Scandal And The Duchess
Page 44
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He leaned to Rose, wiping away one of her tears with his thumb, then he kissed her lips.
The warmth of his mouth snapped Rose back to her senses again. This was real, not simply a sweet dream she’d wake from all too soon. Steven McBride, the warm, passionate, wonderful man, had asked her to marry him, and Rose had nodded in answer. She’d had to nod because the joy of the moment had closed up her throat and choked off her wild Yes!
She broke the kiss and smiled down at him. “Yes,” she whispered.
Steven laughed. His laughter was always real, deep, and warm. He kissed her again, and the room spun around Rose as she kissed him back, the people in it dissolving into a colorful blur.
“It’s wrong.” Ian Mackenzie’s voice was as harsh as Cameron’s but a little more stilted, as though he had to force words out.
Rose turned from Steven to look at him. Ian was staring, not at Steven and Rose, but at the settee.
“Of course, it’s wrong,” Beth said next to him. “Someone’s smashed it.”
Rose wiped her eyes and managed a laugh. “I agree, it’s a bit of a wreck now. I am hopeful a furniture maker can put it back together, but I imagine its value is lost.”
Ian glanced at Rose as though she’d gone utterly mad and hadn’t understood a word he’d said. He moved to the settee and went down on one knee in front of it, lifting the broken bits of wood to fit them together again.
The others watched him a moment, then moved their attention back to Steven and Rose, as though finding nothing unusual in Ian’s behavior.
Steven put his arm around Rose as his friends and family surged forward to congratulate them. Ainsley and Beth kissed Rose, both excitedly talking about wedding clothes and where and when the deed should be done. Sinclair McBride took Rose’s hand once the ladies finally let her go, and kissed her cheek.
“Thank you, Rose,” he said. “My unruly little brother needs someone to keep him tame. God knows the rest of us have never been able to.”
“I didn’t fall in love with her because she keeps me tame,” Steven said, giving Rose a look that reminded her off the naughty things they’d done in the train. “The opposite. She brings out the wickedness in me.”
“Lord, help us all,” Sinclair said, but the bleakness in his eyes fled a moment before his warm smile.
“You must let us take you shopping,” Ainsley said. “We’ll bring Isabella along—she’s dressed all of us, and she’ll have to dress you too. Your wedding gown will be the stuff of legends.”
Steven slid his arm protectively around Rose’s waist. “Enough of that. I didn’t bring you all here to help plan the wedding. I brought you because I want to marry her right away, and you are the best to help me procure a special license.”
Lord Cameron nodded sagely. “Wondered why you wanted the drama. I’ll see to it. McBride?” he nodded at Sinclair and Mr. Collins, as though proposing they rush away and hunt up a bishop on the moment.
“Could you exercise a few seconds of patience, Cam?” Ainsley said to her husband. “I’d like to at least toast the happy couple. I’ll ring for champagne. Or did you telegraph for that as well, Steven?”
Ian Mackenzie continued to piece the settee back together. He’d torn off the tatters of the cushion but pushed the legs and arms back into place, fitting broken bits into place as he would a puzzle. The settee looked forlorn without its padding, the wood scratched and splintered, but somehow it wasn’t as ugly as it had been. The ebony was strong, and the pure gold glistened in the lamplight.
Beth went to Ian, as though to tell him to leave off, but Rose broke from Steven and joined them.
“I think I see what he means,” she said, her interest rising.
Ian didn’t stop working. He fitted the last large piece against another, the settee held up by its own tension. Ian ran his large hand along one side, then moved around it and touched the other side. He sighted down the length of the seat and gently touched one of the gilded heads that adorned the corners.
Steven came to examine the thing with Ian, Steven half-bent with his hands on his thighs. “What are you looking at?”
Ian glanced at him, then realized that everyone was staring at him. His cheekbones flushed, but he fixed his gaze on the settee again.
“This.” Ian pointed at the head he’d touched, then touched a second, walked to the other end and touched a third. He paused—if he’d been anyone else, Rose would have thought he’d hesitated for effect—then he touched the fourth head, and they all saw.
It was different from the others, but only minutely. While the other three had eyes that stared rather unnervingly outward, this sphinx’s eyes looked down slightly and to the left. Also, the feminine face was rounder than the others, more human-like, while the remaining three were rigid and fixed.
Ian closed his hand over the carved head and started to turn it. Rose leaned in, holding her breath, while Ian kept turning. All at once, the head came away, and with it a part of the post. It had been seamed so neatly that the crack was invisible when the head was attached. Even the damage the settee had suffered hadn’t destroyed its secret.
Ian peered inside the opening, then he slid in his fingers gently inside and pulled out a rolled sheaf of papers. He handed them to Steven without a word.
Steven unrolled the pages, Rose leaning to look. When she saw Charles’s handwriting, her heart skipped a beat. Steven studied the top sheet a moment, then quietly passed it to Rose. “For you,” he said softly.
The warmth of his mouth snapped Rose back to her senses again. This was real, not simply a sweet dream she’d wake from all too soon. Steven McBride, the warm, passionate, wonderful man, had asked her to marry him, and Rose had nodded in answer. She’d had to nod because the joy of the moment had closed up her throat and choked off her wild Yes!
She broke the kiss and smiled down at him. “Yes,” she whispered.
Steven laughed. His laughter was always real, deep, and warm. He kissed her again, and the room spun around Rose as she kissed him back, the people in it dissolving into a colorful blur.
“It’s wrong.” Ian Mackenzie’s voice was as harsh as Cameron’s but a little more stilted, as though he had to force words out.
Rose turned from Steven to look at him. Ian was staring, not at Steven and Rose, but at the settee.
“Of course, it’s wrong,” Beth said next to him. “Someone’s smashed it.”
Rose wiped her eyes and managed a laugh. “I agree, it’s a bit of a wreck now. I am hopeful a furniture maker can put it back together, but I imagine its value is lost.”
Ian glanced at Rose as though she’d gone utterly mad and hadn’t understood a word he’d said. He moved to the settee and went down on one knee in front of it, lifting the broken bits of wood to fit them together again.
The others watched him a moment, then moved their attention back to Steven and Rose, as though finding nothing unusual in Ian’s behavior.
Steven put his arm around Rose as his friends and family surged forward to congratulate them. Ainsley and Beth kissed Rose, both excitedly talking about wedding clothes and where and when the deed should be done. Sinclair McBride took Rose’s hand once the ladies finally let her go, and kissed her cheek.
“Thank you, Rose,” he said. “My unruly little brother needs someone to keep him tame. God knows the rest of us have never been able to.”
“I didn’t fall in love with her because she keeps me tame,” Steven said, giving Rose a look that reminded her off the naughty things they’d done in the train. “The opposite. She brings out the wickedness in me.”
“Lord, help us all,” Sinclair said, but the bleakness in his eyes fled a moment before his warm smile.
“You must let us take you shopping,” Ainsley said. “We’ll bring Isabella along—she’s dressed all of us, and she’ll have to dress you too. Your wedding gown will be the stuff of legends.”
Steven slid his arm protectively around Rose’s waist. “Enough of that. I didn’t bring you all here to help plan the wedding. I brought you because I want to marry her right away, and you are the best to help me procure a special license.”
Lord Cameron nodded sagely. “Wondered why you wanted the drama. I’ll see to it. McBride?” he nodded at Sinclair and Mr. Collins, as though proposing they rush away and hunt up a bishop on the moment.
“Could you exercise a few seconds of patience, Cam?” Ainsley said to her husband. “I’d like to at least toast the happy couple. I’ll ring for champagne. Or did you telegraph for that as well, Steven?”
Ian Mackenzie continued to piece the settee back together. He’d torn off the tatters of the cushion but pushed the legs and arms back into place, fitting broken bits into place as he would a puzzle. The settee looked forlorn without its padding, the wood scratched and splintered, but somehow it wasn’t as ugly as it had been. The ebony was strong, and the pure gold glistened in the lamplight.
Beth went to Ian, as though to tell him to leave off, but Rose broke from Steven and joined them.
“I think I see what he means,” she said, her interest rising.
Ian didn’t stop working. He fitted the last large piece against another, the settee held up by its own tension. Ian ran his large hand along one side, then moved around it and touched the other side. He sighted down the length of the seat and gently touched one of the gilded heads that adorned the corners.
Steven came to examine the thing with Ian, Steven half-bent with his hands on his thighs. “What are you looking at?”
Ian glanced at him, then realized that everyone was staring at him. His cheekbones flushed, but he fixed his gaze on the settee again.
“This.” Ian pointed at the head he’d touched, then touched a second, walked to the other end and touched a third. He paused—if he’d been anyone else, Rose would have thought he’d hesitated for effect—then he touched the fourth head, and they all saw.
It was different from the others, but only minutely. While the other three had eyes that stared rather unnervingly outward, this sphinx’s eyes looked down slightly and to the left. Also, the feminine face was rounder than the others, more human-like, while the remaining three were rigid and fixed.
Ian closed his hand over the carved head and started to turn it. Rose leaned in, holding her breath, while Ian kept turning. All at once, the head came away, and with it a part of the post. It had been seamed so neatly that the crack was invisible when the head was attached. Even the damage the settee had suffered hadn’t destroyed its secret.
Ian peered inside the opening, then he slid in his fingers gently inside and pulled out a rolled sheaf of papers. He handed them to Steven without a word.
Steven unrolled the pages, Rose leaning to look. When she saw Charles’s handwriting, her heart skipped a beat. Steven studied the top sheet a moment, then quietly passed it to Rose. “For you,” he said softly.
