“Ha!” she bit out. “That shows how little you know.” With that she returned to consuming her breakfast, which he seemed for some reason to find fascinating. Perhaps utensilswereforeign to him, after all.
“And ye’d nae be ruined, with but one way to save yer reputation.”
That stopped her for a moment, stopped her breath and her heart. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, my lord,” she said, even though she had a very good idea. He thought they needed to marry?No!He was a mannerless, kidnapping barbarian, and she—she had plans, blast it all. Plans that didn’t include the Scottish Highlands or marrying for other than love. Not now, when she could afford to be both unemployed and unmarried.
“If ye mean to wound me by pointing oot how little I ken aboot London, ye might as well save yer breath, yer ladyship.”
She set down the fork and knife and touched the napkin to the corners of her mouth, willing her fingers not to shake. “That, Lord Maxton, is a splendid idea,” she returned, deliberately misinterpreting his comment. “Until you tell me why I’m here and what you mean to do with me, I’m finished chatting with you.” She folded her hands into her lap.
The viscount sat back. “Despite the fact that I’ve dragged ye off, tied ye to a chair, and locked ye into a room, ye reckon that threatening me with yer silence will move me to tell ye all my evil plans?”
Tilting her head, she met his gaze. “As a point of clarification,youuntied me, provided me with a bath and clean clothes, and sat with me while I ate breakfast.Youdidn’t kidnap me.” She paused to take a breath. “In fact, I think you had no idea that any of this was going to happen until you saw me sitting in that chair with a sack over my head. And the question I demand you answer is what you mean to do with me now that I’m here.”
“Ye’ve some wits aboot ye,” he said, reaching over to collect her knife and fork before he pushed to his feet. What ye need to ken, lass, is that thisisall my doing. I’ll swear to that on a stack of Bibles. And now that yearehere, I reckon I’ll do what’s right.”
“And what might that be?” she demanded, even though she didn’t want to hear what she very much thought he meant to say next. “You’re letting me go, I presume?”
“Nae. I’ve decided I’ll marry ye.”
She gasped as he spoke the words aloud; she couldn’t imagine a circumstance where she would have been able to stifle the sound. “No, sir, you will not! I refuse!”
His humorless smile appeared again, more offputting than friendly. “Ye can refuse fer now; it’ll take a few days fer me to get a license. In the meantime, ye can stay in here and consider what I’d have to do with ye if I couldnae count on yer cooperation. Ye may nae like the idea, but it’s the best way fer both of us to stay alive and protected. I’m nae the biggest fright in the Highlands, lass.”
“I’m afraid I must disagree with that, Lord Maxton.”
***
At least Maxton hadn’t nailed boards over the windows, even if he had nailed them shut. At least, Marjorie reflected, she had daylight and a view. She’d dragged a comfortable chair over nearly the moment he’d locked her in again. Now, as she sat sipping the cold dregs of the tea that he’d left her, she had to concede that this particular corner of the Highlands was very… picturesque. Mountains capped with snow, a river running past jagged rocks while old, twisted trees climbed up the far bank, deep greens broken by shrinking patches of brilliant white—she’d never seen anything so rugged and wild.
She wanted to walk out into it. As firstly she remained a prisoner and secondly no one had appeared with shoes, however, that didn’t seem likely to happen. Nor did she have any idea how long her present circumstances would last—or now, if this would ever end. She should likely be cowering in terror, fainting, demanding a physician to tend her—but while likely a fitting reaction, it didn’t seem particularly useful. And in truth, while she felt angry, annoyed, frustrated, and supremely uneasy about what her future might hold, she was more angry than anything else.
Marrying her?It would have been gallant, she supposed, coming from someone who owned a sense of nobility or decorum. Marjorie didn’t believe for a second that Graeme, Viscount Maxton, was motivated by either of those things. If it wasn’t for her benefit, though, it had to be for his. As his wife she wouldn’t be able to speak against him in court, which might indeed save him from imprisonment. It wouldn’t save him from her brother’s wrath, though perhaps he hadn’t considered that. She would make certain he did.
There was also, of course, her money. She had an admittedly limited view of this house, but what she had seen looked quite shabby. An influx of thousands of pounds would make a tremendous difference. Perhaps it made sense to him, then, but she had no intention of going along with it. She’d spent far too much time and effort and education to end up as some odious man’s purse. For heaven’s sake, London fortune hunters were the only aristocrats who’d deigned to speak to her, and thus far she’d sent them all away.
He’d said he wasn’t the most frightening thing in the Highlands. And whatever that thing was, he’d also implied that by marrying her, he would be saving her from it. At first she’d thought she would be ransomed to her brother in exchange for some of his money. Or perhaps cattle, or sheep. Highlanders did like their sheep. But Maxton hadn’t been talking about a ransom, clearly. Was it somewhere else she might be sent, then? Someone else who’d decide to marry her without her having any say in the matter?Men.Highlands men, especially.
Silently, because a lady didn’t utter such words aloud, she cursed her brother. Not because he’d written her, but because he’d only bothered to send the one letter. When they’d met in London better than three months ago and Gabriel had told her of his unexpected inheritance and given her Leeds House, he’d promised to write more often. If he’d done so, she might have known that clan Maxwell seemed to be at odds with him. She might have known not to make the journey north to surprise him, for heaven’s sake.
Something behind her rustled, and she whipped her head around, half expecting to see more foxes, or perhaps a wildcat, invading the bedchamber through some hole or other. A folded sheet of paper slid into the room, however, through the narrow crack beneath the door. Marjorie stood, her heart skittering. Did she have an ally?
Moving as quietly as she could in her broken shoe, she hurried over to retrieve the note. Her hands unsteady, she unfolded it—to see a child’s uneven, untidy printing sprawled across the page. “Dear Lady Marjory,” she read to herself, “I am vary sory I helpt my brothrs kit nap you. And please do not be mad at Graeme, becuz it was Brendan and Dùghlases faults, mostly Brendan. I hav baby rabits in my room to. Do you want to see them? Youre friend, Connell Maxton.”
Well, the spelling and grammar were both atrocious, but at least someone had apologized for dragging her into this mess. And it confirmed what she’d suspected—that the lion-maned oldest brother hadn’t planned on her being there—though that didn’t seem to have stopped him from taking advantage of her presence.Marry her?Ha. She’d jump out the window first.
Even more importantly,didshe now have an ally? She pressed her cheek against the cool wood of the door. “Are you still there?” she whispered.
“Aye,” young Connell’s hushed voice returned. “Did ye get my note?”
“I did. And—”
“Write me back,” he interrupted.
Marjorie closed her mouth again. However serious and precarious her situation, to the eight-year-old this was clearly a game. And an ally was an ally. “I don’t have anything to write with,” she whispered back.
The stub of a pencil rolled beneath the door. She picked it up, frowning as she turned the boy’s note over. Just how desperate was she, to be willing to use a child? And how ridiculous was she, to turn away possible help because she would have preferred that it came from someone tall and handsome and considerably more mature?
“Are you going to wait for my response?” she whispered.
