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.
Some part of his brain, or maybe it was the brain between his legs, asked him why he had not just taken what was offered and been done with it.
But he refused to listen. Grace had not believed him when he gave his word.
She had insulted him and that was why he was taking himself off for the day like a sulky wee lad.
It might also be because she was just too bloody tempting.
*
Lord Kilsyth was already waiting for Rory when he arrived to keep his appointment that evening.
The club was subdued in tone with lowered voices and discreet service, and the few glances sent Rory’s way were curious rather than judgmental.
After skulking about all day, he had gone home to change and was wearing beige pantaloons and a green jacket rather than a kilt.
He didn’t expect to be stared at unless word had spread about his unconventional marriage.
“The food is very good,” Kilsyth said, as they were shown to their table in the dining area. “And it is usually quiet here. These days I find myself preferring quiet to chaos.”
“So do I.” Rory surprised himself by agreeing and was also surprised to realize that that was the truth.
He had expected to throw himself into every mischief he could when he came to London, and so he had, but right now he just wanted to be left in peace to contemplate his situation.
Who would have thought his good deed would grow into such a moral problem for Rory, the least moral man he knew?
Once the meal was served and they had sated their hunger, the conversation turned from the weather to personal matters. Rory discovered that Kilsyth was a widower.
“My wife died nearly five years ago,” his companion said.
“Afterward, I thought I would never rejoin the human race, but what they say is true: Time heals. My daughter has grown up and no longer requires my interference in her life, although I love her dearly and I am sure she is fond of me. For a time I tried to interest myself in local politics, but I found it boring beyond belief. How many meetings can one attend with fellows discussing the boundaries of their land or poachers? I felt as if I was moldering away and made up my mind to come to London and resume my life here. And so here I am.”
Rory was not surprised by Kilsyth’s bereavement.
It explained the other man’s somber nature, and his liking for quiet places.
“I am sorry to hear about your wife,” he said, knowing he sounded awkward.
He was not used to offering condolences.
His friends were young enough not to have experienced much in the way of loss.
The idea of losing one of his parents was unthinkable, but he knew that one day it would happen.
“Thank you.” Kilsyth smiled and sipped his wine.
“Do you think . . . That is, are you planning to marry again?” Rory winced, wondering if he had overstepped the mark.
Kilsyth grimaced. “She was the love of my life,” he said starkly.
“At this point, I cannot imagine ever feeling that way again, and honestly, I do not want to. It is just too painful to lose one’s other half.
Perhaps in time I will heal enough to consider it, but to love so deeply .
. . I wonder sometimes whether the pain is worth it. ”
As a proponent of the free and easy lifestyle, Rory could not imagine ever being so attached to one woman that he could not bear to live without her.
To be in perpetual mourning. Was such a thing even possible?
Not for him, he told himself arrogantly.
And if a vision of Grace naked and in the moonlight flashed into his head, he pushed it decisively out again.
Lust, he reminded himself, was not love.
“My marrying Grace is nothing like your own situation,” he blurted out. “After the duel, when I went to Ormsby’s house, I saw that she was in desperate need of someone to rescue her from her father. I agreed to do the rescuing, but I doubt I am the sort of savior she needs.”