Page 26 of No One's Bride
It seemed like the most sensible solution. With Helen keen for her brother to wed, they should avoid each other’s company where possible.
“Verra well.” Ailsa stood. “Let us make haste.” With some trepidation, she considered the ebony casket. “We should ask Helen to carry the grimoire. She’s already deeply in love and is in nae danger of falling under its spell.”
“This is ridiculous,” he moaned. “I’ll not cower before an imaginary force. I’ll not be held hostage by a fortune-teller’s ramblings.” He reached for the casket, tucking the box under his arm as if it were a wayward child. “Come. Let us deal with the matter swiftly.”
Though loath to admit it, he was probably right.
Ailsa dressed in her outdoor apparel—a faded blue pelisse and plain bonnet. Not only would she blend into the background, but it was dowdy enough to repel a would-be suitor.
Helen climbed into the carriage first, scooting over to the far side and insisting Ailsa sit beside her.
Lord Denton occupied the seat opposite, his thighs spread wide in a sign of masculine dominance, the bane of their existence perched beside him in the ebony box.
An awkward silence ensued.
Ailsa shuffled her bottom back against the leather squab to avoid knocking knees with his lordship. Thank heavens they had a short journey across town and not a six-hundred-mile trek to the Highlands. Although the carriage had barely turned into Oxford Street when Helen clutched her stomach and turned a sickly shade of grey.
“I’m sorry, but I need to return home quickly.” Helen lowered the window and called for Lord Denton’s coachman to stop the vehicle.
“Have you forgotten something?” Concern marred his lordship’s tone. “We cannot afford to miss the appointment at Chadwick’s.”
“I feel so dreadfully dizzy.” The carriage came to an abrupt halt and Helen alighted before anyone came to her aid. “Go ahead without me. There’s no reason to change your plans. I need to lie down, that’s all.”
“I’ll nae leave ye to walk—”
“I’ll escort you home and arrange for a maid to accompany us,” Lord Denton interjected, keen to avoid further delays. He vaulted to the pavement, leaving Ailsa alone with the enchanted box. “I shall be but a few minutes, Miss MacTavish.”
He sounded haughty, so unlike the man whose rakish gaze roamed over her nightgown last night. At one point, he’d looked like he might lean in for a kiss. Granted, her nerves were frayed, and her imagination had run riot.
Ailsa waited patiently, trying her best not to look at the box.
Why did she get the sense it was silently mocking her?
An agitated Lord Denton returned with Gladys. After exchanging a few words with the maid, the viscount climbed into his conveyance and slammed the door shut.
“Gladys can only ride atop the box,” he grumbled. The vehicle rocked on its axis as he dropped into the seat. “But she waited until now to tell me. Perhaps you should return home and let me deal with the matter at Chadwick’s.”
Wait like a sitting duck while a man dealt with her problems? Trust Lord Denton to act in her stead?
Never.
“’Tis a short journey, my lord.” Goodness! She should avoid all contact with him. Only a fool would test the bounds of propriety when in the grip of a love spell.
“Miss MacTavish,” he began, his frustration like a trapped bee butting the window. “I mean no offence, but I prefer the termagant to the biddable creature who nods and speaks falsehoods. Say what is on your mind, madam.”
Where should she start?
What would she say?
That she wished she’d never visited the auction? She wished he hadn’t grabbed her in the darkness, hadn’t looked at her as if she were a desirable woman? Hadn’t ignited a flicker of something she refused to name?
Merciful Lord!
If only she could chase away every romantic thought, argue and fight with him like they used to. Berate him for the slightest misdemeanour.
“Verra well.” She grabbed the lap blanket and threw it over the box, smothering its ominous aura. “Can ye nae see fate is conspiring against us?”
Heavens! She sounded like the loon in Piccadilly who waved his walking stick and warned of the world’s end.
