Chapter Seven
ROBERT’S LECTURE ON astronomy and navigation, illustrated with anecdotes from his travels, was received rapturously.
The Highland Ladies gave him a hearty round of applause and pressed him to stay for dinner.
Since all he had waiting for him was a cold supper and a lumpy bed at the Durness Inn, Robert was quick to agree.
His courtship of Lady Lucy MacMorlan would progress all the better through proximity.
Robert had thought long and hard about that courtship.
And come up with absolutely no plan whatsoever.
His preferred course of action would have been the direct one, but to propose directly to Lady Lucy would be to invite an equally direct refusal.
He had also considered the idea of abducting her.
It held more than a little appeal, especially after those hot stolen moments between them at Brodrie Castle.
Abduction was generally frowned upon these days, but he thought he could probably get away with it.
The drawback was that it would make Lucy even less inclined to wed him, and forcing a woman to the altar would not, under normal circumstances, be the way he would behave.
But these were not normal circumstances.
The ladies had another tutorial between his lecture and dinner.
There was a choice of two classes, but to these Robert was not invited.
He had no idea what they were and he found his curiosity piqued.
As he wandered along Durness Castle’s extravagantly furnished corridors, he could hear strains of music drifting from within one of the salons.
The music was exotic and Eastern, punctuated by voices and laughter.
He wandered toward the sound; immediately a burly footman barred his way.
“May I help you, my lord?” The man’s expression belied his courteous tone.
His firmly folded arms and aggressive stance made it clear to Robert that he was not going to find out what was going on behind that closed door.
The activities of the Highland Ladies Bluestocking Society were indeed a closed book. It piqued Robert’s curiosity extremely.
He strolled out onto the terrace. The air was fresh and cold, threatening snow even though it was now well into spring.
The shutters of the salon were closed against prying eyes, but behind them Robert could see light and undulating shadows.
He could hear someone tapping out the beat of the music, sensual music that wove its spell of temptation and promise.
Not wishing to appear a Peeping Tom, he retreated from the weather and sought out the library.
This door was locked, as well. A different burly footman materialized and informed him civilly that the ladies were taking an art class.
What there was about such a venture that necessitated the locking of the door was anyone’s guess, but Robert took the hint and retired to his chamber.
In the drawing room prior to dinner, the ladies all appeared to be in very high spirits.
Robert was not the only gentleman present; there was a plump and jolly fellow with a luxuriant gray mustache who was introduced as Mr. Florence the art master and two very handsome young men whose precise role was left rather vague.
Robert began to suspect that the reason that the Highland Ladies Bluestocking Society proceedings were veiled in secrecy was that some of their activities were considerably more risqué than others.
His ideas of them reading dry intellectual tracts before dinner were clearly misplaced.
He found Lady Lucy seated with her sister Lady Mairi MacLeod on one of the silver velvet chaise longues and asked if he might join them. Lucy looked inclined to refuse. Mairi, however, seemed very happy to see him and patted the seat beside her.
“We did so enjoy your lecture, Lord Methven,” Mairi said, her blue eyes sparkling. “Lucy was particularly impressed. She said she would not have believed you had it in you to be so interesting.”
Robert saw Lucy press her lips together in a very tight line. He smiled at her. “I am always glad to be able to confound your prejudices, Lady Lucy,” he said. He glanced toward the two stalwart young men who were surrounded by a positive bevy of eager ladies.
“I do hope,” he added, “that you enjoyed the subsequent class as much as my lecture. Life drawing, was it not?”
Lucy’s blue gaze flickered up to meet his. “I did not attend the art class,” she said. “I am very poor at drawing.”
“All the more reason to practice,” Mairi said, “especially with such willing subjects.” She popped a sugared almond into her mouth and crunched it. “Don’t you agree, Lord Methven?”
“I am sure that the gentlemen concerned displayed to advantage,” Robert said, “and that would be sufficient to inspire any lady.”
Mairi giggled. Lucy looked unimpressed. “Life drawing is a serious art form,” she said. “It is an intellectual pursuit.”
“And a lot of fun, as well,” Mairi corrected. She gave Robert a comprehensive look. “Should you ever wish to model for us, Lord Methven, we should be delighted.”
Mairi MacLeod, Robert thought, was a flirt.
She had a widow’s confidence around the masculine sex, a confidence no doubt born of experience.
Lucy, in contrast, was no flirt, but neither was she a naive debutante.
Robert thought of her untutored but wholly inflammatory response to his kiss.
Then he wished he had not, as Mairi was looking pointedly at his pantaloons. He shifted uncomfortably.
“I am honored that you should invite me to pose for you all,” he said. “However, I fear I might not measure up.”
“I doubt you have any fears on that score, Lord Methven,” Mairi said, still staring. “You strike me as a very able man in all particulars.”
Robert smiled, turning to Lucy. “If you did not attend the art class, Lady Lucy,” he said, “I assume you were learning the Eastern dancing?”
Lucy’s eyes opened very wide. In that moment she looked every inch the startled debutante.
“How did you know that was what we were doing?” she demanded. “Were you watching?”
“I have not been looking through keyholes,” Robert said. “I recognized the type of music and guessed you must have been dancing. Did you enjoy it?”
He was interested to see that she blushed. “It was...different.”
“From the formality of the quadrille and the cotillion?”
“Yes, and even from the energy of the Scottish reels. It felt...” Lucy paused. Her blush deepened. “I had always thought that music was mathematical in the skill it requires to write it. Yet this...” Her gaze, bright blue and very hot, met his and then slid away. “This music was strangely sensual.”
In that moment Robert wished that Lady Mairi were not there.
He wished that he and Lucy were somewhere else entirely, preferably somewhere warm and comfortable and where they would be quite alone to pursue the conversation wherever it might lead.
Lucy’s cool, crisp intellectual approach to all things passionate was both naive and intriguing.
He remembered thinking at Brodrie Castle that she had a rational rather than an emotional approach to life.
Now it seemed she had the same view of music: music, which could be stirring, vivid and sensual.
It was high time Lady Lucy MacMorlan was awakened to all the intriguing possibilities that passion offered.
Frustratingly, however, this was not the time.
The room was bright and full and buzzing with people.
Mairi, perhaps sensing something of his feelings, rose ostentatiously to her feet and murmured something about speaking to Lady Kenton before dinner.
Robert saw Lucy put out a hand as though to stop her sister from leaving them together.
Her lips parted. She seemed on the verge of objecting.
She half rose from her seat, as though about to abandon him too.
“I do hope,” Robert said, “that you will not leave me alone at the mercy of so many ladies, Lady Lucy.”
“I am sure you would cope quite admirably,” Lucy said. “You would be fighting them off with sticks.”
“Which is precisely what I do not wish to happen,” Robert said. “Only consider how rude that would appear. Offense would be taken.”
Lucy almost smiled. After a moment she relaxed back into her seat. “I thought,” she said, “that you had no compunction about being very honest indeed, even if it gives offense.”
“Even I have to draw the line somewhere,” Robert said. “I do believe,” he added, “that you are uncomfortable in my company. That is why you seek to escape me.”
Her eyes met his. They were completely expressionless. “I assure you I am perfectly comfortable with anyone,” Lucy said coolly.
“So there is nothing special about me? How quelling.” Robert settled himself back against the cushions and looked at her thoughtfully. “I thought that perhaps after our last encounter—”
Her blush deepened. Her gaze slid from his. All of a sudden the layers of sophistication were stripped away and she looked stricken.
“I really am sorry,” she said. “I profoundly regret ruining your betrothal.”
She sounded utterly sincere. There was a vulnerable set to her mouth and a defeated slope to her shoulders that sparked a most inappropriate feeling of tenderness in him.
Up until that moment Robert would have said it did not matter whether she regretted it or not, or whether he believed her or not.
Whether she was sorry for her actions and whether he had forgiven her were irrelevant.
But now, seeing her vulnerability, he felt quite differently. He felt protective.
He did not care much for the feeling. It muddied the waters. He had no time for sentiment; all he wanted to do was secure his bride.
“I’m not angry anymore.” He spoke abruptly.
Her eyes widened. “You have every right to be.”