Page 18 of I’ve Grown Accustomed to My Scot

Grace knew she should refuse, she should say this was not part of Rory’s bargain with her, but the countess was trembling with excitement. “I do not have children of my own,” she explained, as they prepared to head out in the coach. “I love my sister’s children, but I think you need me more than them right now. And if you are to go about in society, Grace, you really will need to look the part.”

Well, that was true. Grace looked down at her shabby dress, hidden by a cloak that was almost as bad. “I have a little money,” she began uncertainly, “but I will need most of it to live on when—”

The countess waved a hand dismissively. “Nonsense. It is my treat. You can repay me some day. I may need a friend, you never know.” Her gaze slid to Grace and lingered a moment, and Grace suspected the other woman had some secrets of her own, but she let it pass.

She could have argued and stood her ground, but Grace didn’t want to. She wanted to accept Jennie’s kind offer—although it seemed more like an order—and if she could pay her back one day, then she would.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

Jennie smiled and squeezed her arm.

Chapter Ten

Rory set off for a ride, hoping to work off some of his mental indecision, but the park felt too tame for him. All those gentlemen and ladies cantering about on their sedate mounts, more interested in being seen than in taking some genuine physical exercise. What was the point in that? Rory was used to doing as he pleased and riding wherever he wanted to, and although he refused to admit it, he missed Bonnyrigg. London seemed to be full of rules and lists of things he could not do, and he wanted to break them all.

Aunt Jennie had obviously taken a shine to Grace and seemed to have made up her mind that Rory must go out and about with her on his arm. As if they were truly man and wife. Which they were even if . . . But he refused to think about his conversation from last night. If Jennie had her way, he would be at Grace’s beck and call, and he could see his free and easy life slipping further and further away. He had told himself he would not touch Grace, and yet the more time he spent in her company, the more he began to imagine what his life would be like if he did touch her. And kept on touching her.

He groaned aloud as the memory of her slim, naked body sprang to mind. Why had he played the proper gentleman and turned her out of his bed? Right now, it felt ludicrous. He shifted in his saddle, remembering her mouth on his, the satiny feel of her skin beneath his hands.

“MacKenzie!”

Rory jumped guiltily and turned his head. The voice was familiar and so was the lone rider coming toward him. What was the fellow’s name? Kilsyth! It was the man who had been his second in that wretched duel, which was the source of all his current woes.

After they had greeted each other politely, Kilsyth gave him a questioning smile and said, “I saw the notice in the newspaper.”

“Notice?” Rory repeated.

“Of your marriage, MacKenzie.”

Rory tried not to look too surprised to hear he was married. He nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, it seemed like the right thing to do,” he said. Then, thinking that was probably not very complimentary to Grace, added, “And she is very pretty.”

Kilsyth chuckled, his eyes dancing. “I am glad to hear it. I am not acquainted with the lady, but I am very sorry you were drawn into that mess.”

“Aye, well, it was good of you to offer to be my second. How is, eh, Ramsgate?” Rory remembered to ask. He was ashamed to think he hadn’t given the man much thought other than to fear he may have to flee the country, but then he had had other things on his mind.

“I hear he is improving,” Kilsyth said. Then, lowering his voice, “I wonder if he was not so badly injured after all. There was talk of him being beyond saving, but when he heard you had married Grace, he suddenly took a turn for the better.”

Rory supposed that it was possible. Ramsgate must have been so terrified of Ormsby and his threats to ruin him that he was willing to die rather than refuse to marry Grace. Well, he was free of that now.

They rode on together for a few moments, each deep in his own thoughts. Lord Kilsyth was obviously a gentleman. He was older than Rory had remembered, at least twenty years older than Rory, and there were lines in his face that spoke of hardship or sadness.

“Are you here in London for long?” Kilsyth asked. “Or will you be traveling north with your new wife?”

“I am in London for the foreseeable future,” Rory said. “I’m no’ sure when I will be off home to Bonnyrigg.” Every time he imagined his father’s face when he heard what Rory had done, he found himself wondering whether he could ever go home again.

“I wondered . . .” Kilsyth hesitated. “Would you be amenable to meeting me at my club this evening? I have only lately returned to London from a long stay at my estate in the Scottish borders, and I have discovered that a great many of my friends are no longer about, and those who are have either married and are busy with their families, or are busy with other pursuits. If I am honest, I am finding it rather lonely.”

Rory was surprised but not unhappy with the invitation. He had been feeling rather lonely himself, as if he no longer fitted into the lifestyle he had been living since he came south. “Thank you, I would like that. I have been frequenting Mrs. Smith’s since we last met. It seems safer than some of the hells. I dinna want to find myself fighting another duel any time soon.”

Kilsyth chuckled. “I will send you the direction of my club. You are still staying at your aunt’s house, aren’t you?”

“Aye.”

The two of them bid each other farewell and Rory rode on. He longed to give his horse its head and go for a wild gallop, but a glance about him convinced him it would be a mistake. All those sedate carriages and strolling lads and lassies. Perhaps Kilsyth would know somewhere he could go to ride until he was exhausted? But right now he had the whole day ahead of him and he did not want to go home.

Rory told himself he was angry that Grace had tried to make him break his word, while at the same time he was ignoring the fact that he hadn’t been able to forget her since she woke him last night. He kept remembering the soft sensation of her skin against his, the passion of her kisses, and he found himself aching all over again with a sort of urgent desire. He was a grown man and yet he was beginning to feel like a silly boy in his first passion.

Lust, that was what it was.