The Madness of Lord Ian Mackenzie
Page 52
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Hart was going to make Ian and Beth stand there like schoolchildren waiting to be dressed down, Beth thought irritably. “Your Grace,” she said.
The duke glanced up sharply. His eyes glittered the same gold as lan’s but pierced Beth from across the room—hawk’s eyes.
Ian said nothing, remaining in place without flinching.
Hart’s pen clattered to his pen tray and he rose.
He was tall, like all the Mackenzies, his hair a darker redbrown. Hart had the Mackenzie broad shoulders, powerful build, and square face. He wore a formal kilt, the Mackenzie colors, blue and green with red and white thread. His dark coat fit him like a second skin, likely made for him by the best tailors in Edinburgh.
Still, he wasn’t a mirror image of the brothers she’d already met. Mac’s face bore the restless brilliance of an obsessed artist. Cameron’s face was heavier, more brutish, complete with scar. He looked like a ruffian. So did Hart, but Hart’s smooth confidence rolled off him in waves. This was a man who had no doubt that his slightest command would be fulfilled. It wasn’t conceit, but cool certainty.
Hart overpowered every single thing in the room—except Ian. The waves of Hart’s overweening confidence seemed to break and flow around Ian without Ian feeling the slightest effect.
Hart finally removed his knifelike gaze from Beth and switched it to Ian. “Was there no other way?” He spoke as though they were in the middle of a conversation, but Ian nodded. “Fellows would have found some means to use her. Or turned her into an excuse to arrest me.” “The man’s a pig.” Hart’s stare came back to Beth. “She was once a lady’s companion? Why did Isabella befriend her?”
Beth pulled herself away from Ian and walked forward, sticking out her hand. “I’m very well, thank you so much for inquiring. The journey was tiring but uneventful, no problems on the lines, and no Fenian bombs at any of the stations.”
Hart shot Ian a scowl.
“She is fond of jokes,” Ian said.
“Is she?” Hart answered, his voice cool.
“I am also fond of chocolate, and of raspberry fool.” Beth curled her ignored hand at her side. “At the moment I’d be fond of a cool drink of water and a soft bed.” Hart spoke directly to her for a change. “I don’t recall sending for you, Mrs. Ackerley. You’d even now be reclining on a soft bed if you’d gone upstairs with the maid.” Beth’s heart hammered. “The only person I ever allowed to send for me, Your Grace, was Mrs. Barrington, and that was because she paid me wages.”
Hart’s brows drew fiercely together, and Ian said, “Leave her be, Hart.”
Hart gave Ian a quick glance, then returned his scrutiny to Beth. The look told her Hart didn’t know what to make of Beth or what she was to Ian.
Beth wasn’t quite sure what she was to Ian either, but she saw that Hart didn’t like not understanding. He wanted to instantly sum her up and put her in a slot—likely he had done so before she even arrived, and having to reassess her made him irritable.
Hart said coolly, “Now that we’ve established you’re a woman of independence, will you indulge us a moment? I’d like to talk to Ian alone.”
A man bound and determined to get his own way—always. Beth opened her lips to say a polite, “Of course,” but Ian spoke again.
“No.”
Hart’s eagle gaze swung to him. “What?”
“I want to see that Beth gets upstairs and settled in. We can talk at supper.”
“We have maidservants to help her.”
“I want to do it.”
Hart gave up, but Beth could see that it rankled. “The gong goes at seven forty-five and the meal is served at eight. We dress formally, Mrs. Ackerley. Don’t be late.”
Beth slid her hand through Ian’s, trying to hide her nervousness. “Call me Beth, please,” she said. “1 am no longer Mrs. Ackerley and have become, to our mutual astonishment, your sister.”
Hart froze. Ian raised his brows at him, then turned around and led Beth from the room. As they walked out, surrounded by the waiting dogs, Beth slanted a worried glance up at Ian, but Ian wore the broadest smile she’d ever seen.
She was a wonderful, amazing woman. Ian’s heart warmed as Beth emerged from her dressing room in a gown of dark blue silk. The bodice bared her-bosom, perfect for the necklet of diamonds he’d just given her. Beth gazed up at him serenely as he held out his arm to escort her down to dinner. The necklet had belonged to his mother. Ian remembered his father’s pride in her beauty, remembered his father’s jealous rages when any other man so much as looked at her. He’d had uncontrollable rages, with dire consequences. Any other woman would have fallen over in fear when Hart turned that famous stare on her. Hart’s own wife had fainted on more than one occasion when Hart had looked at her. Not Beth. She’d stood straight and tall and told Hart what she thought of him.
Ian had wanted to laugh until the paintings of his illustrious ancestors rang with it. Hart needed a kick in his ass sometimes, and if Beth wanted to do it, Ian would let her. Hart was quiet when they entered the dining room, and he pointedly remained standing until Ian seated Beth. Hart took the chair at the head of the table, and Ian and Beth sat across from each other a few feet down from him. If Hart hadn’t been there, Ian could have had supper served in the little dining room in his own wing of the house. He and Beth could have sat side by side and basked in the privacy.
The duke glanced up sharply. His eyes glittered the same gold as lan’s but pierced Beth from across the room—hawk’s eyes.
Ian said nothing, remaining in place without flinching.
Hart’s pen clattered to his pen tray and he rose.
He was tall, like all the Mackenzies, his hair a darker redbrown. Hart had the Mackenzie broad shoulders, powerful build, and square face. He wore a formal kilt, the Mackenzie colors, blue and green with red and white thread. His dark coat fit him like a second skin, likely made for him by the best tailors in Edinburgh.
Still, he wasn’t a mirror image of the brothers she’d already met. Mac’s face bore the restless brilliance of an obsessed artist. Cameron’s face was heavier, more brutish, complete with scar. He looked like a ruffian. So did Hart, but Hart’s smooth confidence rolled off him in waves. This was a man who had no doubt that his slightest command would be fulfilled. It wasn’t conceit, but cool certainty.
Hart overpowered every single thing in the room—except Ian. The waves of Hart’s overweening confidence seemed to break and flow around Ian without Ian feeling the slightest effect.
Hart finally removed his knifelike gaze from Beth and switched it to Ian. “Was there no other way?” He spoke as though they were in the middle of a conversation, but Ian nodded. “Fellows would have found some means to use her. Or turned her into an excuse to arrest me.” “The man’s a pig.” Hart’s stare came back to Beth. “She was once a lady’s companion? Why did Isabella befriend her?”
Beth pulled herself away from Ian and walked forward, sticking out her hand. “I’m very well, thank you so much for inquiring. The journey was tiring but uneventful, no problems on the lines, and no Fenian bombs at any of the stations.”
Hart shot Ian a scowl.
“She is fond of jokes,” Ian said.
“Is she?” Hart answered, his voice cool.
“I am also fond of chocolate, and of raspberry fool.” Beth curled her ignored hand at her side. “At the moment I’d be fond of a cool drink of water and a soft bed.” Hart spoke directly to her for a change. “I don’t recall sending for you, Mrs. Ackerley. You’d even now be reclining on a soft bed if you’d gone upstairs with the maid.” Beth’s heart hammered. “The only person I ever allowed to send for me, Your Grace, was Mrs. Barrington, and that was because she paid me wages.”
Hart’s brows drew fiercely together, and Ian said, “Leave her be, Hart.”
Hart gave Ian a quick glance, then returned his scrutiny to Beth. The look told her Hart didn’t know what to make of Beth or what she was to Ian.
Beth wasn’t quite sure what she was to Ian either, but she saw that Hart didn’t like not understanding. He wanted to instantly sum her up and put her in a slot—likely he had done so before she even arrived, and having to reassess her made him irritable.
Hart said coolly, “Now that we’ve established you’re a woman of independence, will you indulge us a moment? I’d like to talk to Ian alone.”
A man bound and determined to get his own way—always. Beth opened her lips to say a polite, “Of course,” but Ian spoke again.
“No.”
Hart’s eagle gaze swung to him. “What?”
“I want to see that Beth gets upstairs and settled in. We can talk at supper.”
“We have maidservants to help her.”
“I want to do it.”
Hart gave up, but Beth could see that it rankled. “The gong goes at seven forty-five and the meal is served at eight. We dress formally, Mrs. Ackerley. Don’t be late.”
Beth slid her hand through Ian’s, trying to hide her nervousness. “Call me Beth, please,” she said. “1 am no longer Mrs. Ackerley and have become, to our mutual astonishment, your sister.”
Hart froze. Ian raised his brows at him, then turned around and led Beth from the room. As they walked out, surrounded by the waiting dogs, Beth slanted a worried glance up at Ian, but Ian wore the broadest smile she’d ever seen.
She was a wonderful, amazing woman. Ian’s heart warmed as Beth emerged from her dressing room in a gown of dark blue silk. The bodice bared her-bosom, perfect for the necklet of diamonds he’d just given her. Beth gazed up at him serenely as he held out his arm to escort her down to dinner. The necklet had belonged to his mother. Ian remembered his father’s pride in her beauty, remembered his father’s jealous rages when any other man so much as looked at her. He’d had uncontrollable rages, with dire consequences. Any other woman would have fallen over in fear when Hart turned that famous stare on her. Hart’s own wife had fainted on more than one occasion when Hart had looked at her. Not Beth. She’d stood straight and tall and told Hart what she thought of him.
Ian had wanted to laugh until the paintings of his illustrious ancestors rang with it. Hart needed a kick in his ass sometimes, and if Beth wanted to do it, Ian would let her. Hart was quiet when they entered the dining room, and he pointedly remained standing until Ian seated Beth. Hart took the chair at the head of the table, and Ian and Beth sat across from each other a few feet down from him. If Hart hadn’t been there, Ian could have had supper served in the little dining room in his own wing of the house. He and Beth could have sat side by side and basked in the privacy.
