Chapter 10

10

E very horse and cart, carriage and pedestrian bounced in front of Dougal as he scrambled back down the street on horseback toward Leven House. Even a dog, a cat and a bird got in his way as if the universe were conspiring against him. Why had it not occurred to him to ask if they'd like his escort before? What an idiot he'd been to leave.

"Confound it," he growled as he finally arrived at what appeared to be a quiet house.

Dougal practically leapt off his horse in his haste, marching up to the front door. He raised his hand, prepared to demand entry, but before he could knock, the butler opened the door and peered out with an expression that said he was too late.

"I'm too late." The words fell from Dougal's mouth, landing like a pile of rocks at his feet.

Grant's expression was grim as he gave a curt nod. "Aye, my lord. They left a half hour ago."

Hell and damnation. Dougal fisted his hands at his sides in frustration, thinking today of all days might be a good one to let off steam in the Duke of Sutherland's gymnasium. Except there was no time for that either. "I thought they were leaving after luncheon?"

Grant nodded once more. "Aye, my lord, but the lasses requested an earlier departure." He leaned in closer, the way he'd started to do now. "To be frank, I think the idea of waiting until luncheon to face their…family, was a bit much."

Dougal couldn't blame them for trying to get out of the house quicker than originally planned. He wouldn't want to remain any longer either. And sitting around waiting for luncheon, where Mary would lord it over them that she was getting her way sounded miserable.

Dougal considered hopping on his horse and riding all the way to the Highlands. Given his message, his servants there would already be aware of his impending arrival. Then he'd ride to the dower cottage in Skerray and… And what?

Invite them to dinner? Invite himself to dinner? Insert himself in their lives?

What right did he have to do that? Poppy would never be his. He wasn't free to give himself to her. Until he dealt with the Lucia situation, there was nothing he should be doing about Poppy.

He should let her go.

Let her live her life without him.

And yet… The urge to chase after her was so strong within him that he had to brace himself on the front stoop of the Leven residence rather than turn toward his mount.

The fact of the matter was that he was fairly certain…he was in love with Poppy Featherstone.

"Are you well, my lord?" Grant eyed him with concern, looking ready to grab Dougal if he somehow collapsed.

"Nay," he croaked, every emotion swirling into a tight knot that held his tongue in his throat.

The butler nodded. "Neither am I if I may be so bold. Is there anything I can do for ye, my lord?"

Dougal shook his head, flexing his fingers, which had become numb in his clenched fists. There was nothing to do. At least, nothing anyone else could do. "Good day," Dougal managed to say.

"As well to ye, my lord." Grant nodded, though he didn't close the door, just watched him with that same look of concern.

How terrible did he look on the outside that the butler seemed ready to catch him?

Dougal cleared his throat and turned around, taking the steps a bit slower than usual in case his body decided to plant him on the ground in retaliation for this situation being so out of control.

As Dougal rode back down the street toward his house, a familiar carriage sat out front. The crest of Lucia Steventon's father was boldly gilded on the side.

She'd returned. Bloody fecking hell . This was the last thing he needed. The absolute last. Of all the blasted timing!

His insides hardened as if he'd swallowed a boulder molded by his sister. Lucia opened the window of her carriage as he passed. She popped out her pretty blonde head and smiled at him as if she'd finally found the treasure she'd been searching for.

Dougal couldn't help his surprise and attempted to mold his expression to say otherwise. This was highly improper. Ladies did not arrive at men's homes, even if they were engaged. Even if her presence was desired—though, in this case, it was not.

"My lord." Lucia's tone was familiar, even though she used a formal expression. Her gaze roved over his figure on the horse. "I was hoping to catch you. It's been so long since we last saw each other."

Dougal made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, uncertain what to say in this particular situation. A polite gentleman might invite her inside, but a polite gentleman would also be worried about inviting her inside. And while he was mostly polite, he wasn't feeling very courteous at the moment, considering Lucia had decided to come back from a decade abroad to nail the lid on his coffin.

"We were passing by," she continued, waving her hand inside the carriage to someone he couldn't see.

At that moment, the carriage door opened on the other side. But the person stepped around the back to greet him. Sir George Steventon.

Dougal held his grimace tightly inside, not wanting the elder gentleman to see his displeasure at such a visit. It was one thing for a lady to come uninvited to a man's house, quite another for her to show up with her father.

"I inquired inside, but you weren't here." The statement sounded almost like an accusation. The man was gray all over his head, thinning at the temples, and had a permanently pinched look about his face. No doubt, with a daughter like Lucia, he was kept plenty on his toes.

Dougal managed to clear his throat, hoping it would clear his head and give him the right thing to say, but alas, no luck.

Dougal dismounted, holding the reins and keeping his horse between him and the carriage. Fortunately, he was tall enough to see well over the animal, though Sir George had to look up. Poor fellow.

"Do come in, then." Though the invitation was given, it wasn't given with pleasure. Dougal didn't feel the need to be friendly. After all, they were putting him out, and he might as well set a tone now. The last thing he wanted to do was invite them inside to be browbeaten into a marriage he'd forgotten about. And one that seemed suspiciously convenient now for a woman he'd not seen in years. If only he could crack open their heads like a couple of walnuts and figure out what had brought them here.

Once settled in his drawing room, Dougal called for tea. He sat opposite the father and daughter. Lucia looked even more boring than she had before. Her face was expressionless. Her eyes lacked life. How had he once found her captivating? His gaze fell on the sideboard where a crystal decanter gleamed in the sunlight, beckoning him to drink the contents. That was how, of course. Drink seemed to give a man a different view of people, women in particular.

"Glad we caught you in town," her father said, shifting on his chair. The way his gaze wouldn't quite meet Dougal's rankled.

"Very lucky indeed, as I am leaving shortly," Douglas said, making the declaration before he'd even had a chance to contemplate if that were what he would be doing.

The only plans he'd made thus far were to open his castle in the north. But they need not know another thing about it. Only that he was unavailable for whatever this was. Felt like an ambush, to be sure.

"Is that so?" Lucia's father seemed perturbed, glancing at his daughter, who wore an equally perturbed expression, but Dougal didn't care. "We were hoping to get a wedding date established."

Now was the chance for Dougal to call off the whole thing, but he didn't want to embarrass Lucia nor incite her father into calling him out into a duel. But he also couldn't ignore the reminder of a life they hadn't planned. A foolish whim they'd shared a decade ago when both of them had been practically children and both in their cups. This matter needed to be settled before it went any further.

"I dinna believe a formal proposal has been made," Dougal countered. He kept his expression neutral, daring them to argue.

Lucia sat up straighter and, to her credit, made her expressionless face form into embarrassment—for him. She even blushed a little. Och, but she was cunning. "My lord, you have forgotten. Friends surrounded us. Many witnesses to your declarations of…love." At this, her hand fluttered to her heart, and she batted her lashes.

He'd seen better acting at Covent Gardens. She was truly bad at this, and she clearly wanted something from him. Needed something.

Sir George sputtered, hands pressed to the arms of his chair, knuckles going white. What exactly had she told her father? For Dougal was certain she'd told him a tall tale.

Dougal remembered that night, though not very well. The rounds and rounds of ale. The drams and drams of whisky. How his friends, including Colonel Austen, had hoisted them on their shoulders. How Lucia wasn't supposed to be out. How she and several of her friends had somehow managed it, meeting up with the lot of them at someone's house. A friend he couldn't even remember now. The scandal that should have gone in the paper but didn't because they'd all kept quiet about it.

"Is it not your birthday in a fortnight?" Lucia asked shyly. "I've never forgotten."

Dougal felt as though he'd slipped into a nightmare that he couldn't get out of. This was ridiculous. He wanted to shout, "If ye'd not forgotten, then where have ye been? What is going on right now that has made ye come back?"

"I do believe there's been a misunderstanding." Dougal was quite proud of the way he kept his tone even.

Did Lucia believe him such a gentleman that he wouldn't rat her out for her debauchery?

"I don't believe there's been anything of the sort," Sir George said, and Dougal felt bad for the man being so thoroughly duped by his daughter.

The right thing to do would be for Lucia to tell her father. Which did not appear to be something she was interested in doing.

Dougal looked at her pointedly, encouraging without words for her to come clean. But the stubborn chit raised her chin and gave him a look that he'd seen a hundred times on Mary's face. She was digging in her heels, and she was going to make him pay if he so much as tried to change her plans.

Fabulous, he thought with all the sarcasm he imagined Poppy would say.

"You had an agreement to wed on your twenty-ninth birthday," Sir George continued as if Dougal had agreed. "Now, given it is in a fortnight, I'm not certain that we'll be able to make that date, but we can get close if we begin planning now and announce the banns."

Lucia nodded and glanced at her father with a treacle-sweet smile, then back to Dougal, her expression cooling. "Your sister has very kindly offered to help. And I'm so glad she contacted me when she did to let me know you were finally ready for me to come back to London and begin a life with you. I do hope you've enjoyed these past years and the special gift of time I gave you."

Dougal almost spit out his tea, but rather than the tea spewing from his mouth, he sucked it back in, choking on the leafy water. He started to cough, hoping that maybe the tea would take him out now. Dying seemed preferential to whatever this madness was.

Neither of his guests offered assistance. Lucia looked put out that he would cough over what she'd said, and her father looked at Dougal as though he were a toddler throwing a tantrum. The both of them were horrid people, he decided. Absolutely horrid.

Horrible people often made friends with one another, which explained Lucia and Mary's connection.

Of course, his sister was behind this. And contrary to what Lucia had said, Mary had never done anything kind a day in her life. But that also answered a burning question he'd had for days: who had orchestrated all of this? Lucia, though clever and devious as she'd proven, still didn't strike Dougal as a mastermind.

Mary, on the other hand, was a schemer to a fault and constantly looking for ways to ruin his and everyone else's lives. He wouldn't doubt that she'd kept a note in her diary to send Lucia a reminder of their promise and ticked off the days over the last ten years until she could make that happen. But perhaps his obvious interest in Poppy Featherstone had been the straw that broke the camel's back. For whatever reason, Mary could not abide the two of them being happy together.

"Are you an honorable man, Lord Reay?" Sir George asked, his yellowing teeth showing in what might pass for a smile if he were a monster hiding under the bed.

Dougal gritted his teeth. "Of course, I am." For the man to suggest otherwise was a great insult, and in his own home no less.

"Then I do not think we have anything else to discuss other than the marriage settlements. I've taken the liberty of having my solicitor draw up an appropriate contract, sir." He reached into his coat, pulling out a thick packet of papers.

Dougal cleared his throat, grateful for a wee reprieve as he tried to buy a few minutes to think about this. He would certainly not sign the stack Sir George held, and he also couldn't agree to look it over. He wouldn't go to his desk, pull out paper and take notes on terms to send to his solicitor. That would only give credence to this insane situation. When a man and woman married, they should both want it. And it wasn't as if he'd gotten Lucia with child and was honor-bound to marry her. Hell, he hadn't even kissed her. Though he'd watched her kiss plenty of the other lads that night.

If every man who declared his love for a woman while in a drunken haze was then reduced to marrying her, the world would be a very wedded place. And to be fair, he'd only once told Lucia he loved her.

He glanced down at her midsection now, wondering if she'd gotten into a bad way with someone abroad. If the result of that union had forced her to seek him out, Mary's letter had come to her at a most fortuitous time. Was she trying to pawn a bastard off on him?

Lucia glared at him when he met her gaze, but nothing in her angry expression gave away the truth. He'd only be able to find that out when she started to round and then only for certain when she gave birth. And he'd have to stay away from her, never lay with her, just as proof. But by then, they'd already be wed, this farce complete, and nothing he could do about it.

There was always an annulment. But what was the use of even putting himself into a situation like that? It would be stupid.

Time for him to put an end to his meeting.

"I dinna discuss anything without my solicitor, nor do I look over terms without him," Dougal said. "And he is currently out of town. I will send him a note to be in touch with me upon his return, and then we will contact ye in regard to this matter."

Lucia scowled at his terminology, but Dougal didn't want to put voice to anything close to betrothal that could be construed as consent to the agreement.

Besides, Mr. Cole, his solicitor, was not out of town. Dougal would be certain to have a meeting with him as soon as he could get these two out of his hair.

"I do hope you understand the seriousness of this situation," Sir George said, speaking to Dougal as if he were a child in need of education.

He'd had enough. Politeness didn't seem to be the appropriate way to respond now, and it certainly hadn't gotten him anywhere in the last few days since he'd found out that Lucia was coming to make good on a flimsy comment at best.

"I hardly think using the word ‘serious' in conjunction with a drunken nineteen-year-old's ramblings is appropriate, sir, and yet here we are. I have some business to attend to, so while this meeting has been…interesting, I'm afraid I'll have to ask ye to depart."

The older man bared his teeth, smacking his lips together the way Dougal had seen a rabid dog do once. Lucia, too, started to hem and haw. Before either of them could say something that they'd regret, Dougal stood.

"I'll remind ye that ye came by unannounced. And if I were I no' a generous man, I might have denied ye entry merely on the rudeness of such an act, and by society's mark, I'd have been within my rights to do so. I am, however, gracious when needed."

Lucia stood, understanding that Dougal was annoyed and quite serious, before her father did. She also seemed to understand that if she were to get what she wanted, she needed to behave—not that Dougal had any plans to give her what she wanted.

"Come along, Papa, we needn't take up any more of my fiancé's time." When she said fiancé, she looked hard at Dougal. "Besides, I need to get ready for tea at my dear friend Lady Leven's. I quite look forward to getting to know my future sister-in-law better."

Dougal kept his smile placid, not interested in engaging in whatever mind game she was attempting to start. He'd said his piece, and he intended to find a way out of this and to get to the bottom of her sudden interest in him.

"Oh, by the way," Lucia said as she neared the door to the drawing room, "Lord Campbell sends his regards and congratulations to the two of us."

Dougal turned his back to hide his bristle. Campbell had been present during the unfortunate evening Dougal had drunk too many whiskeys and then made the most idiotic declaration of his life. Campbell also hated Dougal for beating him out of several honors at Oxford and warning Mary against him. The man didn't understand Dougal was doing him a favor, for he'd not wish his sister on anyone.

How interesting that he was still in touch with Lucia. Again, he glanced toward her midsection, wondering if it was Campbell who might have planted his seed there. The web of who was involved with the reminder of this ridiculous proposal grew wider.