The Highlander's English Bride, Page 4

  “But your mother was Scottish, and you were born a stone’s throw from the border. How can Lord Musgrave not approve of Scotland?”

  “We were residing at our Northumberland estate at the time of Mamma’s illness. Father is convinced she’d still be alive if we’d been in London, where we could have accessed the best physicians.”

  Her mother had died of an infectious fever before Sabrina was even three years old, carried off in less than a week. Since the poor lady had always been in delicate health according to Father, it seemed unlikely that any doctor could have saved her.

  Vivien’s blue gaze softened with sympathy. “I’m so sorry, dearest.”

  Sabrina shrugged. It always felt awkward speaking of her mother, since she had so few memories of her.

  “Thank you. It affected Father dreadfully, of course. He loathes the country now, especially the north. He’d fall into hysterics if I so much as gave a single thought to marrying a plain old mister from Scotland.”

  “There’s nothing plain about Graeme Kendrick. He’s the brother of the Earl of Arnprior, which means he’s the brother-in-law of—”

  Sabrina almost dropped the comb. “No!”

  “Yes. Brother-in-law of Victoria, Lady Arnprior, the illegitimate daughter of the king himself.”

  “Lady Arnprior is your husband’s half sister.”

  It was one of the worst kept secrets of the ton that Aden St. George was the natural son of King George IV. Sabrina had forgotten about Lady Arnprior—not surprising, since the king and his royal brothers had quite a shocking number of children born on the wrong side of the sheets.

  “And that means Graeme is part of our family, too.” Vivien ruefully smiled. “Although it does get rather complicated when one isn’t supposed to publicly acknowledge such relationships.”

  When the bracket clock on the mantel chimed out the hour, Sabrina grimaced.

  “I wish Mr. Kendrick the best, and I’m grateful to him,” she said. “But I simply must be on my way. If you would let me borrow your carriage, I would be desperately grateful.”

  Vivien rose. “Of course. But won’t you tell me who you were meeting in the park?” She pointed a finger. “I do think you owe me.”

  “Blackmail, in other words,” Sabrina wryly replied as she crossed to the bed to begin dressing.

  Her friend’s gaze sparkled with mischief. “I’m quite good at that sort of thing.”

  “I suppose it doesn’t matter, since the wretch never showed up. It was the Marquess of Cringlewood.”

  Chapter Three

  Aden St. George reached for a decanter tucked into the inset bookshelves of his study and poured a splash of brandy into a glass. “It’s barely nine in the morning, Graeme, but I think you need this.”

  “Since I’ve been up all night, let’s call it a last drink before I get to bed.”

  Graeme had learned to appreciate a good brandy almost as much as a good Highland whisky, like the one he’d brewed in his illegal still on Kendrick land. He and his twin had caught holy hell for that adventure once Nick had discovered their secret.

  As he propped his booted feet against a cast-iron firedog, Graeme relished the fact that he was once more warm and dry. While he had a set of rooms at Albany House, he maintained a spare bedroom here at Aden’s that was stocked with clothing for emergencies, which now included dragging damsels out of the Serpentine.

  Aden settled into the other club chair and poured a cup of coffee from the breakfast service on the table between them.

  Nothing in the generous spread tempted Graeme. He hadn’t much of an appetite these days. Meals often consisted of a pasty from a stall in Covent Garden or a hastily bolted plate of beef and a pint of heavy wet in a tavern before heading back out on the thieves’ elusive tails. This morning had been the closest he’d ever gotten to the bastards.

  “Thank you for not raking me over the coals,” he said.

  “I’m reserving that right,” his chief replied with a wry smile. “Although there wasn’t much you could do, given the circumstances.”

  “Silly chit,” Graeme muttered into his glass.

  “On the contrary. Lady Sabrina is an extremely sensible young woman.”

  “Lurking about Hyde Park at dawn, in the rain, is an extremely sensible activity for young ladies?”

  “It’s odd, I admit.”

  “She was meeting a bloke. That was clear enough.”

  “Suitors have been lining up for years to woo her. Lady Sabrina has no need to lurk in parks.”

  Graeme ignored the irritated twinge in his gut. “She’s no deb just out on the marriage mart, obviously.”

  Aden put down his cup. “Sabrina has been running her father’s household for years. Lord Musgrave is quite dependent on her, and he leaves the ordering of his domestic affairs in her capable hands. Given how much freedom and wealth she has, I suppose there’s not much incentive to marry.”

  “Why tie yourself down to some rakehell who will likely ignore you, while spending every last shilling of your fortune on gambling, horses, or mistresses.”

  Aden flashed a sardonic smile. “Says the former rakehell.”

  “With the emphasis on former. Can’t say as I blame the lass for wanting to avoid the marital state. If she’s wealthy, what does she have to gain by marrying some toff who’ll have the controlling of her?”

  “I suspect that no one controls Lady Sabrina.”

  “I suspect you’re right. She actually had the nerve to reprimand me for rescuing her.”

  Aden laughed. “That sounds just like her. But the point remains—what was she doing meeting someone in the park at that hour of the morning?”

  “Maybe she’s changed her mind about marriage,” Graeme said. “Women do tend to be fickle in that regard.”

  “Perhaps you’re simply spending time with the wrong women.”

  “Or the right ones.”

  Aden ignored the lame jest. “I find your view of the married state unnecessarily jaded, Graeme. I wonder where it comes from?”

  Graeme tried not to shift under his chief ’s uncomfortably penetrating perusal. It reminded him too much of his oldest brother Nick’s gaze. The Laird of Arnprior possessed an uncanny ability to read his mind, as if Graeme’s skull was made of glass.

  “Shouldn’t we be focusing on my assignment instead of on that blasted girl? Tommy and I would have run the blighter to ground, if not for that stupid escapade.”

  Graeme shot down the rest of his brandy in one gulp before rising to refill his glass. When he returned and sank back into his seat, the leather and wood loudly creaked, causing Aden to wince.

  Graeme shot him a weak smile. “Sorry.”

  “Vivien was forced to replace two chairs in the dining room. If you break another one, it’s coming out of your wages.”

  For no reason that anyone could deduce, Graeme and his twin had always possessed an unerring capacity to destroy furniture. It was a running joke in the Kendrick family, although he was beginning to find it tiresome.

  “Best just dock me now, since it’s bound to happen again.”

  Exhaustion from the long night tugged at his bones. Something else also tugged at him, a sense of failure, or even shame.

  “Are you all right, Graeme?”

  He forced a smile. “Och, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  Aden cocked his head. “I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”

  “I’m frustrated. This mission has turned into a royal cock-up, and I’m not sure why. It’s not the hardest assignment I’ve ever had from you. Not by a long shot.”

  In working for Aden these last two years, Graeme had undertaken some truly dangerous missions. Initially, his chief had been cautious, pairing Graeme with experienced agents—partly to blunt the fussing from Graeme’s blasted family, especially his sister-in-law, Victoria. But he’d soon proved himself especially adept at undercover work. Almost single-handedly, he’d disrupted a dangerous smuggling ring off the coast of Kent
within his first six months on the job.

  Despite his family’s misgivings, Graeme didn’t give a hang about the danger or the difficulties. He’d never been much good at anything, but he was good at running criminals to ground. His work gave him a sense of satisfaction he’d never felt before.

  Until this case.

  Aden put down his coffee cup. “Frankly, in recent days you seem restless and lacking in focus. That might be having an impact on this mission.”

  Graeme mentally winced at his chief ’s too-accurate assessment. He was restless these days. To his surprise, he was missing Scotland, especially the windswept peaks and rolling glens of Kinglas, the family estate. As a lad, he’d never been able to imagine living anywhere but within that awe-inspiring and challenging landscape of mountain, loch, and sky.

  But eventually both Kinglas and the family mansion in Glasgow had grown confining. As much as he loved his brothers and their growing broods, Scotland had begun to seem quaint and provincial.

  So Graeme had leapt at the chance Aden had offered him. For those first months, Graeme had loved everything about London and his new life, the whole sprawling, glorious, and gritty mess of it. He’d finally found something that mattered, something he was good at.

  Now, though, his sense of purpose was slipping away, and he’d be damned if he knew how to stop the slide.

  Aden sighed. “I should have sent you back home after that last job. You needed time to rest and be with your family. It was a mistake to reassign you so quickly.”

  “Bollocks,” Graeme quickly answered. “That was my mistake, not yours. Besides, it turned out all right in the end. That bastard will never hurt another child, or anyone else. I saw to that, didn’t I?”

  Sadly, the little girl he’d rescued that day might never get over the shock of the gruesome scene. The poor, wee lass had seen everything, including what Graeme had been forced to do to protect her from her own father.

  Aden pinned him with a stern eye. “You did the right thing, but you were almost killed. It was a near thing, Graeme. Too near.”

  The memories of that day still made him queasy. “I’m fine, ye ken.”

  “Another inch to the left, and you would have been dead,” Aden said, shaking his head.

  “It was just a flesh wound, man. Nothing to get fashed about.”

  Actually, it had been a nasty flesh wound that had laid him up for three weeks. If Graeme hadn’t twisted aside at the last moment, that knife would have sliced through his kidney and God only knew what else.

  Still, there was now one less monster prowling the streets of London.

  “My sister was quite fashed as I recall,” Aden tartly replied. “I thought she and your grandfather were going to flay me alive for that incident.”

  “My family knows I’m exactly where I want to be, doing exactly what I want to do.”

  Aden’s dark gaze turned hawk-like. “But are you? Really?”

  Graeme was spared an uncomfortable reply when Vivien sailed into the room, holding the hand of Maggie, her six-year-old daughter. When the bairn saw him, she screeched with joy and threw herself into his arms.

  “Hullo, lassie,” he said, hoisting her onto his lap. “How are ye this grand mornin’? Yer lookin’ as pretty as the May queen.”

  She giggled at his brogue, which he always adopted to tease her.

  Margaret Edwina St. George was a miniature of her mother. Blond and blue-eyed, she had a sweet, snub-nosed countenance. Thankfully, she was also good-natured, since everyone, especially her papa, spoiled her rotten.

  Right now, however, Papa was regarding her with a mixture of fondness and exasperation as Maggie patted Graeme’s cheeks.

  “Uncle Graeme, you’re whiskery.”

  “That’s because I’ve been up all night, hard at work.”

  Maggie twisted in his lap to frown at her father. “Uncle Graeme was sick. You shouldn’t make him work so hard, Papa. It’s mean.”

  Aden threw his wife an incredulous look. “Really?”

  Vivien came over to lean against her husband’s chair. “She has a point.”

  “I’m in capital shape, Vivi,” Graeme replied. “You know that better than anyone.”

  When he’d recuperated in the St. George household, Vivien had cared for him with terrifying competence, shoving noxious potions down his throat and threatening him with dire consequences if he dared to get out of bed too soon. Much to his surprise, Graeme had enjoyed the fussing—not that he’d had much choice, given his condition.

  Once he’d gotten over the worst of it, Maggie had been allowed into his room. There, she’d spent hours reading to him from her schoolroom primers, until Graeme had grown so desperate he’d begun teaching her to play piquet. Aden had been rather stormy about that, but Vivien had approved. Vivien was a terror at cards and was thrilled that her daughter had inherited her mathematical skills.

  Maggie returned her little hand to Graeme’s cheek, turning his face back to hers. “Mamma and I have to take care of you. We promised Aunt Vicky and Uncle Nick.”

  The child’s earnest gaze made Graeme’s chest go tight.

  “I’m fine, sweet lass,” he said gruffly. “I promise.”

  But when he caught the glance between Aden and Vivien, he swallowed an oath.

  “I’m fine,” he said.

  “No need to get testy, laddie boy,” Vivien replied.

  “Laddie boy? I’m twenty-nine years old, Vivi.”

  “Not too old for me to scold, and I certainly will if you need it.”

  Graeme threw Aden a speaking glance.

  His chief came to his rescue. “My love, as delightful as it is to see you and Maggie, Graeme and I are working.”

  His wife heaved a sigh. “Maggie wanted to see her uncle. I couldn’t possibly say no.”

  The little girl nodded. “I haven’t seen Uncle Graeme in days and days.”

  “Sweetheart, you saw me three days ago,” Graeme replied. “Besides, your da is right. We’re having a right serious conversation about work.”

  Maggie brightened up. “Oh, did you have to give someone a drubbing or haul them off to the clink?”

  Graeme managed to choke down a laugh. It was no mystery how Maggie picked up her colorful vocabulary. The household servants were either retired spies or still on active service. They protected the St. George household and acted as Aden’s eyes and ears throughout London. While they doted on Vivien and the children and would give their lives for them, more than a few could be described as rough about the edges.

  Aden tried to establish a normal atmosphere in the house for the sake of his wife and children. Normal, however, would never apply to the seemingly quiet townhouse off Cadogan Square.

  “Darling, you mustn’t use cant,” Vivien said. “Papa doesn’t like it.”

  Aden directed a paternally stern look at his daughter. “Young ladies mustn’t use rough language, sweetheart. It’s not proper.”

  Maggie looked perplexed. “But Papa, you say words like that all the time, and you’re a gentleman. Why do gentlemen get to say fun things and ladies don’t?”

  “I say,” said Graeme, “I’d like to know the answer to that one, too.”

  Vivien cut off her husband’s impending lecture. “It’s because Papa is a spy, Maggie. Spies say all sorts of odd things.”

  Aden stared at his wife in disbelief. “Vivien St. George, spy is not a term we use in this household.”

  “Oh, pish. Maggie would have to be very dim not to notice all the clandestine activities, and my daughter is very far from dim.”

  “That is not a reassuring answer,” Aden replied.

  “I’m very good at keeping secrets, Papa,” Maggie said in a solemn tone. “I want to be a spy just like you some day, so I practice very hard to keep all the secrets.”

  Aden covered his eyes.

  “You’re certainly very good at making up stories, which is a useful attribute in a spy,” Vivien said. “Just this morning, you told me that Justin
broke your rocking horse.”

  The little girl’s chin stubbornly tilted. “But he did, Mamma.”

  “Hmm, I wonder how your little brother managed to do that, since he was sleeping, and you were actually on the rocking horse at the time.”

  Maggie crinkled her nose. “Did Nurse tell you that? Maybe she needs new spectacles.”

  Graeme couldn’t help it. He had to laugh. “Aye, you’ll make a grand spy, lass. You already know how to tell a whopper with a straight face.”

  Her chubby cheeks split into a happy grin. “Thank you, Uncle Graeme.”

  Aden’s glare threatened dire consequences.

  “Do not encourage her, you idiot.” Then Aden switched his irate gaze to his wife. “Vivien . . .”

  She took pity on her beleaguered husband. “Maggie, say good-bye to Uncle Graeme, and then you can have breakfast with Nurse and your brother.”

  Maggie breathed out a gusty sigh. “Do I have to? Justin always makes a mess.”

  “He’s only three, darling, and he’s a boy. Messes are what they do.”

  Graeme dropped a kiss on top of Maggie’s bright curls. “Your mam is right, lass. I’m a grown man, and I still make messes.”

  “That is certainly true,” Aden sarcastically replied. “Speaking of the latest one, I assume Lady Sabrina is now safely on her way home?”

  “Maggie and I sent her off in the carriage just before we came to see you,” Vivien said. “She extended her regards and thanks to both you and Graeme.”

  “I’m the one who did all the work,” Graeme said. “You’d think she could at least make a proper good-bye.”

  Vivien wriggled a hand. “She was embarrassed, and so preferred to slip out. I know she’s very grateful.”

  He affected a casual shrug. “Doesn’t matter. I’m sure I’ll never see her again.”

  Maggie craned around to study his face. “But Uncle Graeme, when Papa first met Mamma, he rescued her, and then they went and got married. Maybe you’re supposed to marry a lady when you rescue her.”

  Graeme almost choked. “I barely know Lady Sabrina, pet. Besides, I’m waiting for you to grow up so we can be spies together, remember?”