The Highlander's English Bride Page 5

  Aden almost levitated with outrage. “What?”

  His daughter ignored him to give Graeme another cheek-splitting grin. “I remember. That’ll be such fun.”

  “Oh, my God,” her father muttered.

  “Come along, darling,” Vivien said, “before you give your father an apoplectic fit.”

  Maggie slid off Graeme’s lap and joined her mother. “What’s an ap . . . popectic fit?”

  “It’s what you give Papa on a regular basis.”

  “She’s not the only one,” Aden grumbled.

  His wife ignored him, ushering Maggie out into the care of a waiting maid. When she returned to perch on the leather ottoman at her husband’s feet, Aden sighed.

  “Now, what?” he asked with resignation.

  Vivien flashed a smile. “You’re awfully good, you know. I swear you can read my mind.”

  Aden leaned down to press a lingering kiss to her forehead. Vivien’s eyes fluttered shut, and she rested a hand on her husband’s knee.

  Envy flashed through Graeme like a bolt of lightning—envy for what Aden and Vivien shared, good and bad. They had a lively and sometimes contentious relationship, but there was no doubt they loved and guarded each other and their children with fierce devotion.

  “I’ve had plenty of practice in doing so,” Aden said. “Especially since you’re as good at keeping secrets as your daughter.”

  Vivien grimaced. “This is one secret I wish I could keep.”

  “Is it about who Lady Sabrina was waiting for in the park?” Graeme asked.

  “Yes, and neither of you is going to be happy with the answer.” She threw Graeme a troubled look. “Especially not you.”

  “I’ve just met the lass. Why would I care?”

  “Because she was meeting the Marquess of Cringlewood.”

  For several moments, ominous thunder seemed to rumble around in Graeme’s head, even as a fraught silence weighed heavily on the room. The mental noise inside him built to a crescendo, pushing him up out of his chair.

  “Right, I’m off,” he said.

  Aden pointed a finger at him. “Sit down, Graeme.”

  “Bugger that.”

  “Sit. Down.”

  Graeme grimaced, but sat. When Aden employed that tone of voice, everyone—even stubborn Highlanders—obeyed without question.

  Still, he couldn’t help glaring at his chief. “Did you know the bastard was back in town?”

  “Of course not. I would have told you about it—and done something about it, too.”

  “I don’t know that you can do anything,” Vivien said.

  “Nonsense. I’ll go straight to my father,” Aden replied.

  “I’m afraid that won’t work. Not this time.”

  “Why the hell not?” Graeme demanded.

  Aden’s eyes narrowed to obsidian slits. “Watch your tone with my wife, lad.”

  Vivien patted her husband’s knee. “No, Graeme has every right to be upset.”

  Graeme forced down the choking anger. Now was not the time to lose control. He’d do that later, when he had the bastard in his sights.

  “I’m sorry, Vivien. I’m just . . . surprised,” he said in a softer voice.

  “I was, too. I almost fell out of my chair when Sabrina told me.”

  “I thought we’d driven him right out of England,” Graeme said.

  “He returned seven weeks ago,” Aden replied, “and has been living in seclusion in the country. Sir Dominic and I made it clear that he risked a great deal of trouble if he returned to town, but our warning obviously didn’t sink in firmly enough.”

  “And you never thought to tell me he was back?” Graeme asked.

  “Since you would have run off half-cocked, I did not. I wrote to Lord Arnprior, as well as to Royal and Ainsley, and assured them I would deal with it. At the time, I deemed that to be enough.”

  Graeme covered his eyes, fatigue warring with fury in every muscle. He couldn’t believe his family was again faced with the nightmare that was the Marquess of Cringlewood.

  The man had once been a force to reckon with. From a distinguished family and with deep connections in the aristocracy, the marquess had been a prime catch on the marriage mart.

  Cringlewood was also a rapist. He’d assaulted his fiancée, the beautiful and very wealthy Ainsley Matthews. Impregnated by her attacker, Lady Ainsley had fled to Scotland to bear her child in secret. She’d then turned to the only man she trusted to care for her daughter and to keep her secrets safe.

  That man was Graeme’s brother, Royal.

  As befitted the finest man who’d ever walked the planet, Royal had claimed little Tira as his own daughter, and eventually married Ainsley. The pair had been building a new life in Glasgow until Cringlewood ferreted out Ainsley’s secret. With a band of hired thugs, the marquess had traveled north and kidnapped mother and daughter. Since Cringlewood had been massively in debt from bad investments and in need of Ainsley’s fortune, he’d intended to blackmail her into using Scotland’s more lenient marriage laws to obtain a divorce and marry him.

  The Kendricks had rescued the lassies, but Ainsley had shot and wounded Cringlewood in the process. Angus, Graeme’s grandfather, had also killed one of the thugs in the ensuing mayhem. That had put them all in legal jeopardy. Cringlewood was a monster, but he was also Tira’s father and a nobleman. Royal and Ainsley had been forced to flee to Canada, taking Tira and Angus with them.

  In the ensuing months, Nick and Victoria, along with Aden and other influential friends, had exerted pressure to keep a lid on the scandal and convince Cringlewood to draw in his horns. The threat of even more dire financial consequences had done the trick, and they’d finally wrung an agreement from him. The marquess had departed for the Continent to lick his wounds and escape his creditors.

  In the meantime, Graeme had made it his personal mission to track down all the remaining kidnappers and bring them to justice. His success in that regard had attracted Aden’s notice and the invitation to work for him.

  Just this past spring, Royal and Ainsley had finally returned home, secure in the knowledge that Cringlewood, ostensibly still in exile on the Continent, was no longer a threat.

  Now, though, the bastard was back and likely to cause trouble.

  Graeme lifted his head to look at Aden. “We have to contain the situation, before Royal gets wind of it.”

  “Of course we do.” Aden turned to his wife. “I haven’t spoken to the king in a few weeks. Why do you think I won’t be able to get him to boot the scum out of town?”

  “Sabrina mentioned that Cringlewood and Lady Conyngham are close, and you know what that means. I suspect her ladyship is running interference for him.”

  “Dammit to hell,” Graeme muttered. Lady Conyngham was the king’s latest mistress.

  “My father is an idiot,” Aden said with a sigh.

  Although not particularly fond of his royal parent, Aden maintained a cordial relationship with the king, who generally took the advice of his spymaster son. But His Majesty was also greatly influenced by whomever his current mistress happened to be, so this was not a good development.

  “We can assume that Cringlewood is after Lady Sabrina’s fortune,” Graeme said, “which he needs to repair his pathetic finances.”

  “No doubt,” Vivien said. “But he’s been canny enough to keep a modest profile, and avoid those who would snub him or gossip to Lady Sabrina. He’s a monster, but he’s not stupid.”

  “Bastard,” Graeme snarled.

  Vivien nodded. “Indeed. I wasn’t sure what to say to Sabrina, other than to warn her about Cringlewood’s bad character. Since we need to protect Ainsley and Tira, I thought it best to avoid details until I spoke with you.”

  “I wouldn’t put it past Cringlewood to lure her into a compromising situation,” Aden said. “Why else persuade her to meet him in Hyde Park at so early an hour?”

  Rage flickered like sparks at the edges of Graeme’s vision. His sister-in-law ha
d already suffered agonies at Cringlewood’s hands. He would not allow that to happen to another woman.

  “If that bloody Sassenach king won’t deal with this, I will.”

  When Graeme stood, Aden rose and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “If you try to charge out like an enraged bull, I swear I’ll lock you in the wine cellar.”

  Graeme had no intention of brawling in front of Vivien or breaking any more of her furniture. But once he got out of this house . . .

  “I know exactly what you’re thinking,” Aden said, “and it’s not on. I will take care of Cringlewood.”

  “Like ye did last time?” Graeme retorted. “Because that worked so well.”

  “Oh, dear,” Vivien sighed. “My poor furniture.”

  While Aden didn’t back down, his expression held more sympathy than reprimand. “I know how grim this is for you, lad. But if Cringlewood has friends at Court, anything you do to him wouldn’t help.”

  “Tossing the blighter off a cliff would do the trick.”

  “Graeme, you know Aden will take care of this,” Vivien said firmly as she came to join them.

  “I’ll enlist Dominic,” Aden said. “Between the two of us, we’ll set it to right.”

  Sir Dominic Hunter, England’s former spymaster and one of the most powerful men in the ton, still exerted considerable influence within the royal family. It made sense to turn the matter over to him.

  Graeme mentally balked. “I can’t sit around and do nothing.”

  Aden lifted an eyebrow. “You still have a mission to complete, do you not?”

  “But—”

  “The sooner you arrest the thieves, the happier the king will be. And a happy king means a pliant king.”

  Graeme sighed. “If you put it that way, what choice do I have?”

  “None,” Aden said, taking a step back. “Now go home, get some sleep, and then get back at it.”

  Graeme shot his chief a hard look. “You’ll keep me apprised of the situation with Cringlewood?”

  “You have my word.”

  “You best, or I promise there will be hell to pay.”

  Aden simply rolled his eyes.

  Vivien snapped her fingers. “Oh, I do have a bit of good news, dearest. I received a letter from Mamma this morning. She’s coming to town for a visit, and she intends to stay with us.”

  Graeme took advantage of the ensuing argument to slip from the room.

  Chapter Four

  Tucked behind the marble column, Graeme tried to fade into the background. It was something he achieved with far greater success among the criminal classes than in aristocratic ballrooms.

  The initial plan had been to stake out this blasted affair disguised as a footman. But the silly livery and powdered wig probably wouldn’t do the trick of disguising him, not after that unfortunate incident at the Duchess of Leverton’s assembly a few months back where an expensive Chinese screen had ended up in pieces on the floor. The Sassenach who’d picked the fight with him held the blame for that. The slimy toad had tried to fleece a sweet but slightly dotty dowager at cards, and Graeme had spotted the cheat. As discretely as possible, he’d dropped a warning whisper in the old gal’s ear.

  The dowager, who’d possessed more spirit than anticipated, had promptly tossed her champagne punch into the cheat’s face. Face dripping, the cheat had jumped up and accused Graeme of lying. Since that was not the sort of insult any Kendrick could allow to stand, events had quickly escalated.

  The end result had seen the cheat sprawled on the floor amid the remains of Her Grace’s Chinese screen. Fortunately, the Duchess of Leverton—who happened to be Victoria’s cousin and a bit of a hellion, herself—had simply told Graeme that his actions were perfectly understandable.

  The Duke of Leverton, however, had been decidedly less impressed. Graeme had generally made a point of steering clear of His Grace ever since.

  Fortunately, the duke and his duchess had left town for the summer months. Most of the nobility, wishing to escape the heat, had followed suit. Still, there were enough left in the city to make Lady Peregrim’s ball sufficiently crowded.

  That was why Graeme now lurked behind a pillar like an idiotic character from a melodrama as he watched the guests laden with jewels, gold watches, and gem-encrusted snuffboxes. The Peregrims were hosting one of the largest events of the summer and, in both Aden’s and Graeme’s opinions, it would be too tempting a target for the gang of thieves to resist.

  Unfortunately, he’d yet to see any hint of a thief in the ballroom, so it was time to investigate other parts of the house, including the library. There, Lord Peregrim kept a priceless collection of snuffboxes in a glass case, under lock and key.

  As Graeme well knew from his youthful escapades, a lock never stopped a determined thief.

  He slipped out to the hall. Aden was hanging about somewhere, and there were guards posted on the grounds. Aden’s coachman and grooms were also out front, keeping their eyes on arrivals and exits. They were finally well positioned to catch the thieves in an inescapable net.

  As Graeme passed the main drawing room, he stuck his head in for a quick look for Aden and almost collided with the doorframe.

  Lady Sabrina Bell was seated on a velvet chaise under a massive pier glass, surrounded by a small group of fawning suitors. And seated next to her on the bloody chaise was the bloody Marquess of Cringlewood.

  Disturbingly, the lass seemed receptive to his attentions, with her head tilted politely in his direction as she listened to what were no-doubt smarmy lies. Clearly, Vivien’s warning had failed to take. Since Cringlewood was both handsome and a marquess, Graeme told himself he shouldn’t be surprised.

  True evil lurked beneath Cringlewood’s polished exterior, an evil that destroyed lives without hesitation. The thought of an innocent young woman like Sabrina falling into his clutches . . .

  Graeme forced himself to punch through the fury clouding his mind. A public confrontation with Cringlewood would reignite all the ugly gossip about Ainsley. Graeme’s best course was to find Aden and send him to deal with the situation. After all, the girl was sitting in a drawing room, surrounded by friends. She wouldn’t come to harm in the few minutes it would take Graeme to hunt down his chief.

  Bollocks to that.

  As he crossed the spacious but crowded room, Graeme’s brain issued a stern directive to march back in the other direction. That also failed to take, and he came to a halt in front of the chaise. Lady Sabrina had just turned her attention to a clearly smitten lad with bad skin and a worse cravat across from her. She glanced up at Graeme and her peacock gaze popped wide, her pink mouth rounding in a surprised oval.

  “Oh . . . ah, Mr. Kendrick,” she stuttered. “How are—”

  “Lady Sabrina, I regret the interruption, but this is our dance,” Graeme said firmly.

  She blinked, politely nonplussed, as was her little group of suitors.

  But not Cringlewood. The marquess glared up at him with an unconcealed hatred that even a blind man could have sensed.

  Graeme half turned his back on Cringlewood to focus on the other men. “Forgive the intrusion, gentlemen, but I’m sure you can understand my desire to claim my dance.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Graeme saw Cringlewood flush at the deliberate cut. Sabrina’s other suitors looked vaguely horrified.

  Sabrina regarded Graeme with a slightly quizzical smile, as if waiting to see what would happen next.

  The lad with the blemished skin spoke first. “Oh, absolutely. Devastated to lose her ladyship’s company, naturally, but none of us can blame you one bit.” He stood and gave Graeme a carefully correct nod. “I’m Reggie Park, by the way. My parents are Lord and Lady Peregrim.”

  “Our gracious hosts,” Graeme said with a smile. “They throw a splendid party.”

  “Reggie, this is Mr. Graeme Kendrick,” Sabrina said. “I believe your parents know his brother, Lord—”

  “Arnprior. Quite a barbarian, even for a Scot,” Cr
inglewood interrupted in an elegant drawl. “I confess to some surprise that Lady Peregrim has lowered her excellent standards by inviting riffraff like a Kendrick to her affairs.” He flashed Reggie a smile. “Surely that was an oversight on your dear mamma’s part.”

  Reggie blinked, and Sabrina’s two other suitors went rather pale. One, a sober, middle-aged gentleman, mumbled something about meeting his mother and all but scuttled backward in his haste to escape. The other, a genial looking fellow about Graeme’s age, also stuttered an excuse and made his exit.

  Sabrina barely gave them a glance before turning to narrow her gaze on the marquess. Despite the fact that she was a dab little lass, at least by Graeme’s measurements, she did an excellent job of staring haughtily down her nose at Cringlewood.

  Graeme had to swallow a chuckle. The idiot was so consumed with his hatred for all things Kendrick that he’d failed to notice how he’d offended the woman he was trying to woo.

  Reggie was also leveling a glare at Cringlewood. “If my mother invited Mr. Kendrick, I’m sure he’s perfectly up to scratch, sir.”

  Cringlewood flipped open his snuffbox and extracted a pinch with a bored air. “One of your tender years cannot be expected to sort through the niceties of polite society, dear boy. I’d be happy to tell you and your parents all about the Kendricks.” He leaned closer, as if sharing a confidence. “Highlanders. Barely civilized.” His gaze suddenly darted toward Graeme, gleaming with malice. “And I’ve got the scars to prove it.”

  Graeme considered living up to that barely civilized accusation by tossing the moronic marquess out the nearest window. But Cringlewood was obviously hoping to cause a scene, and seek the only kind of revenge he could at the moment—social revenge—against Royal and Ainsley.

  Graeme wouldn’t play that game.

  “I’m half-Scottish, my lord,” Sabrina said, coolly polite. “My beloved mother was born in the Highlands.”

  Cringlewood momentarily froze, but quickly regrouped. “Fortunately, your dear mother had the excellent sense to marry an Englishman, Lady Sabrina. And your esteemed father, I believe, is not fond of Scotland. A man of excellent sense, Lord Musgrave.”