Courting an Angel Page 4

  “Shall we try to make a snowman?” Isabelle asked, hiding a smile.

  “There isn’t enough snow,” Bliss complained.

  “Watch this,” Rob ordered her cousins, starting toward the rear of the garden where the snow was virgin, untouched by their footprints.

  Rob removed her left hand from her pocket, tightened her cloak around herself, and then lay on her back in the snow. She brushed her arms upward in the snow toward her head and down again. Finally, Rob stood and stepped away from the spot, then beckoned the five little girls to her side.

  “What is it?” Aurora asked, inspecting the impression in the snow.

  Rob opened her mouth to reply but then frowned as an uncanny feeling of being watched overwhelmed her senses.

  “Are you going to tell us or no?” Bliss demanded, drawing her attention.

  “What d’ye think it is?” Rob asked, suppressing the overpowering urge to look over her shoulder and catch whoever was watching them.

  “’Tis an angel,” Blythe answered.

  Rob grinned. “Correct.”

  “Me make angel,” Summer demanded.

  “Me too,” Autumn said.

  “Isabelle and I will show ye how ’tis done,” Rob agreed. “Come here where the snow is still unblemished and wrap yer cloaks tightly around yerselves . . .”

  * * *

  False Solomon’s-seal with its blackberry clusters and an arum plant bearing bright red fruit nodded just above the snow-dusted lawns next to the stone wall of Devereux House. A pair of piercing gray eyes peered out of the high-styled windows of the Earl of Basildon’s study and watched the two young women surrounded by five little girls in the garden.

  Gordon Campbell fixed his gaze on the petite, ebony-haired woman — his wife. At this distance, he was unable to see her features clearly but distinctly recalled a pair of disarming emerald-green eyes that had stared up at him from the pretty face of an angelic eight-year-old. Had the promise of her beauty been fulfilled?

  From somewhere behind him, Gordon heard Mungo say to the Earl of Basildon, “I’m verra honored to make yer acquaintance, my lord. Yer fame has even reached the Highlands of Scotland.”

  Gordon smiled inwardly. Mungo always failed to look beyond a man’s possessions to see the true worth that lay beneath. A poor man’s flaw, but utter folly.

  Sensing someone beside him, Gordon glanced to his left and saw Dubh MacArthur silently offering him a glass of whiskey. Accepting it, Gordon took a healthy swig and then coughed as the potent liquid burned a path to his stomach.

  “Fine spirits,” Gordon managed to say finally.

  “A gift from Dubh’s father,” Earl Richard said with an easy smile. “You know, I never understood how Iain enjoyed this particular poison until I met my illogical wife.”

  The three younger men smiled. Apparently, Englishwomen could be as troublesome as their northern counterparts.

  Dubh gestured toward the window, asking, “Who’s the blonde?”

  “Isabelle Debrett, a cousin of one of my business associates,” Earl Richard answered. He stood on Gordon’s right side and gazed out the window. “Rob and Isabelle have become fast friends.”

  “Strange,” Dubh murmured.

  Gordon turned his head to look at his brother-in-law and asked, “What’s strange?”

  “I canna remember Rob havin’ a friend,” Dubh answered absently, his interested gaze riveted on the blond beauty walking beside his sister. “Whenever I picture her in my mind, I see her strollin’ aboot the garden with our mother.”

  “Everyone has friends,” Gordon scoffed, gazing out the window again.

  “I dinna recall any.”

  “Who are those little girls?” Gordon asked.

  “My daughters,” the earl answered.

  Gordon turned a horrified expression on him and echoed, “Ye’ve five daughters?”

  “Six.” Earl Richard grinned. “Baby Hope is barely ten days old and much too young for romping in the garden with her sisters.”

  “If ye want a son, do it with yer boots on,” Gordon advised, casting the earl a pitying look.

  Dubh and Mungo nodded in agreement. Earl Richard smiled and would have replied, but the door opened, drawing his attention.

  “My lord, the barge is ready for travel,” Jennings, the earl’s majordomo, informed him.

  “My barge will carry you upriver to Hampton Court,” Earl Richard told Mungo. “’Tis the fastest route. Of course, my bargemen will remain there at your pleasure.”

  “Thank ye, my lord.” Mungo turned to Dubh, asking, “Are ye accompanyin’ me upriver?”

  Dubh flicked a glance out the window at his sister’s friend and then shook his head, answering, “The English rose in the garden interests me. I believe I’ll be stayin’ here a few days.”

  “Why take a chance with one pretty flower?” Mungo argued. “There’ll be dozens of beauties at court to pluck.”

  Gordon snapped his head around and cast his friend a puzzled look. Along the road to England, he would have bet the Campbell fortune that Mungo disliked Dubh. Now it appeared that Mungo could hardly bear to part with the man.

  “I’ll take my chances,” Dubh said with a smile. “If I’m disappointed, I’ll meet ye at court in a few days.”

  “As ye wish.” Mungo followed Jennings out of the study.

  “Shall I send for Rob?” Earl Richard asked Gordon.

  “Their playin’ in the snow makes such a fetchin’ picture,” he said, refusing, his gaze returning to his wife. “’Tis certain she’ll balk when I order her to pack her belongin’s.”

  “Ye’ve plenty of time for arguin’,” Dubh said. He looked at his uncle, adding, “We’ll be stayin’ next door at the Dowager House.”

  “The countess and I are hosting a party tonight to honor my mother-in-law’s birthday,” Earl Richard told them. “Of course, both of you are welcome. Gordon can begin wooing Rob tonight.”

  “Court my own wife?” His suggestion surprised Gordon. “Ye must be jokin’?”

  “Rob wishes to remain in England. She and my young brother-in-law —” Earl Richard broke off, leaving unspoken whatever he’d intended to say. Instead, the earl smiled and added, “Heed my advice. Your married life will enjoy peace if you seduce my niece to your will.”

  Gordon said nothing. He stared out the window at his wife and considered the earl’s advice. He never intended to hurry back to Scotland, as traveling at this time of year could be treacherous, especially in the Highlands. Where was the harm in seducing his bride to do his bidding? Getting her home to Argyll would be easier if she developed a fondness for him. After all, arguing with a reluctant bride across the long length of England and Scotland was a less than appealing notion.

  Beside him, Dubh MacArthur asked, “Will the Debrett lass be attendin’ yer party?”

  “Isabelle is Rob’s guest until after the first of the year,” the earl answered.

  “Will ye do me a favor?” Gordon asked the earl. “Dinna tell Rob of my arrival. I’d much prefer meetin’ her again before she’s aware of who I am.”

  “As you wish.”

  “What are they doin’ now?” Gordon asked, a puzzled smile on his lips.

  Earl Richard’s gaze followed the young marquess’s, and then he smiled too. “Making angels in the snow.”

  * * *

  “Great Bruce’s ghost,” Rob muttered in frustration, inspecting herself in the pier glass. She wore an exquisite garnet and gold brocaded gown with a squared neckline and long, tight-fitting sleeves that ended in a point at her wrists. Though she’d never looked more beautiful, Rob only saw the despised devil’s flower staining the back of her left hand.

  Why me? Rob wondered. Couldn’t the Lord have bestowed this particular disfigurement upon some other woman? Or even one of her own brothers?

  Rob sighed with instant remorse. Wishing her shame on another was a terrible sin. She didn’t mind being flawed and could have managed to live happily with an overly lon
g nose or a rotund body. After all, nobody shunned a fat lady. Or made a protective sign of the cross when a fat woman passed by. Why couldn’t this particular flaw have been located elsewhere on her body, a place that wasn’t so visible?

  Watching her movements in the pier glass, Rob practiced hiding her left hand within the folds of her gown. Too bad, the damned skirt had no pockets. Well, dancing was definitely out of the question. Unless Henry stood beside her, she couldn’t chance flaunting her shame beneath the noses of London’s elite.

  Rob whirled around when the door swung open. Music from the great hall drifted into her chamber, the sound wafting through the air like the delicate song of the nightingale.

  “Isabelle said she’ll meet you in the hall,” Blythe announced, walking into the chamber with Bliss.

  Rob smiled at the pretty picture they presented in identical gowns of pink velvet. “Ye do remind me of rosebuds aboot to bloom,” she said.

  “You look pretty too,” Blythe returned the compliment.

  “Too bad Uncle Henry isn’t here to admire the sight,” Bliss added. “You’ll probably never look that good again. I mean —”

  “We know what you mean,” Blythe interrupted.

  “I look like a changelin’-witch,” Rob said miserably, frustrated tears welling up in her eyes. “This gown doesna hide Old Clootie’s touch.”

  “Who’s Old Clootie?” Bliss asked.

  “Satan himself,” Rob answered in a hushed tone of voice as if speaking his name could summon him into their presence. She held her left hand out for their inspection. “Most in the Highlands believe ’tis Old Clootie’s mark upon me.”

  “What stupid people,” Bliss blurted out. “No offense to your kinsmen, Cousin Rob.”

  “None taken.”

  “Satan does not exist,” Blythe informed her. “Mama said so, and she knows absolutely everything.”

  “’Tis so,” Bliss agreed, bobbing her head.

  “Whether Old Clootie actually exists or not doesna matter,” Rob told them. “He lives if people believe he does, and I’m a changelin’-witch if they think so.”

  Blythe shook her head. “’Tis true only if you think it.”

  Rob stared in surprise at her younger cousin and wondered at the wisdom in the ten-year-old’s words. Finally, she smiled and said, “How verra perceptive of ye, Blythe.”

  “At the moment of your creation, the great mother goddess touched you with her blessed hand,” Blythe told her. “I wish I wore her flower.”

  “Me too,” Bliss added.

  “Sweet cousins, I do love ye,” Rob said, her flagging spirits rising with their comforting words. “Dinna speak such blasphemy aloud in the presence of those who wouldna understand.”

  “We won’t,” they chimed together.

  “Rob?” Blythe hesitated and worried her bottom lip with her teeth before continuing, “Do you really think Roger Debrett will invite me to dance?”

  “She wants to marry him,” Bliss announced, rolling her eyes.

  “I’m positive Lord Roger will find ye irresistibly enchantin’,” Rob assured the ten-year-old. “Shall we go below and see if he’s arrived?”

  On either side of Rob, the two girls placed their hands in hers. Together, they left the bedchamber and started down the corridor.

  “I wish Uncle Rhys and Aunt Morgana could have come from Wales,” Bliss remarked as they descended the stairs to the foyer. “I do love listening to them argue.”

  Rob and Blythe looked at each other and giggled, and Bliss grinned. Reaching the hall, the two sisters dashed inside to greet the guests, but Rob paused in the entrance and hid her left hand within the folds of her gown.

  Situated at each of the short ends of the rectangular chamber, two gigantic hearths blazed and crackled and warmed the hall’s occupants. The flames from dozens of torches cast eerily dancing shadows against the walls.

  Rob gazed through the crowd toward the high table, directly opposite the hall’s entrance. Lady Dawn, whose birthday they were celebrating, sat with Duke Robert in the place of honor. With the duke and the duchess were Uncle Richard and Aunt Keely. A group of guests gathered in front of the high table and chatted with them.

  To the left of the high table, a band of London’s finest musicians played the sprightly, five-step galliard for the throng of nobles dancing in the center of the chamber. Long trestle tables had been erected around the inner perimeter of the hall and held every kind of seasonal fare imaginable from a variety of roasted meats and fowl to mince pies, cheeses, apples, nuts, and a generous supply of red wine.

  Summoning her courage, Rob verified her left hand was hidden and then plunged into that noble mob. Ten steps inside the hall, she stopped short as an uncomfortable feeling of being watched assailed her senses. Nonchalantly, she looked around but detected no one paying her any particular attention.

  Giving the casual observer the impression of demure femininity, Rob hid her left hand behind her right hand and walked around the dance floor toward the high table. She saw Roger Debrett dancing with Lady Darnel and slid her gaze to Blythe. The ten-year-old wore a mask of disappointment upon her pretty face, and Rob decided to speak with Lord Roger as soon as the music ended.

  As she neared the high table, Rob recognized the familiar profile of the man who was speaking with her uncle. A smile of pure joy lit her face.

  “Dubh” she cried. Forgetting to hide her birthmarked hand, Rob threw herself into her older brother’s arms and hugged him.

  “Ye’ve grown more bonny,” Dubh said, smiling down at her upturned face.

  “Do ye carry news of my annulment?” Rob asked, ignoring his compliment.

  “What must be said will be said in the mornin’,” he told her.

  “Is the news good or bad?” she persisted, tugging on his sleeve. “At least, tell me that.”

  “’Tis interestin’,” Dubh teased her, an amused smile lighting his dark-eyes. “Yer bein’ rude, baby sister.”

  Rob turned to the others seated at the high table and smiled apologetically. “I beg yer pardons. Best wishes on yer birthday, Yer Grace.”

  “Thank you, darling,” the Duchess of Ludlow replied.

  Rob would have spoken with the others, but again suffered the uncomfortable feeling of being watched. She hid her left hand within the folds of her gown and glanced around at the dancers, but was unable to detect anyone staring at her. She did, however, catch Roger Debrett’s attention and gave him an arch look that traveled from him to her cousin.

  Roger nodded almost imperceptibly, and when the music ended a moment later, excused himself from Lady Darnel. The dashing young lord approached the group gathered in front of the high table and stopped before Blythe.

  “My lady, how lovely you look tonight,” Roger remarked, bowing low over her hand.

  “’Tis kind of you to notice my unassuming presence,” Blythe replied, a high blush rising on her cheeks.

  Lord Roger gifted the ten-year-old with his most charming smile and inclined his head toward the dance floor, asking, “Would you do me the honor of partnering me for the pavane?”

  Blythe’s answering smile could have lit the whole mansion. “I’d be delighted,” she said, accepting his hand.

  Pleased with herself, Rob watched Roger escort Blythe onto the dance floor. From beside her, she heard Bliss say in a loud voice, “What a relief. I wasn’t relishing the thought of —” Rob snaked her right hand out and covered the eight-year-old’s mouth, making everyone laugh.

  Rob turned to her brother and asked, “Are Ross and Jamie with ye?”

  “No.”

  “Ye rode alone to London?”

  Dubh shook his head. “While in Edinburgh, I chanced to meet a couple of friends who were bound for England. One’s gone along to Hampton Court, but the other is stayin’ with me at Grandmother’s and will be here shortly.”

  Rob nodded. Outwardly, she appeared the picture of serenity, but every fiber of her being tingled in a riot of suppressed exci
tement. Her brother’s sole purpose in traveling to Edinburgh would have been to gain an annulment for her. Rob knew her life was about to change as surely as she knew her own name.

  “I saw ye walkin’ in the garden this afternoon,” Dubh remarked. “I’d like to meet yer friend. Where is she?”

  Rob never heard her brother’s question. Once again, the uncanny feeling of being watched overwhelmed her senses. Without thinking, Rob hid her left hand in the folds of her gown and scanned the hall.

  And then she saw him.

  With his arms folded across his chest, he leaned nonchalantly against the wall opposite the high table. Easily the most incredibly handsome man she’d ever seen, the black-clad stranger stared at her with an intensity that made Rob fed weak-legged as if she’d been struck with the blunt end of a claymore.

  Unexpectedly, the corners of his lips turned up into a lazy smile. He inclined his head in her direction by way of a long-distance greeting.

  Rob read the supreme arrogance in his stance and his gesture. Even his irresistible smile was much too confident and strangely proprietary. Rob suffered the illogical urge to slap it off his handsome face.

  “Did ye hear me?”

  By sheer force of will, Rob yanked her gaze from the stranger’s and looked at her brother. “I beg yer pardon?”

  Dubh grinned. “I’d like to meet yer friend. Isabelle, is it?”

  Rob nodded distractedly. Like a flower beneath the noonday sun, she felt the stranger’s heated gaze. Its intensity flustered her and made logical thinking difficult.

  “Would ye care to dance with yer brother?”

  “I beg yer —?” Dubh’s question registered in her mind. She shook her head and said, “Later, perhaps.”

  Rob ran one finger across the detested stain. Living in England this past year had been almost like heaven, but flaunting her deformity beneath the noses of London’s elite could abruptly end the plans she’d begun to make for herself. She flicked a glance across the hall. The black-clad stranger still watched her.

  “Rob?”