“How did you know he was driving?”
Conner’s expression softened into a faint smile. “I’ve seen you drive, lass. You’d never send your equipment into a ditch.”
She had to agree. “I was much more ill from the swaying of the curricle than I was bruised by the fall. Which is why I helped myself to the whisky.”
“Did it soothe your stomach?”
“Some. But that’s neither here nor there.” She frowned at him. “Why are you here?”
“I’ll tell you, but first return to your chair.” He tucked a hand under her elbow and gently led her back to her seat.
She supposed the ring of water around the chair gave away her former placement, but he was right. It was warmer by the fire, and her ankle was already protesting how long she’d been standing.
She limped beside him, and took her seat with a grateful sigh. He pulled a chair close to hers and patted his knee.
“You . . . I . . . I beg your pardon?”
“I want to see that ankle.”
“There’s no need. Marcus—Squire Watson sent for a doctor. He will be here soon.”
Conner bent, lifted the edge of her skirt, and placed her foot on his knee.
“Conner!” she bit out. “I said—”
“I heard you.” He kept a firm grip on her calf so she couldn’t remove her leg, his fingers strong but gentle. He grasped her toes with his other hand. “I’m going to bend it. Tell me when it hurts.”
Slowly, ever so slowly, he turned her ankle in a circle.
“It’s fine. Just a little— OW!”
He stopped. “’Tis only a sprain. But you should ha’ it oop.” He placed her foot back on the ground, pulled her footstool closer to her chair. “There.”
“But my gown will—”
“Be covered by my coat. Now, do it.”
She did as he asked, trying not to look as sulky as she felt. She couldn’t imagine any way this day could get worse. “How did you know I’d—” Eloped. Oddly, the word stuck in her throat.
“I stopped by Cumberbatch Manor earlier today. Your brother was there. He knew you’d eloped.”
“He must have read the note I left for our parents.” She’d have some choice words for her brother when next she saw him. Derrick had no right to open that letter. “So Derrick sent you.”
“Nae one sent me. I came on my own.”
“You shouldn’t have bothered. I’ve made up my mind about this, and truly, it’s a good match. The squire is kind and guid and—”
“Do you love him?” Conner asked abruptly, his gaze locked on her.
She blinked. “I . . . That’s not . . . I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”
“Do. You. Love. Him.” Conner’s mouth was almost white.
Why does he care? She cleared her throat. “Love has nothing to do with it.”
Conner’s expression eased. “So ’tis a marriage of convenience, then.”
“You could say that, yes.”
“Guid.” Conner arose and went to the sideboard, where he prepared a generous glass of whisky for himself, and then brought the decanter to her empty glass and added a measure to it. “Drink. You’re still pale.”
“I’m fine—”
He raised his brows, disbelief plain on his face.
She gave an exasperated sigh, but then admitted, “I’m still a bit off.”
“And nae wonder. You always get a bit squeamish when you travel on warm days.”
“It was more than that; the springs in that blasted curricle were far from satisfactory.” She sipped her drink, and then reluctantly set it down. She needed her wits about her.
He watched her over his glass. “So, lass. Why have you decided to elope today, of all days?”
“Why not today?”
He chuckled wryly, as if he knew something she didn’t. “But an elopement? That is nae like you to throw caution to the wind in such a fashion.”
She fought the urge to tell him that he didn’t know what was or was not like her. “I like the squire and he has much to offer, and I hope I’ll be a good wife. That’s all there is to it. I—”
Her gaze locked on Conner’s chin. She frowned. “You haven’t shaved today.” She then noticed the wrinkles in his fitted coat, the marred cravat he’d twisted about his neck, the mud on his boots. Conner Douglas may be so lost to propriety as to fight a duel in the middle of a ball, but he always, always dressed well.
She placed her hand on his. “What’s happened?”
Conner raised his glass to his lips, but Theodora’s concerned gaze hit him like a hammer, shattering the thin hold he had on his composure.
He lowered the glass, and found that his emotions had wrapped themselves about his throat like a noose. It took effort, but he managed to rasp out a word. “Anne.”
It was all he could bring himself to say.
Theodora’s eyes widened, and then filled with tears. “Oh, Conner, I’m so, so sorry. I know how close you were to your sister. What . . . when . . .”
“Five days ago.”
Theodora squeezed his hand. “She was to have a child. Was that . . .”
He nodded miserably. Conner’s parents had died when he was small, and in one swoop, Anne—ten years older than her three brothers—had become caretaker, confidante, and mother.
Conner looked at Theodora’s hand covering his. Although he’d had five long endless days and sleepless nights to accept it, he still couldn’t believe he’d never see his sister again.
“The baby?” Theodora asked softly.
“A beautiful lad.” Conner’s throat tightened again and he took a desperate gulp of his whisky, determined beyond all else that he would not cry. Not in front of Theodora.
People assumed Theodora’s brother was still Conner’s closest friend. But after Derrick married, Conner found himself seeking out Theodora rather than Derrick. She had a level head, and was always glad to listen and give advice, and she never hesitated to tell him what she really thought. Over the years, he’d come to appreciate her honesty and openness.
Of all the women he knew, Theodora was the easiest to talk to, and she was the only woman he trusted.
Which was why he was here now.
He freed his hand from hers under the pretext of refilling his glass, unable to handle more sympathy.
As if understanding, she pulled back. “Is there anything I can do?”
Conner looked at her over the edge of his glass. “You would help if you could, would you nae?”
“Of course.” Her clear gaze met his, questioning but unflinching.
“Guid, for I’ve a need of you.”
She blinked. “This isn’t about the baby, is it? I’m—”
“Nae. ’Tis something else. ’Tis the reason I went to your house to begin with. Anne had a will, as you would guess, for she was always thinking ahead. When my parents died, they left the Douglas lands and fortune in Anne’s hands until such a time as my brothers and I were ready to assume our responsibilities.” He rubbed his chin ruefully. “We have nae been in a hurry to accept tha’ burden, or so Anne thought.”
“None of you have tried to,” Theodora said in a fair tone. “Your brother Declan is besotted with horses and racing, which is hardly a firm foundation for running an estate. As for Jack, they don’t call him Black Jack for nothing. He’s more of a pirate than yo—” She broke off and flushed.
“Than me,” he finished. “I’m a privateer, love. ’Tis nae the same as a pirate. And I’ve made a guid living at it, too.”
Her cheeks couldn’t be pinker. “Anne’s will. What did it say?”
“She tied oop the Douglas lands and fortune with a stipulation. I and my brothers must marry, and soon, or the entire lot of the Douglas fortune will go to the bloody Campbells.”
Theodora gasped. “The Campbells? But they’re—”
“Our greatest enemy. Aye.” He scowled. “Had she left our estate to charity, my brothers and I would have let it go. Who
needs the burden of such? But the Campbells? Tha’ is nae acceptable.”
“I see. So . . . you must marry.”
“And soon. We’ve only three months to do so, all three of us. And it must be to a lady of quality, too.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “As soon as I found oot aboot the will, I thought of you.”
“Of me?” Her voice cracked on the last word.
“Of course you,” he said impatiently. “You know me, and you’re a sensible sort, you’d have reasonable expectations.” Conner could think of no higher praise. His only concern had been that over the years, she seemed disinclined to marry. Arriving at her home to discover she was eloping had been a shock, but perhaps it was a good omen. She’d admitted she wasn’t eloping for love, so perhaps she wasn’t as disinclined to wed as he’d thought.
Perhaps all she’d needed was the right offer. “Theodora, lass, enough with this ridiculous squire. You can do better.”
“Better? Are you . . . Conner, are you proposing to me while I’m in the middle of my own elopement?”
His smile slipped a bit. “It sounds rather puir when you say it tha’ way. I’m making you a better offer, a step oop from your current path.”
She stared at him as if unable to grasp his meaning.
With an impatient sigh, he took her hand and pressed a kiss to her fingers. “What do you say, Theodora? Will you marry me?”
Her mouth pressed into a straight line and her eyes blazed. She yanked her hand from his, lowered her sprained foot from the footstool, and stood. Bedraggled and damp, her hair curling wildly about her outraged face, she limped toward the door.
Conner stood. “Theodora, wait! You have nae answered.”
She stopped by the door and looked at him over her shoulder. “But I have. Conner Douglas, I would not marry you if you were the last man on earth.”
And with those damning words, she left.
© Michael Cairns
KAREN HAWKINS is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of many wickedly funny historical romance novels set in Regency Scotland, including the wildly popular MacLean Curse series, the enchanting Hurst Amulet series, the funny and charming Duchess Diaries series, and now the romantic Oxenburg Princes series. Karen is also the author of two sassy contemporary romances set in the little town of Glory, North Carolina.
Join her at www.Facebook.com/AuthorKarenHawkins to see pictures of Karen chasing a box of doughnuts; for information on her favorite crush/actor, the incomparable Hugh Jackman; and to enter ridiculously easy contests to win free books and other fabulous prizes! And be sure to also go to Karen’s website at www.karenhawkins.com and visit Hawkins Manor to explore recipes, fashions, games, and more from Regency Scotland.
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ALSO BY KAREN HAWKINS
The Princes of Oxenburg
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The Prince Who Loved Me
The Princess Wore Plaid (e-novella)
The Duchess Diaries Series
How to Capture a Countess
How to Pursue a Princess
How to Entice an Enchantress
The Hurst Amulet Series
One Night in Scotland
Scandal in Scotland
A Most Dangerous Profession
The Taming of a Scottish Princess
The MacLean Curse Series
How to Abduct a Highland Lord
To Scotland, with Love
To Catch a Highlander
Sleepless in Scotland
The Laird Who Loved Me
Contemporary Romance
Talk of the Town
Lois Lane Tells All
Other
Much Ado About Marriage
Princess in Disguise
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Cover art by Alan Ayers
ISBN 978-1-4767-8601-8
ISBN 978-1-4767-8610-0 (ebook)
Karen Hawkins, Mad for the Plaid
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