Chapter Twelve
Upon their arrival at the train station in Glasgow, Alec handed his wife into a hack, while a young boy stowed their two bags.
Alec couldn’t help but smile while the horses clopped along the narrow streets.
Maura’s pretty little nose was pressed against the window.
She reminded him of a child who was making her first visit to the city.
“It’s very old, isn’t it?” she said.
“Glasgow?”
“Aye.”
“It is. The Romans built fortresses here in the first century, and the city itself in the sixth or seventh, by St. Mungo. Some legends claim he was related to King Arthur.”
“And rather smelly, too.” She grimaced.
“It’s become a city of industry. The shipyards have brought both wealth and pollution.
It’s much like Edinburgh, in that there is an Old City and New City.
I must say, I prefer Edinburgh. Now there’s a city to take your breath away.
Edinburgh Castle stands guard high over the Firth of Forth. It’s quite a sight to behold.”
“I wish I could visit there, then.”
“I’m sure you shall. And London, too.”
Maura was well aware she wouldn’t visit either. As soon as she had the Circle of Light in hand, she and Murdoch would be off to Ireland and Castle McDonough.
When they arrived at the hotel, the doorman greeted Alec. “Your grace! Lovely to have you as a guest again.”
“Thank you, David. And this time I’ve brought my wife.”
“Then may I congratulate you both!” The doorman bowed low over the hand she extended. “Your grace, I hope your stay is a pleasant one.”
They were shown upstairs to a grand suite. It was immense, with lavish, textured walls and billowing brocade draperies. A sitting room adjoined the bedchamber, where three steps led up to a wide four-poster and tester.
“I hope the room is to your liking, your grace.”
Maura felt herself grow tense.
“I’m sure it will be, Edward.”
The door closed.
Alec turned, glancing over to where his wife stood near a small side table. Her bonnet dangled from her fingertips. Her shoulders were stiff and square. He was well aware that she was on the defensive.
“Perhaps, your grace,” he said to her, “a better question would be whether or not the room is to your liking.”
Maura turned. “This is my room?”
“Indeed it is.”
“And yours?” she queried.
Alec inclined his head, aware of the two lines of worry that gathered between piquant black brows. “I believe the bed is more than large enough for the two of us.”
Their eyes locked. Hers flitted away, then skidded back to his. Her chin went up a notch. “Is the hotel filled to capacity, then?”
He shrugged. “I’ve no idea.”
“Then perhaps another room may be secured.”
She masked her anxious panic well. Alec, in turn, was both annoyed and angry. He held it at bay.
“Why? It’s not the first time we’ve slept in the same bed. Not even a fortnight has passed since you were quite eager to share my bed. Of course, now that you are my duchess, that zeal does seem to have passed.”
There was a protracted silence. Maura said nothing.
“I am known here at this hotel, Irish. I won’t have it bandied about that my wife and I are on such terms that she must have her own room.” A slight edge crept into his tone. “We may not sleep together at Gleneden”—not yet, he thought—“but we will tonight.”
Maura took a breath. “I thought it was understood. You wanted my company, nothing else.”
“As you reminded me our first night at Gleneden, I’ve already seen to the plucking of the fruit. Why, then, are you so ill at ease? I am fully capable of keeping my desire under restraint.”
Maura gritted her teeth. Damn his persistence. Damn his arrogance!
“I do, however, continue to wonder where my bold, amorous pirate has disappeared—and when she will reappear.”
“And if she does not?” Her tone was honeyed.
He slanted her his most disarming smile. “Well, then, I shall simply have to go about making her reappear.”
Maura’s guard went up threefold. So did the beat of her heart.
“Now come, Duchess, let us go out for a stroll.”
She blinked. “I thought you had business here.”
“And so I do, so let us be about it.” He walked smoothly to one of the double doors and held it wide. “After you, your grace.”
Maura was left with no choice but to precede him.
Their “stroll” consisted of exiting the hotel and turning to the right at the corner.
She sucked in a breath. Her gaze slid from one side of the street to the other.
There was no question it was a street of exclusive shops.
When he tried to lead her into the nearest one—the sign above said MADAME ROUSSEAU—Maura hung back.
“Your grace,” she said tartly, “I thought this was settled yesterday. There is nothing that I require. My wardrobe is quite satisfactory.”
Alec’s eyes narrowed. “Irish, I would advise you not to cross me,” he stated bluntly.
“Once I’ve made up my mind, there is no changing it.
I agree it may cause many a head to turn, but if you will not enter Madame Rousseau’s shop—my mother, a woman of utmost fashion, favors it above all others, even those in London—then you leave me no choice.
I’ve no aversion to pitching you over my shoulder here and now. ”
He didn’t particularly intend to follow through, but her expression made him itch to carry out the threat.
Several people passed by. Maura remained where she was, her gaze damning him with emerald fire. Faith, but the chit was stubborn!
“Which shall it be, Duchess?”
“You wouldn’t dare,” she said from between her teeth.
“Are you prepared to take that chance?”
Maura’s mouth opened, then closed. Alec read in her expression a mounting uncertainty.
“It is not a demand I make,” he pointed out. “It is merely a question that requires one of two answers, either yes or no. Now what shall it be, your grace? Will you enter under your own power? Or will you enter under mine?”
Maura glared.
“I see in your eyes the inclination to do me bodily harm,” he said lightly. “Pray do not. At least not here. I should much prefer that it occur”—there was an unholy gleam in his eyes—“in private.”
The ice reflected on her lovely features should have frozen him solid, but she entered the shop.
Behind the counter was a petite, fashionably dressed woman of perhaps fifty or so. Only a few streaks of gray at her temples declared her age. Slanted dark eyes lit up with pleasure as soon as she saw Alec.
“Your grace! A pleasure to see you!”
She must have been quite a beauty in her day, Maura decided. She quickly revised it when Madame Rousseau stepped out from behind the counter, as slim as she must have been in her youth. At the sound of her voice, several girls slipped from a curtained area, carrying tape, scissors, and pins.
“Madame,” Alec greeted. Lightly, he kissed her fingertips. “May I present my wife, Duchess of Gleneden.”
Madame gave a little curtsy. “Enchanté, your grace,” she said with a laugh. She glanced back at Alec. “Oh, but many a heart will break when it is learned that the Black Scotsman has taken a wife!” Her manner became brisk. “How may I help you today?”
Alec slid an arm around Maura’s waist and brought her close. “Madame, would you allow me to confer with my wife in private for a moment?”
“Mais certainement.” Madame bowed her head and gave a low curtsy. She clapped her hands, and her assistants disappeared behind the curtained area. “Please ring ze bell whenever you are ready.”
“I thought we settled this yesterday.” Maura was tense, her tone very low.
“Did we?”
“We did,” she said levelly.
“We did not,” he countered smoothly. “I concede, however, that you continue to amaze me. And you continue to bemuse me, as well. A woman who completes her toilette in minutes. A woman who abhors shopping and spending her husband’s money! You are quite unlike any other.”
Maura wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or not. She chose to take it as one. “Thank you,” she said crisply. “Now may I return to the hotel?”
He ignored the question. “Irish, you have the chance to spend whatever you like, on whatever you want, on as many gowns as you want. Most women would be in heaven.”
“As you just said, I am not like other women. And I hope you don’t mind my frankness, Scotsman, but it seems rather reckless of you to give a woman carte blanche in a shop such as this.”
Alec couldn’t believe it either. He took a deep breath.
He didn’t understand it. He didn’t understand her.
This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? She’d put herself in his bed in order to gain the right to proclaim herself Duchess of Gleneden.
And now with his fortune in hand—all that it could buy—she shunned it!
In the same way she shunned sharing his bed!
Or did she play at being coy in order to persuade him he was wrong? Either way, he was both angry and affronted.
“A bargain,” he said suddenly. “What if we make a bargain?”
She eyed him warily. “What sort of bargain?”
He caught her elbow when she instinctively stepped back. He chuckled. “Not that sort of bargain, Irish.”
Maura moistened her lips. “What, then?”
He leaned an elbow on the countertop. “Here is what I propose. Let Madame and her assistants obtain your measurements. Then you may choose one item from Madame’s shop—gowns, slippers, whatever you want—any article of female attire that you want. Cost is of no consequence.”
She gave a shake of her head. “But there is nothing I require.”
“I didn’t say to choose what you required, Duchess. I said choose something that you want. Something that will make you happy.”
Maura’s gaze whisked to the table of silk stockings behind him, then back to his face. “Are you not afraid I’ll send you to the poorhouse?”
He laughed. “You can try. Try as hard as you like.”
“And what if I say no?”
“Unless you pick out something you want, I’ll buy the whole damn shop.”
“What!” she cried.
“I will,” he vowed.
She cocked her head to the side. “Why do I have the feeling there is more to this bargain?”