Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
“Another delivery?” Mrs. Whipple gasped, exasperation plain on her furrowed brow as she opened the front door. “Oh, heavens!”
A few days had passed since Lord Gerson’s tea party, and that afternoon, Arrowfell House was abuzz with an unusual level of activity, all in the form of provisions. Deliverymen bustled in and out, their faces a mix of bewilderment and amusement.
“Whomever are these all for? I cannot find His Grace,” Mrs. Whipple cried when she returned to the foyer, wiping her brow with a towel. “Are we having a feast I do not know about? A grand party, perhaps? Is the queen coming?”
“I am sorry for the trouble it has caused ye,” Elspeth said with a small smile as she approached her from a quiet corner. “These are for me.”
“Oh, well,” Mrs. Whipple sighed, returning her smile. “Whatever you fancy, my dear. I will see to it that everything is stored properly in your chambers!”
Elspeth took a turn about the gardens before heading upstairs to her bedroom to watch the other carriages approaching the townhouse. She then surveyed the growing collection of purchases with smug satisfaction.
Bolts of silk in vibrant hues, delicate lace gowns, and enough ribbons to outfit a small army lay draped over her furniture. Boxes of bonbons, candied fruits, and exotic teas were piled high on tables. She had ordered an extravagant amount of dresses, hats, gloves, and, most importantly, sweets.
Let us hope me plan works, she thought to herself as she popped a bonbon into her mouth, savoring the flavor. He will think me a gruesome financial burden and cast me out. Then I can stay with Verity or Marion until I can think of a better solution to me unique problem.
She decided it was best to watch his reaction, so she went downstairs. She sat in the drawing room, pretending to peruse a fashion magazine, but her ears were keenly attuned to every sound. Any moment now, Hugo would appear.
She could picture it: his face thunderous, ready to confront her. She had her arguments prepared, a carefully constructed defense of why such expenditures were absolutely necessary for her to be presented properly in London Society.
Aye, I hope the damage to his pockets will be enough to convince him that it is time for me to go.
The door opened, and Hugo entered, looking as impeccably dressed and unaffected as ever. In fact, he looked downright handsome in an elegantly tailored suit with a teal ascot.
Elspeth braced herself, a defiant retort already forming on the tip of her tongue as he sat down.
“Lady Inverhall,” he began. “I trust you are settling in comfortably?”
Elspeth blinked, momentarily thrown off balance. This was not the reaction she had anticipated.
“As comfortably as one can be, Yer Grace, when one is forced to reside in a city one abhors.”
He merely raised an eyebrow, his gaze sweeping over the piles of fabrics and boxes. “I see you have been making the most of London’s shops.”
“Indeed,” she confirmed, her voice laced with a challenge.
“This is but a small sample I have chosen to examine down here. There is more in me quarters. I have learned that a lady of me station, especially one seekin’ a suitable match, requires a certain wardrobe.
And sustenance, of course, to keep up with all the gatherings I am to attend.
” She gestured vaguely to the box of sweets open on the side table.
Hugo walked further into the room and picked up the box of candied violets. He opened it, sniffed, and then popped one into his mouth.
“Most delicious,” he murmured, before turning his gaze back to her, a faint, infuriating smirk playing on his lips. “Is there something else that you wish to discuss, Lady Inverhall? You seem expectant.”
Elspeth’s carefully constructed composure began to crack.
“I hope ye’re nae angry with the expenses I have incurred? I assure ye, these are all quite necessary! I also—”
“Angry?” Hugo laughed. “Why would I be angry, Lady Inverhall? Money is merely a tool. I have more than enough for you to entertain your most ridiculous ideas.” He took another candied violet and popped it in his mouth before licking his full lips.
“Spend what you wish. It hardly makes a dent in my coffers. It is nothing to me.”
Her jaw dropped. “Hardly a dent? Are ye implying that I am being frivolous?”
“Frivolous, perhaps. Predictable, certainly,” he countered, his smirk widening.
“Did you truly believe that such a paltry sum would upset me? Or were you hoping for a different reaction entirely?” His blue eyes, sharp and knowing, pierced through her carefully constructed facade.
“Were you perhaps hoping to draw my attention, My Lady, rather than merely annoy me?”
For a moment, Elspeth was speechless. The truth of his words, so casually spoken, hit her smack in the face. She had wanted to annoy him, yes, but beneath that, a part of her—a foolish, desperate part—had wanted to see a reaction, any reaction, that wasn’t this infuriating calm.
She dropped the magazine down on the side table.
“That is absurd,” she finally managed, her voice high-pitched. “I merely wish to be appropriately attired.”
Hugo took a step closer, his eyes never leaving hers. “Are you certain that is the entirety of it, Elspeth?” he murmured, his voice dropping to a seductive whisper. “Because your eyes tell a different story. There is much in the emerald depths that betrays your words, Highland temptress.”
He was so close now, his body a wall of heat and tension, that it made the air between them feel impossibly tight.
She took a breath to steady herself, but it only dragged his scent into her lungs—warm spice, clean linen, and his unmistakable musk, dark and masculine. It coiled low in her belly, scattering her thoughts like windblown ash.
Her pulse thundered in her ears, her skin prickling with awareness. Every inch of her felt attuned to his nearness, her breath catching as though her body already knew what was coming, already ached for it.
“Ye are mistaken,” she breathed, but her eyes were locked on his, unable to break away. “I promise ye that.”
“Am I?” he challenged, his hand reaching out, his thumb brushing her cheekbone. “Or are you simply afraid to admit what you truly want? I have no interest in games. But if you insist on playing… I promise you, I will win.”
He leaned in, his lips hovering inches from hers.
Elspeth’s breath hitched. She knew she should push him away, should rail against his arrogance, but her body was betraying her. Again.
She found herself leaning into his warmth, craving him. The softness of his skin, the strength of his touch.
Suddenly, his mouth was on hers. It was soft at first as he licked the sweetness off the corners of her lips, tentative, then deepening, demanding.
Her hands found their way to his chest, then across his shoulders, then back around his neck, pulling him closer. Closer.
The world outside the drawing room faded, replaced by the dizzying rush of sensation only heightened by the rush of sugar through her veins.
When they finally broke apart, both were breathing heavily, their eyes dark with complicated emotion.
“Ach, this is wrong,” Elspeth whispered, her voice hoarse as she clutched her chest.
“Yes, my Scottish sorceress,” Hugo agreed. “It is.”
“We shouldnae—we cannae do this again,” she said.
“And we will not,” he affirmed, averting his gaze. “I have important matters to attend to.”
“Like meeting more land agents to sell Inverhall?”
“Do not wait for me to sup,” he barked as he walked out of the drawing room.
“You seem rather distracted, old boy,” Aaron observed, taking a sip of his drink. “Are you still vexed by your Highland charge?”
Hugo found himself at his club later that evening, a glass of brandy in hand. He was supposed to be listening to Aaron recount a particularly scandalous tale he had heard about Lady Featherstone’s youngest niece. Yet, his mind was elsewhere.
He was plagued by the image of Elspeth earlier that afternoon. Each time he closed his eyes, he could see her flushed cheeks, her defiant emerald-green eyes.
He could taste the sweetness of her soft lips.
Damn her.
He despised how the Scottish widow had gotten under his skin, how she managed to unravel his carefully constructed control with infuriating ease.
Hugo grunted as he drained his glass. “Yes, she is a constant annoyance. I swear, the woman is determined to try my patience. She is spending money like water, buying every ridiculous piece of fabric in London. And the sweets! I cannot seem to get rid of her.”
“Ah, yes, the annoyance.” Aaron chuckled as he motioned for a server to bring over another round of drinks. “Funny how your annoyance seems to consume all your thoughts, Hugo. Rumor had it that you were both dining at a certain new restaurant on Oxford Street after visiting Olde Fitzwilliam’s.”
“Are you having me tailed?”
“Wait!”
“What now?”
“You are not falling for her, are you?”
Hugo slammed his empty glass down, the sound sharp in the quiet club. “Do not be absurd, Aaron. You know my thoughts on such matters. Love is a weakness. It destroys everything.”
Aaron leaned back, studying his friend as their glasses were refilled. “Still thinking of Mary, then?”
Hugo’s jaw tightened. “Mary was a lesson. An old and painful lesson.”
“A lesson in what, exactly?” Aaron pressed. “That you cannot trust anyone? That emotions are inherently dangerous?”
Hugo stared into his brandy, wishing he could dive right into the amber liquid and forget the conversation. He hated talking about the past; his focus was on an uncomplicated future.
Control.
“Control is paramount. Allowing yourself to feel, to truly care for someone, leaves you vulnerable. I learned that from my father first. Then, Mary proved it. She chose power over me, chose to betray me for a title. And then she nearly destroyed everything I had left.” He paused, his voice low and strained as he took a numbing sip.
“You saw what happened to me after that, Aaron. The chaos, the destruction. I will never allow myself to be in that position again. Never.”
Aaron’s expression softened. He knew the bare bones of the tragedy, the official story, but he also knew Hugo well enough to understand the deeper scars. He knew more than he let on.
“I understand, Hugo,” Aaron whispered. “As much as any other man can. But Elspeth is not Mary, and you are certainly not your father.”
“She is a complication,” Hugo insisted, shaking his head. “And that is that—a distraction I cannot afford. I need to marry her off and send her back to Scotland.”
Aaron sighed. “Well, if you are truly so perturbed by her presence, and your usual methods are not working, perhaps it is time for a different approach.” He leaned forward, a thoughtful look on his face.
“In fact, there is only one woman I know who can truly mold a lady, no matter how headstrong. This particular woman has a knack for finding suitable matches, too.”
Hugo looked at him, a flicker of interest in his eyes. “And who might that be?”
Aaron smirked. “Your grandmother, of course. If Her Grace cannot make Elspeth presentable and find her a husband, then nobody can.”
Hugo considered this, a slow, dawning realization spreading across his face.
The Dowager Duchess of Tarwood.
His formidable, sharp-witted grandmother. She had a way of getting things done, of seeing through pretenses, and of subtly manipulating situations to her will. And she was fiercely loyal to him.
Perhaps, for once, Aaron is right.
“You know, old boy,” he said, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touching his lips. “That is actually a rather good idea. I will drink to that.”
They clinked their glasses in the dimly lit room, smoke and conversation swirling around them.
“Damn that arse,” Elspeth huffed as she popped the last of her bonbons in her mouth before tossing the box across her room.
She had chosen to skip supper that evening, especially as Hugo was not home to protest. Instead, she feasted on sweets, which only left her stomach sour.
She looked around at her extravagance and shook her head. She cared not for such finery. She was much more comfortable in a simple gown and nature. All she wanted was to be back home, in Scotland.
I will need to come up with a new plan. But what?
She got out of bed and walked to the window, throwing open the lush curtains and letting in the cool, summer wind.
She took a deep breath, enjoying the fresh air, but the industrial notes were a far cry from the Highlands. She looked up at the stars then, imagining how much brighter they would be in the north.
Ye cannae wrestle a dove, Morag used to tell her whenever she was a bit too forceful with something, like braiding hair.
Ye cannae force some things, lassie.
Now she knew what the old woman had meant. Some situations required subtlety, perhaps even a bit of submission, to get what one truly wanted.
Perhaps I will have to play his game.
She paced back to the center of the room.
Suddenly, she heard a set of unmistakable, heavy footsteps in the empty hall. She tiptoed across the floor until she reached the door, prying it open ever so slightly to peek out.
She watched Hugo walk down the hall, his unsteady gait suggesting that he had imbibed that evening.
She looked at his frame against the paintings on the walls, noting just how impossibly tall he was.
His width was almost as impressive, his shoulders broad and strong as he strode away from her.
She looked at his backside then, realizing his back was just as remarkable as his front.
Damn the cad, she cursed inwardly as she slowly closed the door.
Again, she found herself leaning against the closed door and sliding down to the floor in a puddle of fabric and unquenched desire.
I despise him.