Chapter 19 #2
He looked weary, she thought, for she saw the sag in his shoulders and the subtle drawing down of his mouth. As she watched him, he glanced up, and the magical shock of gazes touching, gentle as hands might do, sent a thrill through her. But he looked away quickly, as he had done all evening.
Sighing, she turned and saw that the conservatory door was open.
Angela and Guy strolled in the shadows, she realized, deep in conversation, dark and blond heads leaned together.
Angela's hand was wrapped around Guy's forearm.
Seeing that intimacy and knowing the spellbinding effect of roses and darkness after a long evening of wine and good company, Meg smiled to herself.
"My lady."
She whirled. Frederick smiled down at her.
She had managed to avoid him all evening, with so many guests and so many interesting conversations, with dancing and music and supper all requiring her attention as hostess. He had been a dark and lurking presence, though at times she had almost succeeded in forgetting he was there at all.
But she could not forget that he expected an answer of her this evening. That much was evident in his dark eyes, which seemed hungry and eager.
"Might I have a word in private, madam?" he asked, and he placed a hand on her elbow. "We've not had a chance to talk as yet. I haven't even had the opportunity to tell you how truly ravishing you look in that gown."
"Thank you," she said, glancing around distractedly. Across the room, she saw Dougal listening to an elderly man rumble on about something. A sharp glance from the engineer seemed to register that she stood with Frederick. He frowned and turned his attention back to his gruff, gesturing companion.
"A walk in the garden on such a lovely night," Frederick said, "would be the perfect ending to a perfect evening."
"I must stay here to say farewell to my guests," she said.
"Madam, they have all departed but for a few gentlemen who cannot seem to stop talking business," he pointed out.
"They will not even know you are gone. I ask your complete attention for a few minutes only.
Indulge me, I beg you." He smiled and leaned toward her.
The smell of wine on his breath was very strong.
"Perhaps tomorrow," she said, turning to step away.
"Margaret, dear—we can discuss our business here, I suppose, if you are so devoted to your company."
She exhaled, recognizing defeat. "Very well." Turning, lifting her skirt with subtle grace, she headed toward the conservatory door, which led out to the garden.
The conservatory was dark, hushed, and fragrant as she walked with Frederick just behind her, his hand on her elbow.
Ahead, between an aisle of tall, dense ferns in huge pots, she saw Angela and Guy turn, their faces pale in the shadows.
They murmured a polite greeting as Meg and Frederick walked past.
Reaching the garden entrance, Meg waited while Frederick opened the door, then passed through before him, entering a quiet moonlit world.
Somewhere in the distance, she heard dogs faintly barking, and late-night vehicles rattled occasionally over cobbled streets, muffled by the peace of the enclosed garden.
She turned. "I know why you wish to speak to me."
"Do you? Excellent. Let us get straight to it, this wee question of the heart."
"It is hardly that," she said, "and you know it."
"Margaret, you wound me, for you have my lifelong devotion. Now, please do me the honor of marrying me." He captured her gloved hands, his fingers strong and overly warm on hers.
She could not look at him, glancing toward the back garden wall, with its neatly tiered flower beds and espaliered fruit trees. This was one of her homes, a place she loved very much. Yet now she would have to allow him here, tolerate his presence, pretend to others that she loved him.
She would have to allow him into her bed. His hands seemed even hotter over hers, tugging at her wrists.
"Well, Margaret?"
"I—I must have more time," she said. "It is too important a decision to make so quickly."
"You have had months to think about it, from my first mention of it," he said. "I gave you these last weeks and was promised a final answer tonight."
"I cannot, Frederick," she whispered.
"Cannot answer or cannot marry me?" he asked.
"Neither," she said. "I can do neither."
He drew her closer, so that the flexible cage of her skirt flattened against his legs. "You will," he said, bending down. "You know there is no choice for you. I will tell the world. You will be ruined, lady. Ruined. " He snatched her shoulders.
"Please—stop!" She twisted against his cruel grip.
"I wish to God I had been the one to ruin you first," he growled, and yanked her toward him so fast that her back ached with the snap. He planted his mouth on hers in a rich, wet, eager kiss, grinding his lips and teeth against hers.
Repulsed and angry, she gave a guttural cry and shoved against his chest, then shoved again, hard. He flew backward, stumbling to the ground, protesting with a loud cry.
Surely she was not that strong, she thought, dazed. Then she realized that Dougal stood over Frederick in the shadows. He had grabbed Frederick, had flung him away from her. Now he clearly meant to finish the task.
He hauled Matheson up by the lapels of his waistcoat. Shoving the man against the glass-and-stone wall of the conservatory, Dougal pinned him there, half lifting the man, though Matheson was slightly taller and a stone heavier.
"So you intend to ruin the lady?" Dougal demanded.
"No—I—that's not what I said," Matheson protested, clawing at Dougal's wrists.
"That's what I heard," Dougal growled. "And I'll tell you what I saw.
" He shook Matheson again, pressed him flatter against the wall, his arms digging into the banker's chest. "I came out to say farewell to my hostess," he went on, his voice rough edged with controlled rage, "and I heard you threaten her and saw you grab her.
" He slammed Frederick tighter against the wall as the man struggled to get free.
"Mr. Stewart—please—" Meg said.
Dougal paused. "Are you harmed, madam?" he asked, still glaring at Frederick.
"I'm fine," she said. She glanced up, saw the businessmen who had been with Dougal, saw Guy and Angela, Mrs. Larrimore and the butler, and beyond them a thick cluster of maids and grooms, all gaping. "I'm fine, truly. Please let Sir Frederick go."
"I expect he needs to apologize," Dougal growled.
"I need not apologize for asking the lady to marry me," Frederick said. "She was on the verge of saying aye when you interfered."
"Is it true, Lady Strathlin?" Dougal asked, barely audible.
"I—well, he did ask—"
"Is it true?" Dougal demanded. "Were you about to accept?"
She looked at Dougal, with his strong and fierce heart, and at Frederick, whose heart seemed cold and vicious. She loved one and loathed the other. And she had to protect them from each other.
"He asked." she whispered. "I am considering. He did me no harm. Let him go."
The silence then was tense and brittle. Dougal kept his grip tight, his posture confining, while he clearly seethed. He did not look at Meg.
"Mr. Stewart," Sir John Shaw said, walking toward them. "Sir Frederick has had a bit too much wine, I think. He meant no harm. He's a good lad, Mr. Stewart, and cares for the lass—for Lady Strathlin very much. If you please, sir. Let him loose."
Suddenly, Dougal let go and stepped back.
Tugging at his coat, Frederick glanced at the onlookers and then glared at Dougal. "You will regret this, sir."
"I believe you will be the one to regret it, should you ever threaten this lady again." He flickered his eyes toward Meg, then fastened his glare on Frederick again.
"Our business agreement, sir," Matheson growled, "is at an end. I withdraw my offer."
"So be it." Dougal tugged at his shirt cuffs.
"Madam," Frederick said, "we will continue our discussion at some other date. I am grateful and flattered that you desire so fervently to marry me—"
Meg gasped. "Sir, I did not—"
He held up a hand. "I understand if you feel embarrassed. Ladies should not indulge in more than a glass or two of wine. It sets their heads to reeling. Nevertheless, I am honored. But after this evening, I must reconsider my proposal, in light of your appalling misconduct."
"Sir, I have never misconducted myself!"
"No?" Frederick murmured. "Not even once, long ago?"
She gasped. Dougal stepped between them, indicating that Frederick should say no more. Meg prayed that Dougal did not guess Frederick's reference, and prayed equally that Matheson would never learn the identity of her little son's father.
"Good night. An excellent party, otherwise." Matheson gave a curt bow and turned. The crowd by the door parted, and he walked through, shouldering past Guy Hamilton.
Guy gave him a dull blow to the stomach with his elbow, enough to make Matheson grunt and turn toward him.
"I beg your pardon," Guy said. "Are you inviting me to spar with you, sir?"
Frederick muttered under his breath and left, storming through the conservatory and out the front door. Meg heard it slam even from where she stood in the darkened garden.
Dougal stood near her, watching as the remaining gentlemen took their leave of her.
He said hardly a word, nodding his thanks and farewells.
She was grateful for his silent presence.
Her limbs still shook so that she did not feel ready to walk back to the house as yet.
Relieved to see the last few guests leave without ceremony, she was glad for now just to stand in the dark, quiet garden, in the moonlight, with Dougal.
She glanced at him when they were alone. "Dougal—"
He inclined his head. "Lady Strathlin, thank you for a pleasant evening. Apart from the last few minutes, it has been enjoyable."
"You're leaving?" she asked, her voice quaking.
The smile that played at his mouth was the small, private, fond smile that she had missed so very much. Seeing it made her heart surge, filled her with warmth, made her want to cry.
"I cannot stay," he said. "Madam." He bowed and turned, striding through the garden.
She picked up her gown to follow him. "Dougal, please."
He opened the door for her, and waited while she stepped into the shadowed conservatory. She could hear the chink and clatter as servants gathered the dishes and glasses inside the house, and Mrs. Larrimore directing the maids.
"Please," she said, and laid her hand on his arm. "Do not go. Not yet." She watched him in the darkness, the air around them heavy with the scent of roses and gardenias, with earth and stone. Heavy with need, desperate for forgiveness.
He looked down at her. "What would you have me do, madam?" he asked, leaning close in the shadows. "Stay with you?"
"Yes," she said breathlessly. "Yes."