, eyes narrowed as she observed him keenly. “You are the one who is desperate!”
“Aye,” he admitted softly, his smile wry. “’Tis true enough I am that.” Then, on a practical note, he added, “You canna go back to London and your da won’t be leaving you here alone. Did you hear? He says you’ve the choice of me or your cousin in York with all those bairns for you to mind. There, I much doubt you’ll have any say in what you do. With me, there’ll be none to answer to, save myself.”
“York? No, I missed that part.” She backed up to a chair and sat down to mull it over. “Botheration!” He was right about Cousin Matilda. She was a martinet and her four children were absolute hellions. Susanna looked up at the Scot again. But how could she live in the Highlands with nothing but strangers around her? How could she live with a man who could steal her senses with a simple kiss?
She exhaled in despair. But she really misliked those children of Matilda’s and her cousin’s husband was a leering old fool who chased the maids around like a randy schoolboy. She hardly fancied his probable attentions.
The Highlander just stood there, his hands clasped behind him, patiently awaiting her decision. “We would have a marriage in name only, of course,” she informed him succinctly.
He slowly shook his head. “Nay, lass. I am not quite that desperate.”
She swallowed hard, imagining what would be required of her. Though not precisely sure of the exact details, she knew it would not be pleasant. She had heard whispers. “But you would give me time…time to adjust. Time to know you?” She hated the pleading note in her voice.
“All the time you need,” he promised, then qualified it, “within reason. I will be needin’ heirs sooner or later, and so will you. Who’ll take the earldom after your father if not your son? He told me you’re nearin’ twenty-five and I’m close on to thirty myself. Won’t do to wait years, but there’s no powerful rush to it.”
She rose from the chair, feeling at a disadvantage having to look up at him. Yet when she stood, she still had to do that. He was incredibly tall. And well made, she noticed, trying to assess him in rather the same way she would a horse to be purchased.
His features were pleasing, especially the dark-fringed green eyes and mobile mouth that seemed to smile quite readily. And kiss exquisitely, she recalled with reluctance. Someone had broken his nose, giving it a hawk like character. Yes, she had to admit that the Scot was handsome in a rough-cut sort of way.
His dark wavy hair could stand a trim. For certain, he needed someone to guide him in the purchase of clothing. That suit was atrocious, his tie crooked and his collar wrinkled.
He did not strike her as terribly intelligent. What man with any sense would risk marrying a woman whose father had listed her numerous shortcomings so willingly and seemed so eager to be rid of her? Well, at any rate, he appeared to be one male she could easily outwit. That was something in his favor, she supposed.
It was a well-known fact among women that children usually inherited intelligence from the mother and physical appearance from the father, so she needn’t fear she’d bear ugly imbeciles when the time came. If it ever did. She would stall for as long as possible, of course.
Aside from that consideration, Susanna knew it was highly unlikely she would find a better bargain down the road in York. There was nothing for it but to take her chances. And pray.
“Very well, I accept your offer of marriage,” she announced in her most businesslike voice. “However, there are conditions.”
“Aye, there will be those,” he agreed. “You go first with yours.”
So surprised that he would allow this, Susanna had to think quickly. “Uh…well, I would require the time we mentioned before. You know, before we…” Her hands were fluttering. She clasped them together in front of her.
He nodded. “Already granted. Have you aught else, then?” he asked politely.
She bit her lips together. “Never impose your will upon me. Freedom to come and go as I please, no questions asked.”
“Come and go where? There’s not much traffic about the Highlands, lass. We’ll be coming down here or to Glasgow once or twice each year, I suppose. Not wise to strike out on your own.”
“Hmm. I am beginning to see why my father thinks this will be beneficial. What are your requirements of me?” she asked.
“No gambling. Loyalty to my people and yours. Faith-fulness,” he said seriously. “And that you be just in your decisions.”
She waited a moment. When he did not add anything, she asked, “Is that all?”
“That’s a fair bit when you think of it, lass.”
“No more than I would have given without your listing. But I have one more thing I require, Lord Garrow.”
“’Tis James,” he informed her, then held out a hand, gesturing for her to make her further demand.
She did, fully expecting him to argue. “You must allow me to speak my mind in all matters to anyone, as I will, without censure, even if you do not agree.”
His teasing smile took her off guard. “Censure? That means punishment, aye?”
“Aye, lad, it does that,” she replied, returning his smile as she shamelessly mimicked his speech.
He shook his head and laughed, a merry sound that made her join him. It felt wonderful to laugh. It felt even better to know she would not have to beg her father for anything, or worry about his criticism, or bow to any man’s wishes, ever again. This one, she could wrap around her finger and do as she pleased. She knew it. At last, she would be free of all the constrictions women had labored beneath for centuries and so, could encourage others.
Her father returned at that moment, sweeping into the room as if prepared to calm the hell broken loose in his absence. He stopped short, obviously puzzled by their gaiety. “What—what have you decided?” he demanded.
“Why, Father, was yer ear not to the door? Or has yer hearin’ gone bad? Jamie and me are betrothed, doncha ken?”
The Scot laughed even harder as he slid one strong arm about her waist, drew her close and soundly planted a kiss on her temple. Susanna permitted it without protest. It wasn’t so bad.
Even if greed for Drevers, desperation for employment, or simple lack of good sense were his motivation, Susanna reveled in the unusual feeling of being wanted. She boldly slipped her arm around him and hugged him back. She meant it for show at first, to taunt her father, but found it felt good to have an ally, even if the Scot was an unwitting one.
Yes, she could manage him with no trouble at all. Within a year, she would have him convinced they should live in London where she could resume her crusade. Her father would have no right to cut it short the next time, and her husband would not gainsay her once she plied her wiles upon him. She did have wiles, she was fairly certain of it.
Who would have thought her luck would reverse itself in such a strange and rapid fashion? There was solid proof her cause was righteous.
Chapter Two
James usually resisted change, but there was little to be said for the status quo in regard to his current situation.
Taking a wife seemed, on the one hand, a reckless thing to do. He could barely support the souls in his care already. However, he doubted Eastonby would grant him the stewardship of Drevers unless he wed the lass.
Working that close to home, without the necessity of leaving for half the year, would surely benefit both himself and the clan. The people of Drevers would certainly be better off for it. He could not afford to question his own preferences when this would affect so many lives beyond his own.
To be honest, he had to admit the idea of the marriage did not exactly put him off. Something about Susanna Childers sparked a sense of anticipation and excitement James had thought dead and buried along with his boyhood. The lass would prove to be an adventure, that was for certain.
He was suddenly aware of his life having been driven by little more than an almost desperate need to meet his responsibilities. What was a wife but one more of those? And yet…
She’d be a handful to tame, this one, he thought with a grin. A glorious handful.
Other than his mother, women had never given him problems. There had been quite a few, admittedly more in his youth than recently, due to the constraints of time and funds to spend on pleasure. Even the most temperamental females he had encountered had usually responded to even-handed reason or, barring that, ready affection.
No cause to believe a wife would react any differently than the rest. He liked women and they seemed to realize that. He also knew better than to love them. He’d made sure they understood that, too.
He had loved his mother, of course. Yet he had remarked what love had done to him and to his father. That man had suffered like the damned in his efforts to please a wife who gauged success by possessions and how many people she could impress by showing them off. Ten years after their deaths, James and the entire clan were still reaping the results of his mother’s love of wagering and her extravagant spending. And his, as well, he admitted.
The last four years of their lives, James himself had made a remarkable dent in the family fortune, gaining his useless education and traveling to acquire the polish of a worldly young noble like the ones his mother admired. He had foolishly believed that improving himself in such a way might gain him her approval, if not her love. Maybe she would point to him with pride one day, he’d thought at the time.
The guilt over that conceit and the cost of it ate at him constantly, even though he hadn’t known at the time how dire the state of the family finances. Well, this marriage and his new position could go a long way in making up for that bit of foolishness.
“Are you an optimist?” Eastonby asked him as if reading his mind.
James rolled his eyes at the thought. “Hardly.”
“Neither am I. But I do think you and Susanna will suit one another or I would not have suggested this. She needs a firm hand, but not a cruel one, Garrow. Most important, I want her out of the way of those trouble-makers in London. That Bodichon woman has nearly ruined our good name, using Susanna to spout all that nonsense about freeing women from their bondage or some such. The papers actually printed my daughter’s name, can you feature that? One knows a proper female is never mentioned in print other than at her marriage and her death! Her mother would have been scandalized.”
“Embarrassed you, did she?” James asked, feeling faintly angry at Eastonby and rather defensive of Susanna’s courage in taking a firm stand, be it right or wrong. She didn’t strike him as being one who was easily led. Susanna was a woman of conviction and he thought that spoke well of her.
“Not so much embarrassed as perplexed. And I have to admit, frightened for her. There are those in power who greatly resent a woman speaking out so publicly. Susanna is passionate when she takes up a cause, but she’s also a bit naive.”
In his opinion, James thought the lass should be commended. It was not every woman who would dare speak out against injustice no matter what consequences she might face. But he remained silent. Now was not the time to engage in any debates on the evils of society.
The earl’s expression looked grim as he splashed another dollop of liquor into a fine crystal goblet. “More?”
James nodded and held out his glass. They were drinking brandy to seal their bargain while the lady rifled through her wardrobe in the next room to find something appropriate for a hasty wedding.
It was to take place that very afternoon, accomplished without banns or fanfare, by a Presbyterian minister who owed Eastonby a favor. Apparently, the earl also knew one of the magistrates who would backdate a license. That had been sent for, as had a ring from one of the city’s well-known jewelers. Amazing what an exalted title could accomplish, not to mention wealth and the comradeship of former Oxford chums.
“I must remain in Edinburgh for at least another week,” James told Eastonby. “I’ve a commitment to finish the portal of the building we’re close to completing. Then I’ll be free to take on your estate.”
“Your estate now, my friend,” the earl reminded him. “As for your stone carving, I must say that pride in your work is to be commended.”
James huffed. “Pride, indeed. I’ll not be paid for what I’ve done of that bas relief unless I finish it.”
Eastonby smiled and raised his glass in salute. “Then do so. Before you know it, you will be bringing your children to Edinburgh so they may marvel at your handiwork.”
The man was wrong, James thought. He was definitely an optimist if he was expecting grandchildren any time soon. Then again, life did have a way of springing surprises and the winters in Scotland were damned cold for sleeping alone.
James took his time as he sipped the smooth French brandy, fully appreciating the way it slid down his throat like liquid fire. Tamer than his whisky, even when aged to perfection, but the taste was just as fine. “You’ll be leaving directly after the ceremony?” he asked.
The earl nodded. “Yes. I regret I cannot stay longer and join you for a wedding supper. You and Susanna are welcome to stay here in these apartments until you leave Edinburgh, of course.”
“I’ll be coming with you far as Solly’s Copse,” James announced, then polished off the brandy and set down the glass with a thunk.
Eastonby looked surprised. “Thank you for the thought, but that should not be necessary. I can handle matters.”
“You’re family,” James said simply, “or you will be by tonight. I’ll ride along.” When the earl would have protested again, James continued. “I’ve been thinking, if you hire a number of guards to ride with you, this assassin will stay his hand until he catches you unawares later on. If I go, concealed in your carriage, he and his man will carry through with their plan. We’ll have ’em, then and there.”
“By jove, you’re right! I never thought of that. But what of Susanna? She won’t take kindly to her new husband haring off on guard duty while she languishes at the wedding supper alone.”
“Nonsense!” the lady in question piped up as she reentered the room. “Pour me a jot of that, would you?” she instructed her father. “This beloved of mine must do what he feels is necessary to save your skin, Father. Will this dress do?” She twirled around.
“Don’t be impertinent, Suz,” the earl growled, deliberately and firmly stoppering the brandy decanter.
“Me?” Her wide-eyed look of innocence tickled James. She was a sly minx. “Why, I am the very soul of pertinence. Tell him, darling.”
Susanna had been peppering every address to him with endearments, likely trying to stoke her father’s guilt for giving her away. One could hardly blame her for it. “She’s right, sir,” James said dutifully. “Pertinent in this instance anyway. I must go with you. Otherwise, we’d both be wonderin’ for weeks whether you’d made it home to London alive.” He turned his attention to her. “And that blue gown is right becomin’ to you, Suz. Matches your bonny blue eyes.”
“Do not call me Suz,” she hissed with a brief glare at her father, probably for making James aware of the nickname. “I despise it.” With a jerk, she straightened a sleeve that didn’t need it, then tugged up her gloves.
He just smiled. Suz suited her to the letter, short, sweet and soft. Her lips as she said it, pursed just right as if beckoning his kiss. He might never call her anything else.
Reason was not the thing to put this woman to rights, he decided. Nay, he would need to use affection. No doubt with the right words in the right places, he could turn her up sweet within a fortnight, just in time for their homecoming.
Susanna wished for her mother. In the three years since Anya Childers had died, Susanna had harbored an anger that very nearly obliterated all of the happy memories she had of her. Today’s events had forced them out of hiding.
Now, at the moment of pledging her future to a stranger, Susanna imagined her mother beaming happily about it. Strange, when the vicissitudes of marriage had been the very thing that caused her death. Repeated attempts to produce a son in order to please her husband had drained the life right out of her. Two miscarriages and a stillbirth. She might have survived that had it not been for all of the other obligations forced upon her as countess of Eastonby.
A woman’s lot, her mother would have said in that soft voice of hers, smiling even then as if she accepted and didn’t mind what fate had decreed for her. Susanna had promised herself at the funeral that such a destiny would never be hers. And yet, here she was, bound to answer I will before a clergyman who might be the one to speak over her own dead body in a few years.
One thing for certain, wherever she went, Susanna meant to continue her crusade to encourage women to speak up and be heard, to take care of themselves and take charge of their lives. She was not giving in, not giving up. This marriage could be used to her benefit. No woman worth her salt sat around waiting for things to happen to her. She made them happen.
“…love, honor and obey…”
The minister’s words broke through her thoughts like a sharp stick thrust into a beehive. She gritted her teeth to keep her fury from flying out and stinging everyone there. They were all men, of course—her father, the Scot, the reverend and another stranger who just happened to be present when a witness was needed—and would shoo away her attacks as merely bothersome.
A large hand encased her own and she allowed it. His was exceedingly warm and hers felt cold in the absence of her gloves. If men could use women for comfort, why not the other way around? Susanna knew the justification made no sense in this instance, but the whole day seemed to have taken on a strangeness that defied logic anyway.
The remainder of the ceremony passed in a blur—even the placing of the ring on her finger.
“I now pronounce you man and wife. What God has joined together, let no man put asunder….” The voice droned on.
Asunder? God, she felt asunder at the moment. Her heart nearly stopped, then thudded so fast she thought she might faint when two large, very warm hands rose to grasp her neck. For an instant, she feared he would choke her for her rebellious thoughts.
The Scot’s long fingers invaded the curls at her nape. His palms covered the pulsing veins at the sides of her neck. His thumbs caressed her chin. And his mouth drew nearer and nearer.
Susanna blinked her eyes shut just as his lips fastened on hers. Her mouth must have been open. She should have closed it. This was highly improper, his open mouth upon hers, his tongue touching hers. Good heavens, she could taste him! And he was tasting her, as if she were a comfit he wished to savor and not eat up too quickly.
Horrified at how her curiosity prompted her to linger over such a thing, Susanna pushed away, staring up at him to see if he would insist on a resumption of the kiss. She didn’t wish he would. She didn’t!
Obviously, he didn’t either, she noted as he released her and dropped his hands to his sides. “Well then, wife, we’ve been wed and blessed. You look right fashed.”
“Fashed?” she mumbled, unable to get her mind around the word.
Her father quickly embraced her, eliminating the need for her to reply to the Scot. “So, my little girl is married! I wish you all that is happy, sweetheart. I am certain you shall have it.”
Susanna managed to thank him, if not sincerely, at least politely. She had made up her mind earlier not to give him the satisfaction of knowing he had upset her by throwing her to the wolves. The leader of a pack of them, in fact.
She could deal with the Scotsman, she reminded herself. Hadn’t she been quite confident of that after he had made his promises to her? This was her choice. He was her choice.
When Susanna looked at him around her father’s shoulder, she fully expected to see gloating superiority or some evidence of expression that he had tricked her into agreeing to this. Instead, he appeared almost deferential, as if pleasing her was his one goal in life.
She was not fool enough to believe that was so, but bit by bit, her courage and confidence returned. It only seemed to flag when the Scot touched her. Or pinned her with that steady gaze of his. “I will become used to it,” she told herself aloud.
“Of course you will!” her father assured her. “I fear you haven’t had too much in the way of happiness these past few years, but now—”
“That’s not what I meant,” she declared, pulling out of his arms and turning away. But she dared not explain what she did mean. “Are we going back to the hotel immediately? I’m famished.”
“Of course,” the Scot said, taking her by the arm, encouraging her to lean on him. She surrendered to it for now. Her knees were not functioning nearly as well as she would have liked.
Collapsing in the aisle of the church would hardly signify her ability to stand on her own two feet. As for that inability, Susanna was certain it was only a momentary lapse.
“I am hungry,” she muttered, more or less to reassure herself. Surely that accounted for the temporary weakness she was feeling.
“Your slightest wish is my command,” the man declared gently as he patted the hand she had locked on his forearm. “Today and always,” he added, sounding quite sincere.
His words and the tone behind them reinforced his benevolent expression and shored her up as nothing else could have. She drew in a huge breath and released it with a sigh of relief. Yes, he would be putty in her hands.
That fact reestablished, Susanna decided she might as well start them off on the right foot. “That kiss was highly inappropriate,” she whispered. “From now on, you should refrain from shocking everyone with such displays.”
He seemed to take the criticism well, though she noted his lips working to suppress any expression. Then he nodded and acquiesced quite admirably. “My apologies, wife. Seems I was carried clean away by your beauty and the moment.”
A blatant lie, but Susanna gave him points for attempting good manners. She might make a gentleman of him one of these days.
“Forgiven. Just see that it does not happen again,” she told him firmly.
“Aye. Public kissin’ might set people to talking behind their fans and we wouldna be wantin’ that, now would we?”
Had that been a reference to her difficulties in London? Was this—this buffoon making sport of her troubles?
Before she could summon up a scathing reply, they had reached the coach that had brought them to the church. Later, she promised herself, later she would take him to task for that insolence. If he had meant it that way. Had he? Surely he would not dare.
Susanna let him hand her into the coach. The inside lanterns were lit, casting a warm glow over the interior.
The Scot’s wide shoulders filled the space beside her, his left one pressed against her right. Though his suit seemed a trifle snug and could have stood a pressing, she noted now that it was of the finest wool and had obviously been tailored for him. Most men with his height would find that necessary, she supposed.
There was no hint of macassar oil in his hair or any of the parfums gentlemen usually wore to disguise unpleasant odors. Yet he had none of those. Rather, he smelled of fresh air, a unique heathery essence that reminded her of her childhood summers, when she had played upon the meadows in the Cotswolds. His scent intrigued her.
This close, she could see the pores of his fine-grained skin. Its color seemed a bit sun-darkened and partially shadowed now by the need for an evening shave.
Susanna was still contemplating his firm jaw and chin when her father entered the coach. He took the seat opposite, rocking the conveyance with his weight, appearing terribly pleased with himself for arranging all this. She turned her full attention on him and forced a smile. After all, wedding the Scot would probably turn out to be the best thing that could have happened to her, considering the options available.