“No, you ninny, the Scot.”
“But what about the viscount? A prime catch there, and obviously he’s interested.”
“Canston? He’s always interested, though not in matrimony, if you catch my drift.”
“Now, now, Hilary, don’t be catty. Just because nothing came of it when the viscount was courting your niece a few months ago—”
“Courted m’daughter last season, but never got around to proposing to her either.”
“Taking after his father, if you ask me. Old Canston was a rake in his day—”
“Nonsense, they’re just laggards at making up their minds. Runs in the family, don’t you know.”
That was pretty typical of the conversations Kimberly had been overhearing all day long: at the late breakfast, at the recital she attended afterward, at teatime in the late afternoon, and then again at dinner, she either heard the whispers, or the complete silence when she was noticed, or the unrestrained talk when she wasn’t. Tight-lipped, she slipped out of the card room before she was noticed and ended up embarrassing that particular group, even if they deserved embarrassment.
She really deplored being gossiped about. It was so unsavory. But it had been too much to hope that that little drama Lachlan had instigated this morning wouldn’t make the rounds at Sherring Cross.
It was too much to hope that it wouldn’t travel far afield by tomorrow. In fact, she would be surprised if it didn’t reach her father by the end of the week, and even more surprised if he didn’t show up soon thereafter in a fine rage. A Scotsman was being linked to her name, after all. He would want to know why.
What wasn’t surprising was that each accounting of the incident was wrong in some respect. But then that was quite typical of gossip. After it had made a few rounds, it was barely recognizable.
One retelling had poor Howard thoroughly thrashed by the Highlander. Another had Kimberly breaking off an engagement with Lachlan, which was supposedly what caused him to go berserk when he saw her with Howard. Still another account had it that James Travers was the one who had delivered that punch to the viscount. The marquis hadn’t even been present, yet he was being dragged into the tale because of his recent association with her. And then she’d heard that she’d turned down Lachlan’s marriage proposal twice, thrice, and one gentleman claimed it was six times—just to give an excuse for his jealous behavior, she supposed.
Jealous behavior? Now nothing could get more absurd than that. Perhaps if Megan had been involved, but her? Her only involvement with him, aside from several arguments, had been that one night they’d shared together when they had both imbibed too much champagne. Ever since, they’d been somewhat on the close side of enemies. His one proposal of marriage, which hadn’t even been a true proposal, had come belatedly, and that, undoubtedly, merely to clear his conscience.
Is it marriage you’re wanting from me then?Hardly a heartfelt declaration by any interpretation.
So what did cause him to attack Howard Canston?
Now that Kimberly had had time to think about it—she’d thought about nothing else all day—she suspected there must be a disagreement of some sort between the two men, something recent, or even something long-standing, but just unresolved. Something that had been building toward an explosion since they’d been under the same roof—something that had absolutely nothing to do with her. And she, unfortunately, just happened to be present when they caught up with each other and tempers finally snapped—in this case, Lachlan’s.
But at the time, it had happened too quickly. She’d been utterly shocked. She hadn’t even seen Lachlan approaching, which might have at least given her warning of what was about to happen. But there’d been no warning, and in her incredulous state, she’d reacted impulsively. And two wrongs certainly didn’t add up to a right.
She shouldn’t have hit him. She had regretted it instantly. An act of violence like that was as bad as the one that prompted it, even if breaking her flimsy parasol over his head hadn’t hurt him one little bit.
And Lachlan certainly hadn’t expected an attack. He’d been surprised enough to demand, shout in fact, “What the devil did you hit me for?”
Perhaps if he hadn’t yelled at her, she might have apologized—might have. But she was appalled by her own action by then as much as with his, and instead countered in nearly as loud a voice, “What the devil did you hithimfor? This is England, not your savage Highlands. People actually discuss things here without resorting to violence.”
To that little gem of idiotic enlightenment, he’d taken a very long look at the broken parasol she was still gripping, even raised a sardonic brow at her, and her face had exploded with brilliant color. And just in case she hadn’t understood his pointed look, he said derisively, “You’ve a fine way of discussing things, darlin’, that you do.”
He’d marched off then without another word, and every line of his tall body proclaimed loudly the high state of fury he was still in. And Kimberly hadn’t seen him again all day, nor Howard either, for that matter. The viscount had been so dazed from that single punch that it had taken him a good ten minutes to stand. And by then it was obvious that he was now angry too, and who could blame him? Though he tried admirably not to show it, the glint in his deep blue eyes, at least in the one that wasn’t starting to swell closed, was quite chilling.
But when asked why Lachlan had attacked him, this from nosy little Abagail, he’d merely said, “Deuced if I know.”
That hadn’t satisfied anyone’s curiosity, certainly not the two gossips. The general assumption was that jealousy had been Lachlan’s motive. Well, Kimberly knew better, and if she ever spoke to that infuriating man again, she just might ask him the real reason. However, it was seriously doubtful that shewouldever speak to him again.
Once again he’d caused her to behave in a manner she found utterly unacceptable, and she was infuriated. She wished she knew what it was about him that could make her so forget herself, that she could repeatedly throw etiquette and good breeding to the wayside when sheknewwhat was proper and acceptable.
Actually, she had experienced more exasperation and real anger in the short time she’d known Lachlan MacGregor than she had in the last several years at home with her tyrant father—although, she had to admit, she’d developed a long-standing habit of ignoring her father. She couldn’t quite manage that with the handsome Highlander. No, not at all.
23
“Goodness, you gave me a start,” Megan said as she entered the conservatory and noticed the sudden movement to her left. “What in the world are you doing in here in the dark?”
Kimberly shrugged, trailing a finger along a prickly leaf on the table of plants next to her. “It’s not all that dark in here, I can see the mansion all lit up through the windows.”
“Hmmm, you’re quite right,” Megan allowed, after a quick glance toward the solid bank of glass facing the house. “Haven’t been in here before at night myself, which is why I brought this lamp along—that I won’t need now.”
