The Highlander Who Protected Me (Clan Kendrick #1)
Vanessa Kelly
THE HIGHLANDER WHO WED ME
He gently tugged one of the glossy curls framing her face. “I wasn’t nearly as careful with you as I should have been, lass. I can’t tell you how sorry I am about that.”
“You didn’t know I was with child,” she said earnestly. “So there’s nothing to apologize for.”
“But I knew something was wrong. I should have done more to help you, instead of letting you slip off to Cairndow all by yourself.”
“If there is one person who should never apologize to me, it’s you, Royal Kendrick. I owe you everything .”
“You don’t owe me anything, Ainsley. Truly.” The last thing he wanted from her was the sense that all that bound her to him was obligation.
Gravely, she studied his face. He had the uncomfortable feeling she could read his mind.
“You are a very foolish man if you think that’s the only reason I’m here,” she said, confirming his suspicions. “I’m here because I want to be with you, not because I have to be with you.”
Under her slender fingers, he could feel his heart begin to pound. “Do you think you could be more specific, Mrs. Kendrick?” Emotion had made his voice gruff. “Why are you here right now?”
A teasing smile, blessedly confident, curled up the corners of her lush mouth. “Why, for a good night kiss, of course . . .”
Books by Vanessa Kelly
MASTERING THE MARQUESS
SEX AND THE SINGLE EARL
MY FAVORITE COUNTESS
HIS MISTLETOE BRIDE
The Renegade Royals
SECRETS FOR SEDUCING A ROYAL BODYGUARD
CONFESSIONS OF A ROYAL BRIDEGROOM
HOW TO PLAN A WEDDING FOR A ROYAL SPY
HOW TO MARRY A ROYAL HIGHLANDER
The Improper Princesses
MY FAIR PRINCESS
THREE WEEKS WITH A PRINCESS
THE HIGHLANDER’S PRINCESS BRIDE
Clan Kendrick
THE HIGHLANDER WHO PROTECTED ME
Anthologies
AN INVITATION TO SIN
(with Jo Beverley, Sally MacKenzie, and Kaitlin O’Riley)
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
THE Highlander who Protected Me
VANESSA KELLY
ZEBRA BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
THE HIGHLANDER WHO WED ME
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
ZEBRA BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2018 by Vanessa Kelly
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
Zebra and the Z logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-1-4201-4115-3
eISBN-13: 978-1-4201-4116-0
eISBN-10: 1-4201-4116-3
To Dan, Naoko, and—of course—
Princess Abby. Long may she reign!
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
With many thanks to my splendid agent and my equally splendid editor. I am so grateful for your support. And my gratitude to all the lovely folks at Kensington who do such great work and help to get my books out into the world. Thank you!
Finally, all my love to dear hubby, who makes my life so much easier. Writing books is not for the faint of heart; I couldn’t do it without you!
Prologue
London
February 1816
In the spare winter moonlight, she glowed with a beauty that lit up the corners of Royal Kendrick’s battered soul. He felt alive again.
Lady Ainsley Matthews also possessed a lethal wit, one famed for sending even the most arrogant popinjay slinking off to the nearest corner. But to Royal, she was perfect, like a challenging book or complex piece of music. So perfect he’d never dared hope. He’d only dreamed—and feared, believing her notice of him was rooted in pity.
Earlier tonight, fate had placed them next to each other at dinner, a crowded affair noisy enough to give the illusion of privacy. An elderly, deaf matron had been seated to Royal’s left, while Ainsley’s other dinner partner was a rotund gourmand who cared only for his food. Left to their own devices, Royal and Ainsley had talked of everything and nothing, able to focus—for once—on each other.
When he’d proposed an escape from the overheated ballroom for a stroll along this quiet, dimly lit corridor, she’d said yes. Now, without hesitation, her steadfast gaze was letting him know she wanted this moment, too.
Royal wanted more than a moment. He wanted the pale, smooth skin, the shining obsidian hair, and the dark dramatic brows that framed the most impossible gaze in the world. Her eyes were the color of violets, a rich velvet-blue and so vivid he wondered they didn’t cast a light of their own. Just gazing at her vibrant beauty made his heart ache even more than his leg. That was a bloody miracle, given that his damn leg had been trying to kill him ever since that appalling day at Waterloo.
Another body part ached too, and with unseemly intensity thankfully hidden by the drape of his kilt. Insanely, Royal desired the brightest diamond of the ton more than anything he’d ever wanted—more than a leg restored to health, more than a family resurrected from emotional ruin, more than a life untrammeled by war. His yearning for Ainsley made no damn sense, because they made no damn sense.
She studied him, her expression revealing an unspoken question.
“What?” he asked.
“Sir, we can sit down in that alcove if you’d like to rest your leg.”
Whenever he heard Ainsley’s voice, he imagined lying in a field thick with pansies that matched the color of her eyes. It muddled his brain, making it impossible to think.
Her frown deepened. “You look ready to topple over. That would be distressing for both of us, especially me if you fell in my direction.”
That was pure Ainsley. Why the hell was he so smitten with the bloody woman? Some might say it was his cock, but it was more than simple physical attraction and he knew it.
; “There’s no need to coddle me like an infant, my lady.” Not that anyone could imagine Ainsley coddling babies.
“Then please cease acting like one. Your limp is worse today, and you’ve gone quite pale.”
He liked the fact that she paid attention to details about him. He didn’t like that those details made him appear like an invalid.
You are an invalid, you idiot.
She took matters into her own hands, steering him toward an alcove with an Italianate bench. “Sit before you fall down.”
Royal cast an eye down the long stretch of corridor. The hall was currently deserted, but servants or even guests could happen by at any time. Though he and Ainsley were still on the right side of propriety, sitting together in the secluded alcove, half-hidden by heavy brocaded drapes, might slide them over the line. His reputation didn’t matter a tinker’s damn, but hers certainly did.
When her pretty nose twitched, much like a rabbit’s, it made him want to laugh.
“Mr. Kendrick, do you wish to return to the ballroom?” she asked rather tartly.
“God, no. It’s mobbed with buffoons, as you pointed out a few minutes ago.”
“Well, your reluctance to sit suggests that you find my company less than scintillating.”
“An obviously impossible occurrence.”
“Obviously. So why are you still standing?”
“Because you’re still standing. I’m no pattern card of decorum, but I do know that ladies are supposed to sit first.”
She scoffed. “You’re from Scotland. You haven’t the faintest idea how to behave with decorum.”
“You wrong us, Sassenach ,” he said, placing a dramatic hand to his heart. “No man on earth is more courtly than a Highlander in the throes of romance.”
She paused for a moment before answering. “Mr. Kendrick, are you flirting with me?”
Of course he was. Rather badly, if she needed clarification.
“If I say yes, will it get you to sit down on that confounded bench?” His leg was killing him, blast it.
Ainsley floated onto the seat in a graceful flutter of skirts. “You only had to ask.”
“I thought I did.”
“You most certainly did not.”
He shook his head. “Never mind. I was somewhat confused.”
“You are overcome by my presence, no doubt. Men always are, so there’s no call to feel embarrassed about it.”
Ainsley shifted to make room for him as he carefully sat. The bench was small, crowding them close.
“No, it’s because I can’t follow your convoluted mental processes,” he said.
She whacked him on the arm with her fan. “Can you not even pretend to be charming? My other suitors at least have a go at it.”
He managed not to grin at the notion that she considered him one of her suitors. “We both know I never pretend to be charming.”
“It’s rather a nice change,” she said with a rueful smile. “Being surrounded by men desperate to flatter does get a bit cloying, especially since I can never tell whether it’s me or my fortune they’re principally after.”
Her damn, great fortune stood between them like Hadrian’s Wall.
Don’t think about it.
“Poor Lady Ainsley,” he said, returning her smile. “I shall make a point of being rude to you at least once a day, just to lighten your cruel burden.”
“I don’t think you need to make a point of it. You come to it quite naturally.”
“And I consider it one of my best assets.”
“The hostesses of London might not agree. Just ask Lady Bassett. You managed to insult her before we even sat down to dinner.”
Royal hadn’t meant to offend their hostess, who seemed like a perfectly decent woman. He’d been looking around for Ainsley, and hadn’t noticed that her ladyship was speaking to him.
“I did apologize,” he said. “That has to count for something.”
When she shrugged, a few tendrils of hair drifted down from her coiffure in silky wisps. Royal had to repress the impulse to brush them aside and set his lips to her smooth, graceful neck.
“It doesn’t really matter how rude you are,” she said. “Your brother is a wealthy, unmarried earl, even if he is a Scotsman. So if the ladies of the ton wish Lord Arnprior to put in an appearance, they have to put up with you, too. His lordship never goes anywhere without you, it seems.”
That was true. Nick was an absolute tyrant when it came to forcing him back into society. Royal would have been happy to spend his nights at their rented town house in Mayfair, alone with a good book, but big brother had decided it was time for him to start living again. Royal had vociferously disagreed, since attending dreary parties and fending off impertinent questions about the war hardly counted as living . He didn’t even have the consolation of being able to twirl a pretty girl around the dance floor.
It felt like he’d escaped the killing fields of Waterloo only to die of utter boredom at the hands of the beau monde .
Ainsley poked him again with her dratted fan. “You’ve gone back to scowling, and since we know you couldn’t possibly be scowling about me, there’s something else bothering you.”
Her imperious attitude made him smile. “You can be incredibly annoying sometimes, my lady.”
“You’re describing yourself. Everything about me is perfect. If you weren’t such a thickhead, you’d realize that.”
Oh, how he realized it. If there was a more beautiful, self-assured girl in London, he had yet to meet her. Ainsley’s family pampered her like a princess, and her suitors slavered over her like witless fools. Thankfully, she rarely took herself seriously, and took her legion of beaus even less so. Her odd combination of arrogance and wry self-awareness gave her a confidence he found enormously appealing.
“I have no doubt you could wave your hand and split the Thames, like Moses parted the Red Sea,” he said.
She wrinkled her nose. “Thank you, but I’d rather walk on top of it. Then I won’t have to see all the nasty things lying at the bottom.”
He started to laugh but ended up biting off a curse when a muscle in his thigh picked that moment to spasm painfully.
“Your leg is bothering you,” she said with a concerned frown. “We should go back to the ballroom. I’m sure this corridor is too cold for you.”
Royal forced a smile past his gritted teeth. “Are you cold? Because you’re the one who should be shivering in that silly gown.”
She was wearing an absolute frippery of a dress, with tiny cap sleeves ready to slip from her shoulders with the slightest encouragement. Her gauzy skirts were the height of fashion, but it was an insane outfit for the dead of winter.
“I never get cold. You, however, are still recovering your health and should not be loitering in drafty hallways. I don’t know why I let you talk me into coming out here in the first place.”
When she started to stand, Royal wrapped a hand around her wrist and gently pulled her back down. “As I recall, you were the one who talked me into leaving the ballroom.”
“Nonsense. And there’s no call to manhandle me, sir,” she said, sounding a trifle breathless.
“You call that manhandling?” he said, surprised.
“I do. Clearly, you do not know your own strength.”
Actually, he did, though most days he felt like a pale reflection of his former self. If he turned sideways he feared he might even disappear.
“Then I sincerely beg your apology,” he said.
“Fiddlesticks. You’re not sorry at all.”
“When you grow up with six brothers, you tend to skip over the social niceties and the apologies.”
“Especially when you’re Highlanders, I imagine. My maternal grandmother was born in Inveraray, and she was forever talking about the wild men of her clan.”
Royal perked up. “No wonder I’m smitten with you. You’re part Scot, and from my part of the country, too.”
She looked slightly taken aback by his honest
y but flashed a mocking smile. “I’m only one-quarter Scot, and I try to conceal the fact. Granny Baynes was wonderful, though. She told the most outrageously tall tales.”
“Scots are prone to dramatic license, especially when it comes to family history. But my brothers and I certainly had our share of adventures growing up.”
She shifted to face him more directly, brushing her delightfully plump thigh against his good leg. His leg, and other parts of him, approved.
“Did you often get into trouble, Mr. Kendrick?”
“On a regular basis. I remember an incident involving the local parish priest and the communion wine that probably earned us a decade in purgatory.” He let out a rueful laugh. “I don’t know how my mother put up with us. We were a great handful, to say the least.”
“It sounds like you had tremendous fun,” she said in a wistful tone.
“We did.”
Until their parents died, and everything went catastrophically wrong. He shifted on the hard bench, wincing at the ugly memories.
Ainsley cast him a worried glance. “Are you sure you’re not catching a chill?”
Bloody hell. Next, she’d be asking if he needed a flannel waistcoat and a hot toddy.
“Lass, I grew up in a drafty old castle in the Highlands. Trust me when I say you don’t know the meaning of cold.”
Her nose twitched again, a clear sign of irritation. “There’s no need for you to get snappish.”
“And there’s no need for you to pity me.”
They glowered at each other for a few moments before she jabbed a finger at his chest.
“One. I do not pity you.” She jabbed two fingers. “Two, you are obviously in pain, as any dimwit could tell, and I am far from being a dimwit. I suspect you could be suffering the torments of hell and you’d still insist you were fine.”
