Page 53 of The MacGregor's Lady
Augusta rolled her hips, allowing Ian to gain the first increment of penetration into damp female heaven. “I could not see her face, but she is determined to return to her grandmother in Boston without marrying.”
“And Asher is smitten with her. This is a problem, but not one we are going to solve tonight.”
Perhaps not ever. As Ian eased into his wife’s body and tasked himself with seeing to her pleasure, he spared his brother one final thought: if Asher was smitten with a woman, any woman at all, it was a problem—Asher being Asher, and having at least two continents worth of guilt stowed among his personal belongings.
It was also a bloody miracle.
***
Asher watched as Gilgallon—the Family Charmer, according to Hannah—led her in a promenade around the Moreland ballroom. Their Graces presided over the festivities, the duke by turns a green-eyed aging eagle and, when he beheld his duchess, a doting swain from an earlier time. Despite Moreland’s geniality on social occasions, he was rumored to be Victoria’s favorite confidante among the old guard now that Wellington had ascended to the rank of angel.
“She’ll be fine.” Ian handed Asher a cup of something noxious, the English being incapable of enjoying good spirits in mixed company.
“It’s not her I’m worried about.”
Though Asher was worried, or anxious. Further refining on the roiling sense of doom in Asher’s gut was not wise though, not when Ian was regarding him with that pensive frown.
“Shall we be worried about you, Brother?”
When a man left his family to shift for themselves, a younger brother could learn to serve as head of that family, and also, apparently, drop back into the role at will.
“Moreland himself has given me the nod, Ian. I’d say I’m settling in nicely.”
“Moreland’s duchess has given you the nod. Victoria no doubt put her up to it, or the duchess is scouting you as a prospect for one of her regiment of young, marriageable female relations.”
This observation was offered humorously, and yet it rankled. Asher had seen the looks from the mamas and chaperones, and felt more than a stirring of pity for Hannah, who was getting entirely different looks from the same quarters.
“I’ll marry eventually.”
Ian snorted and took a sip of his drink—or pretended to. “You will notremarry until you lay your late wife to rest, and that you have yet to do.”
One could not simply cock back his fist and use it on his brother’s handsome face in public. “You agreed not to broach that topic, much less in a venue such as this.”
“You are a fool, Asher MacGregor. Not one of your family would censure you for taking a bride of mixed blood. Of course you would take a bride, and of course such a woman would understand you and your circumstances better than most.”
Monique hadn’t understood him, not any better than any other wife might have, but she’d accepted him.
“And you are a fool if you think Monique’s heritage has anything to do with why I grieve for her privately.”
Across the ballroom, Connor was introducing Hannah to the duke. His Grace bowed over her hand and kept it in his, while the duchess smiled benignly at Connor. For an instant, Moreland aimed a look straight over the heads of the crowd—His Grace still boasted both height and excellent posture—andchallengedAsher to something without a word.
“Moreland is old school, isn’t he?” Ian remarked. “You’d do well to take a leaf from his book. He’s patriarchal as hell and understands the value of family. You have family too, Asher, lots of it. They love you. They would share your burdens.”
The words were sincere, also misguided. “Ian, they do notknowme. One cannot love a stranger.”
“One cannot love a ghost either.”
Marriage to Augusta had honed Ian’s ability to deliver such insights from a taut bow of loyalty and exasperation. Maybe Augusta nocked the arrows, in fact, and Ian only fired them at the target.
“My marriage was brief.” Brief and happy.
“And over several years ago.”
Asher put aside the drink, resisting the urge to douse his brother’s lectures with it. “I suppose I’ll have to lead Miss Hannah out for the first set?”
Ian lifted his glass to salute some old marquess twirling a young lady down the room. “Your rank will give her consequence. Your support will give her confidence.”
As if she needed either. Hannah had flirted shamelessly with the old duke, and now she was batting her eyes at Cousin Malcolm, sparkling her way around the ballroom in a gown of so many shades of green and gold, it hurt Asher’s eyes to behold her.
