Page 77 of The Trouble With Dukes
He rose as if to charge away in search of an enemy, and Megan had to move quickly to get her hand around the belt holding his sporran.
“Don’t you dare run off on me, Hamish MacHugh. Sir Fletcher will be lying in ambush for you, and that’s the last battle I want on my conscience.”
“Sir Fletcher? Has Pilkington bothered you, Megan?” Such gratifying menace in that question.
“He has more than bothered me, Hamish. He has copied my letters, and will cheerfully call out anybody who thwarts his plan to marry me. He has deduced that you or possibly Colin stole my letters back, and he’ll cause all manner of talk should I balk at marrying him.”
Hamish sank slowly to the bench. “Hecopiedyour letters?”
“Sir Fletcher claims that army life taught him to have all important documents copied, and that not only does he have a record of the contents of the letters, he’s taken care to replicate my signature exactly. He even mentioned that Colin could be tried for theft as a commoner, while you would be tried in the Lords.”
Hamish was silent for a long moment, while the introduction to the waltz began in the ballroom. The waltz was one of Cousin Valentine’s more dramatic pieces, and the dratted dance was in a haunting minor key.
“Say something, Hamish, please.”
More silence, while Sir Fletcher was probably bowing and smiling at some blushing debutante or running up gambling debts Megan’s settlements were supposed to pay. The anger Megan had expected to fade was only growing.
“Forgery is a felony,” Hamish said. “And you’re right. This is an ambush. I’ve been ambushed before. I don’t care for it. Colin is safe enough from a conviction—he was dancing and flirting while I was retrieving your letters—but the threat of criminal charges brought against my brother is bad enough, and exactly what I should have expected from Sir Fletcher.”
“I’m sorry, Hamish. I’ve dragged you into my battles, and Sir Fletcher has no honor. He doesn’t fight fair. I knew that, and I still involved you.”
Hamish said nothing, merely sat staring at the flagstones. He might have been a statue, Highlander Seated, while Megan wanted to screech and kick something—Sir Fletcher’s breeding organs, for example.
The torchlights flickered as the Earl of Keswick stalked across the terrace. He’d been injured on the Peninsula, and when he was tired his gait became uneven.
“Her Grace has asked after you, Megan,” Keswick said. “Murdoch, good evening. When one partners a lady for her supper waltz, one is typically found dancing with the lady when that waltz is played.”
Hamish rose in an eruption of muscle and male dignity. “The lady did not care for the gloomy quality of the music, and I was unwilling to forgo her company.”
Forgo it, he must. Permanently. Megan might eventually learn to bear that heartbreak, but not if she was also expected to bear Sir Fletcher’s children.
“Joseph, you may report to Her Grace that I’m merely taking the air in Murdoch’s company.”
“Yes, Cowlick,” Hamish said. “Report to headquarters that the pickets are all on sentry duty, as assigned. I suspect your countess is wondering where you’ve got off to, so you might as well report to her too.”
Keswick’s gaze snapped from Hamish to Megan. “Perhaps you’ll join me for a hand of cards after supper, Murdoch.”
The earl’s invitation bore the quality of a glove hitting the flagstones.
“Perhaps I will,” Hamish said.
The ensuing silence was considering on Keswick’s part, unreadable on Hamish’s.
“I’ll find a footman to relight that lamp,” Keswick said. “Megan, good evening. Murdoch, I’ll await you in the card room after supper.”
Keswick disappeared through the open doors to the gallery, leaving Megan with little more to say to her beloved except good-bye.
“I don’t expect you to share the buffet with me,” she said. “In fact, it’s probably best if you didn’t. Sir Fletcher will remark it, and I wouldn’t want—”
Abruptly, she could not force any more words past the lump in her throat.
“What don’t you want, Meggie?”
For the past few weeks, Megan had been building a vision of her future in her imagination. Beautiful Scottish scenery, laughing red-haired children, music, and cozy evenings by the fire had figured prominently. Cozier nights under the blankets had figured more prominently still, but so had decades of affection, trust, shared dreams, and shared life. She’d felt her world opening up into a beautiful vista of new experiences and new sights.
That vision had crumbled in the space of five minutes, and was replaced by years of sorrow and misery as Sir Fletcher’s wife. He wanted a wifeanda mistress, make no mistake about that, and he already regarded Megan’s dowry as his to waste on as many mistresses as he pleased.
“I don’t want to trouble you further,” Megan said softly. “I’ve already asked too much of you.”
