Chapter Fourteen
As usual, Rory was up early and riding his horse.
He had been out early every morning for the past week, since he and Grace had become husband and wife in the flesh as well as in name.
He knew he would have preferred to stay in bed with his wife, and that knowledge drove him out of the house even earlier than usual.
It was foolish, but this incessant desire for her worried him.
Yes, in the past there had been other women he had lusted over, and yet this felt different.
Was it because she was his wife and her body was his to enjoy?
He would not have to climb out of a window and flee in fear of being caught—as he had done with the innkeeper’s sister.
Yes, he and Grace were married, and no one could point the finger at him and accuse him of being a scoundrel and a rake.
But there were other worries circling around in his head.
For instance, now that he was married to Grace in all ways, did that mean he could not return to his easygoing life?
It didn’t, of course not. He had free will to do as he wished, and a great many husbands did.
They had mistresses and lovers and so did their wives.
But somehow, to return to the past no longer seemed quite right. Had he turned into Callum? He shuddered at the thought. And then he imagined Grace finding another lover and going to his bed and abandoning Rory. He certainly did not like that.
It seemed as if he was selfish enough to want it all his own way.
Impatiently, he rode on, grumbling to himself and ignoring the curious glances of those he passed, until he heard a call and, looking around, saw it was Lord Kilsyth.
He had not seen the other man since their dinner that night, and now he felt a surge of relief and pleasure at the sight of him. At least here was someone who knew his story and who he could talk to freely.
Kilsyth was smiling as if he was happy to see Rory too. “MacKenzie! I wondered if I would run into you today. Fine weather for riding, is it not?” His eyes were curious as he took in Rory’s windswept look. “You were dashing along.”
“I was frightening the other riders,” Rory admitted wryly.
Kilsyth shot him a sideways look as they trotted along together at a more sedate pace. “Is all well? You looked as if you were trying to outrun the devil.”
Was he? Rory hesitated, but he wanted to talk, and Kilsyth was a safe pair of ears. “I was trying to outrun my own thoughts. My marriage to Grace . . . It bothers me.”
“Oh?” Kilsyth looked puzzled. “Did you hope for more when you agreed to it?” Then, “My apologies, I suppose I am thinking of myself. If it was me then I would want more than to be shackled to a stranger who meant nothing to me. That is not the sort of marriage I could stomach, but then I am not you.”
Rory knew how much the other man had loved his wife, and how much he now grieved for her. “When Ormsby summoned me, I had every intention o’ telling him to go jump off the Tower of London. But when I met Grace . . . I could no’ leave her there in such circumstances. I just could no’ do it.”
“That is because you are a good man,” Kilsyth said.
Rory gave a wry chuckle. “My family might beg to differ.”
Kilsyth seemed ready to dispute his words but then ignored them instead. “What is it that worries you, MacKenzie?”
“I am worried I am growing too fond of her.”
As soon as the words left his lips, he wished them back again. But it was the truth, or at least part of the truth. Grace was his wife but he had never expected her to inhabit that role, or for him to begin to see her in that role. That had never been his original intention when he married her.
Kilsyth’s eyes lit with amusement. “I don’t consider that a negative. But I can see it might concern you, a man who does not wish to be chained down by uncomfortable emotions.”
Chained down by uncomfortable emotions? Rory scowled so furiously, a passing rider swerved to one side.
“It is very early days when it comes to your marriage. Any marriage,” Kilsyth went on pleasantly. “A certain, eh, fondness is expected in the beginning. It will wane once you grow accustomed to each other, and then quite possibly bored.”
Rory considered this. “I imagine you are right. But did you grow accustomed? Bored? You have already told me how much you loved your wife.”
Kilsyth sighed. “Honestly? No, I did not. I loved her more with each passing day.” Then seeing Rory’s expression, “But that is probably not the common way of these things. Not when we’re talking of marriages between the nobility.
You should not worry, MacKenzie. I’m sure this fondness you have for your wife’s company is just a passing phase. ”
Rory nodded. That sounded better. A passing phase.
He would tell himself that as often as possible.
And in the meantime, why not make the most of his interest in his wife?
Grace did not seem to mind him mauling her, even deriving a great deal of pleasure from it.
She was a sensual woman, and even thinking about her stirred lustful thoughts in him.
Kilsyth seemed to be respecting his silence.
“Thank you,” Rory said, feeling much better. “You have set my mind at ease.”
“I am glad.”
“Do you wish to come to dinner? I am sure my aunt would be pleased to have some company. My uncle is often away for long stretches of time, and I canna help but think she is lonely.”
Kilsyth looked surprised and then pleased. “Thank you, I would indeed like to come to dinner, and I look forward to meeting the countess.”
They made their arrangements before Rory set off for home. He did feel better for his chat with Kilsyth, and he was looking forward to dinner. Grace would probably enjoy the man’s company too.
He smiled to himself as he trotted down the streets of Mayfair toward Aunt Jennie’s house. Yes, despite his earlier foul mood, things had worked out well.
*
Grace was writing a letter to her sisters.
They would still be at Ormsby’s estate. She knew Ormsby’s cousin would also be there, and the two men liked to hunt from dawn to dusk, so she was hoping that either Harriet or Prudence would find the letter before their father did.
She wouldn’t put it past him to keep it from them if he knew she had written.
Words poured out of her as her pen moved across the pages.
She missed them so much but she did not want them to be miserable, so she told them about her new clothes and how kind Jennie was to her.
She spent many lines on Bothwell the cat.
As for Rory, it was more difficult to speak of him.
A few weeks ago she would have said he was kind and not to worry, but now their relationship had changed.
She wanted to tell them how handsome he was, how much pleasure he gave her, how he never seemed to tire of the satisfaction they found together in his bed.
How he did not go out after dinner anymore and roam about London like a tomcat on the prowl but stayed home, with his aunt and Grace, and seemed as eager as she to retire.
Of course she couldn’t tell them any of that. But she hugged it to herself like a surprise gift.
Eventually she ran out of things to say, and with a sigh, folded the letter and set it aside to be sent.
Should she put some money inside the envelope to allow her sisters to pay for the postage?
Ormsby would quite possibly refuse. Grace had no money of her own, so she thought she should ask Rory about that.
Was he keeping a running tally of her spending?
Would he expect her to repay him when her dowry became available?
She did not think he was such a penny-pincher but then she did not know him well.
They were strangers who had discovered a delight in each other’s bodies.
Her happy thoughts of a moment ago began to slide.
She heard voices downstairs and then the sound of someone hurrying up the stairs. It was Rory back from his ride in the park. Grace expected him to go right past her door, but was surprised when, instead, his steps stopped and her door opened. Rory peered around it.
“There you are,” he said, his cheeks flushed from exercise. “I thought you might have slept in. Aunt Jennie is not an early riser.”
He leaned against the door jamb and folded his arms, eyes sliding down over her as if he was seeing her naked.
Grace stood, nervously smoothing her hands over her skirt. She thought she looked rather nice this morning, her hair dressed in a flattering manner, and the fawn color of the dress suited her dark hair and eyes. Rory seemed to think so too, if that glint in his blue eyes was anything to go by.
“I have invited someone for supper,” he said. “Lord Kilsyth. You will like him.”
“Oh. That is . . .” her voice trailed off but she did not know what else to say. Who was Lord Kilsyth? But Rory seemed pleased about it, so she smiled. “I look forward to meeting him. Is he a friend of yours?”
Rory paused and then shrugged. “He has become one,” he said. “I will leave you to your letter,” he went on, eyes moving across to her pen and paper.
“I am finished. I was writing to my sisters. Actually, I wanted to ask you if it is all right if I send them some money to pay for the postage. If you could see your way to lending me a small amount.”
Rory raised his eyebrows. “I will pay. You should no’ feel you have to ask, Grace. That is no’ something you should be worrying about.”
“But you have already done so much. I’m not sure I will be able to repay you . . .”
He made an impatient sound. “You dinna have to. We are married. I would no’ expect you to scrimp and save on my account. I will see that you have pin money when you need it.”
“Thank you then,” she said rather stiffly.
With a sigh, he came inside the room and closed the door, moving toward her. The way he walked, prowled, so sure and confident of himself. It made her heartbeat pick up as if she wasn’t sure whether to run to him. Or run away from him.