Her Scottish Groom Page 6

  Although she enjoyed the anonymity of the crowd, she appreciated her tall husband’s bulk as he protected her from the inevitable shoving and pushing. They stayed at the rail as the buildings and bustle of Manhattan dwindled behind them, while the sun lowered in the west.

  By the time they returned to the suite, a quarrel had erupted between the lady’s maid hired by Mrs. Quinn and his lordship’s valet as to who should use the single dressing room first.

  “Ladies first, of course, Davison.” His lordship tossed a loose strand of hair off his forehead impatiently.

  “I think it would be best if his lordship dressed first.” The dark windblown locks waving about her husband’s face riveted Diantha’s attention. They looked so soft and thick. Her fingers twitched involuntarily. “Ladies tend to require more time, and we are expected to be late.”

  And so she washed her face and Florette brushed out her hair to the accompaniment of her groom’s baritone rumbling through the closed door to the dressing room. After a quick knock, he announced that he would await her in the saloon.

  As she brought out the gown she had pressed earlier in the day, the Frenchwoman apologized. “I tried to find a suitable gown for this evening, milady, but this is the best I could come up with.”

  “I’m sure it will do very well, thank you.” Diantha sighed at the yards of coral pink taffeta.

  It looked better than her traveling dress, she decided as she surveyed her final appearance in the full-length mirror bolted on the dressing room wall. Full evening dress would not suit the confines of a ship, so Florette had selected a dinner dress instead.

  Although long-sleeved, it possessed the plunging neckline considered de rigueur for evenings, outlined in bisque-colored lace. A deep flounce of more lace trimmed the pointed bottom of the bodice where it flared over her hips, and formed three wide chevrons down the smooth front of the skirt.

  Twisting to see the back, she noticed still more of the pale lace in the softly puffed bustle. “I’m still not sure about the color, but it’s so stylish! Thank you, Florette. You chose very well.”

  “It’s difficult to make a poor choice from a wardrobe by Monsieur Worth. Although perhaps milady should avoid warm tones in the future.” The maid offered her opinion cautiously, as though expecting a reprimand.

  “I suppose.” Diantha picked up a silk shawl that matched the trim of her gown. “I’ve always liked blues myself. Or even red.” She sighed wistfully as she left her cabin. Decent women, according to Mama, did not wear any shade of red.

  Feeling very self-conscious walking alone, she made her way down the hall to the first-class saloon, which doubled as the dining room. To her irritation, Kieran appeared to be flirting with a stunning brunette in amethyst satin. A number of covert glances from the other passengers indicated that they recognized her, and awaited her reaction.

  Refusing to provide fodder for gossip, she focused on the captain, who presented himself almost immediately. “I see Lord Rossburn has met some guests already. Would you be so kind as to introduce me as well?”

  She must sound like the stupidest creature in nature, she thought, as the captain presented several people to her. If Kieran had waited for an introduction to that woman, she would eat her fan. Illicit relationships abounded at her family’s level of society, and she knew the look of mutual interest when she saw it.

  The captain confirmed her suspicions by resolutely steering her away from the dark-haired woman. However, the education in drawing-room warfare she had gained from her mother’s social climbing stood her well.

  “Please forgive me, but I believe I see my husband.” Diantha smiled at the passengers clustered around her. “Newlyweds, you know.”

  She strolled over to where he stood. Even in her chagrin his sculpted profile robbed her of breath, but she had something to take care of. “Good evening, my dear.”

  He frowned at her mocking words, but returned her greeting civilly. She placed a possessive hand on his arm and assessed the dark beauty. Up close, the woman’s looks did not strike one as out of the ordinary. She appeared to be in her early thirties, although she dressed to the best advantage. The stranger’s eyes sparkled with vivacity as she returned Diantha’s scrutiny.

  Buoyed by a Worth gown, even in the wrong color, she begged her husband to introduce her.

  “Indeed, my dear, I should like to do that very thing.” He turned to the woman. “May I present—?” He arched his brows with a quizzical expression, and Diantha realized with indignation that he had not even ascertained the creature’s name.

  “Senhora Henriques, of Brazil, and her husband.” Turning, they saw the captain, accompanied by a dapper middle-aged man.

  Kieran remained undisturbed by the interruption. “Madam, Senhora Henriques.” He inclined his head to Diantha. “Senhora, this is Lady Rossburn.”

  “I am honored, your ladyship.” White teeth flashed in amusement as she curtsied.

  “Delighted.” Diantha cocked her head. “I do hope you forgive my assumption that you knew my husband. He gave the impression of speaking with an old friend.” Anger flashed in the dark eyes as she emphasized the second-to-last word. A few titters sounded nearby. “Of course, I should have remembered that my husband has no permanent acquaintances in the United States.”

  At that point, the dinner bell sounded. Visibly relieved, the captain escorted the Rossburns to his table. Her warning delivered, she spent the meal discussing the ship’s itinerary.

  Chapter 4

  Kieran made no attempt to avoid Senhora Henriques over the next few days, although to his credit, he did not overtly seek her out. Nevertheless, Diantha’s teeth gritted whenever she saw the lovely Brazilian.

  Without access to a library, she read every periodical in the saloon at least twice. Mama had included her stitchery in her luggage but she quickly had her fill of needlepoint. Talking with the other passengers provided limited amusement, for they either fawned on her or were intimidated.

  She envied her husband his freedom to move about the ship. Convention required her to remain in her cabin unless going to a meal. The rest of the time, her maid or her husband must accompany her. Kieran thoughtfully escorted her about the deck each day, and at least demonstrated the consideration to give her his full attention. Although not comfortable enough with him to speak without constraint, their conversations passed amiably.

  They took breakfast in their private dining room each morning, and usually luncheon or dinner. But whether they dined privately or not, he invariably joined the other gentlemen in the saloon for afterdinner brandies.

  When she heard his cabin door close behind him each night, she could not repress a twinge of jealousy. She comforted herself with the knowledge that Senhora Henriques was not permitted to enter the saloon during the after-dinner hours either.

  * * *

  She recorded her impressions of the voyage in a thin composition book she had smuggled into one of her trunks. The first time Kieran had walked in while she wrote at their small dining table, she had tried unsuccessfully to hide it. To her amazement, he neither confiscated it nor insisted she stop. Just to be safe, she secreted it in the lining of her trunk during the day.

  He did not approach her bedroom at all, although she became used to the touch of his hand on her arm and at the small of her back as they strolled along the railing. All in all, she thought their marriage off to as good a start as she could expect. Until the day they docked in Halifax.

  While the ship took on supplies and mail, she and Florette took a turn around the deck in the chill Canadian air. Returning to her bedroom, Diantha idly thumbed through a packet of congratulatory telegrams delivered with their mail while Florette unpacked a dress for her to wear to dinner that night.

  His lordship had received a large packet of mail as well, and had begged off their daily walk to go through it. He had appropriated the dining room table, as he needed room to write replies.

  When Kieran did appear in her doorway, she looke
d up in surprise. In the stuffy suite, he had removed his frock coat and neckcloth.

  She could not help noticing how well his vest clung to his torso as it narrowed to his hips. Aware that she had been nearly ogling him, she raised her gaze to his face. “Are you finished already?”

  “Not yet. May I have a word with you?” Despite the civil words, his eyes blazed with anger. Curtly ordering Florette to leave their quarters, he grabbed her arm and pulled her through their dressing room to the dining room.

  She faced him as soon as he shut the dining room door behind them. “What do you mean by dismissing my maid?”

  “What do I mean? What the hell do you think you’re about, you conniving little jade?” A vein beat at his temple as he shouted.

  She started and moved to place the solid table between them. “Kieran—your lordship—what have I done?” She grasped its edge so he would not see her shaking hands.

  His voice dropped to a quiet even more frightening than his raised voice. “What have you done?” He tossed a crumpled piece of paper onto the table’s surface. It bounced off a pile of papers to land by her hand. “Why don’t you explain to me?”

  Afraid to take her eyes off him, she picked it up and unfolded it. Her father had sent him a telegram. As she read, her knees buckled.

  Papa not only demanded an apology from Kieran for his insolence the day they left, he wanted to know why he had not consummated the marriage, voiced in terms so blunt that she gasped in shame.

  Lifting her gaze to Kieran’s, she sought words to assuage his wrath. “I swear to you, I had nothing to do with this. Why are you blaming me?” Her voice shook in spite of her attempt to control it.

  Eyes blazing aqua, he leaned in to her across the table. “Of all the brass-faced lies I’ve heard, that has to be the biggest. You cannot think I am stupid enough to believe you didn’t go crying to your father over me.”

  She stood her ground, her own wrath igniting. “You arrogant stuffed shirt! As if you would be worth my breath to complain about!”

  “Don’t change the subject!” He snatched the hapless wad of paper and, coming around the table, backed her up to the wall. “He’s talking about intimate details that happened in our bedroom! My God, and I thought your mother had no shame.” He raised the hand clutching the paper.

  Diantha instantly collapsed against the panels, arms flying up to protect her head. She braced herself for long seconds, but the blow never fell. Only the sound of her husband’s labored breathing filled the room. When she dared to look up, he still stood over her with his hand raised, but the wrath had died out of his eyes. Instead he regarded her with amazement.

  “I threw the telegram.” He stared at her. “Surely you don’t think I would hit you?”

  Glancing to one side, she saw where the scrap of paper had fallen.

  “Please excuse me—I need to freshen up.” Bracing her trembling knees, she straightened her legs. He stepped back, giving her a clear path as she sidled past him.

  In the safety of her own room, she made her way blindly to sit on the narrow bed and pressed a hand to her hammering heart. The marriage would never work, not if he flew into rages worse than her father’s.

  The door to the cabin opened. Kieran entered and pushed it closed behind him. She stood stiffly; her hands clenched as much in fear as in anger.

  The latter emotion won out. “Please leave, your lordship.”

  “Your father hit you.” The quiet statement hung between them as she shrugged a shoulder.

  “That’s his prerogative. All the laws say so.” After one glance at his face, she stared at the oriental rug decorating the floor.

  “I’m sorry.” He did not approach her, but she could not bear the pity in his eyes.

  Feeling suffocated, she walked over to gaze out of a porthole. The busy harbor scene outside barely registered on her mind. “Why? I’m sure your father dispensed corporal punishment, too.”

  “I was on the receiving end of the rod often enough to make me behave, but that’s not what I’m talking about.” His footsteps sounded on the wooden floor. “I would never strike you.”

  She froze as she felt his hand on her shoulder. “So you say.”

  His hand dropped and his frustration showed once more. “You don’t believe me?”

  “I’d like to, but my parents both have—choleric temperaments.” She rounded on him. “And after that display, why should I think you’re any different?” Her face stiffened as she fought back tears. “How could you think I would speak of such personal things to anyone, much less my father?”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “Who else could have known that we didn’t spend the night together?”

  She rolled her eyes. “The servants?”

  He all but goggled at her. “Are you suggesting that your father set his servants to spy on us?”

  “You think not? That’s how he runs his companies.”

  “Diantha, I will not be spied upon! Not by your father or anyone! Is that understood?” His tone sharpened, but not to the proportions of his earlier rage.

  “Be sure to tell him that. It’s a long stroll back to New York.” She smiled sweetly. “But as a member of the aristocracy, you can walk on water, can’t you!”

  He scowled at her. “You, my girl, are an irreligious termagant. And if you thought the servants sent it, why did you wait till now to say so?”

  She stared at his patterned vest of deep blue. “Because you aren’t yelling at me now.” Her parents would have scolded her now for sounding like a pettish child. Kieran sighed and took her hand, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles.

  “I should have kept a tighter rein on my temper. I swear to you I would never raise a hand against a woman.” Lacing his fingers with hers, he pressed a kiss onto the taut skin of her knuckle, his gaze never leaving her face. Startled by the unexpected action, she tried to remove it from his grasp, but he did not let go.

  Mesmerized by the handsome face so close to hers, she could barely speak. “I cannot entirely blame you for your anger. If I had been in your place, I would very likely have done the same.”

  A twinkle entered the wide eyes so close to hers. “Truly? Pounding the table and shouting?”

  “It’s possible.” She bit her lip. “I have quite a dreadful temper myself.”

  He gave her a half smile. “Even after months of being engaged, we don’t know each other well at all, do we?”

  She supposed she should deny it, but she could not bring herself to do so. “It’s not as if we had any chance to. My parents forbade me to speak of my interests, and it would never occur to them to ask about yours.”

  “Perhaps it’s time to remedy that.” At his husky whisper, her knees went weak for the second time in half an hour, but for an entirely different reason. He slid his arms around her.

  “Perhaps it is.” Her heart thudded as she watched his mouth descend to hers. At the touch of his full lips on hers, she inhaled and opened to him, inviting him to explore her mouth as he had before. He complied, bending her back a little to gain better access, tasting her fully.

  Her arms twined around his neck. One hand clutched at the broadcloth stretched across his muscular back while the other caressed his nape. She buried her fingers in his thick black locks, reveling in the feel of the soft waves.

  His mouth moved from hers to kiss her cheeks and chin, even her eyelids. She became aware of a throbbing sensation in her most secret place, and of a hardened length on Kieran’s body that pressed against it, increasing the heat she felt.

  “Oh God, Diantha.” His breath puffed hot in her ear just before his teeth closed gently on the soft lobe.

  She gave a strangled cry at the soft-sharp caress and he lifted his head, panting. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “You didn’t.” She felt giddy, gasping for breath. She feared her tightly corseted lungs would burst. “You just startled me. I liked it.”

  He straightened, a slow smile spread
ing across his face. “Did you?”

  She followed his movement, not wanting to break contact. At his question, she nodded. “You don’t mind?”

  He went utterly still before lifting a hand to caress her cheek with his knuckles. “Diantha, listen to me.” His manner became serious. “I do not mind in the least that you enjoy my touch. Your pleasure in our physical relations is as important as mine. Do you understand?” She did not entirely, but she nodded anyway. “Conversely, if I do something in bed you dislike, I want you to tell me that too.”

  She nodded, her brow puckering. “I will, but we’re not in bed.”

  A chuckle shook him. “Not yet. Remember, I only gave you three days’ grace.”

  “But that was for conjugal duties. We’re not engaged in those right now.” Her eyes widened. “Are we?”

  He smiled down at her tenderly. “Let’s just say we’re engaged in the preliminaries.”

  “Really?” She blinked. “Eliza was right, they are delightful. Are we going to keep doing this until dinner?”

  He struggled to keep a straight face and lost. Laughing, he hugged her closer. “I fear if we did, we would scandalize everyone else on board.” He bent to whisper against her lips. “But we could continue a while longer.”

  She did not know how she could feel so warm and yet shiver as he kissed her again. She sagged against him, lips parted as he licked and nibbled the sensitive skin of her neck. “Kieran, oh yes, that feels very good.” Blood pounded in her ears until it resolved into a sharp rapping on the door.

  He heard it too and muffled a groan against her throat. Straightening, he held her close as Florette’s voice came from the passageway.

  “Milady, I cannot wait any longer to press your dinner gown.”

  Diantha looked up apologetically. “She really does need to start now if I’m going to be ready in time for dinner. It has a great many flounces. And she’ll need time to arrange my hair.”

  Kieran raised his voice. “We shall be dining in our suite this evening. Lady Rossburn can wear what she’s got on.”