Alec Mackenzie's Art of Seduction (Mackenzies & McBrides #9)(70)

“Celia?” he said with incredulity. He strode to her before Alec could get between him and her, and swung her around. “What the devil are you doing here?”





Chapter 23





Celia stared in dismay at her brother, Edward Fotheringhay, Captain in the Duke of Crenshaw’s Brigade, who gazed down at her in bafflement.

His expression held no outrage, she realized in the next heartbeat. He must not have heard of her elopement.

“What are you doing here?” she countered. “I thought your regiment was in France.”

“On leave,” Edward said quickly, but his eyes flickered.

Edward had always been bad at lying. Something was not right. “Then why not stay at the house?” Celia asked. “Or is the ale tastier among villagers?”

She put a teasing note in her voice, and Edward looked relieved. Celia perceived that Edward was more disconcerted that she’d seen him than that he’d seen her.

“As you say,” Edward answered, but distractedly. He caught sight of Mrs. Reynolds and frowned anew. “Why is Mrs. Reynolds chaperoning you? Is Lady Flora here?” He looked about more swiftly, nervously, as though ready to flee on a moment’s notice.

“London was growing too hot and close,” Celia said, waving her hand. “I wanted to come home for some air.”

Again, Edward looked relieved, and nodded. “Mother is very angry with you.” He spoke offhand, as though searching for something to say.

“So are you—I thought.”

“I was. I mean, I am.” Edward dragged forth a scowl, but he seemed preoccupied. “You were too hasty and obstinate. I have forgiven you, because I’m so fond of you, Ceil, but you know you ruined your chances. All you can do now is wait upon Father and Mother, or hope that a steady gentleman someday will overlook the incident and take you on.”

Celia was sharply aware of Alec, who’d kept himself near the coachman, his back turned. But he listened, his stance tense, boots planted firmly on the yard’s dusty stones.

Mrs. Reynolds said nothing at all, fading politely back a few steps, as would be expected of a mere companion. No help would be forthcoming from her.

Celia could put Edward off and hope he went about his business, whatever it was, but if he was on his way to Hungerford Park, he’d be puzzled if she didn’t accompany him. He would also discover, sooner or later, that Celia had run off with Mr. Finn—a letter might be heading to him even now.

Might as well get it over with. “Edward, I’m married,” Celia blurted.

Edward blinked, as though this were the last thing he’d expected her to tell him. “I beg your pardon?”

“I married. A few nights ago. To a drawing master.” Celia gestured to Alec who was now patting the horses, every line of his back rigid.

“A drawing master?” Edward’s eyes widened, and his distracted air fled. “Have you run completely mad? Really, Celia, you have gone too far. Papa will annul this marriage right away—if he refuses, I will insist.”

Edward’s hazel eyes, so like Celia’s, blazed, his chest puffing out with indignation.

“You will do no such thing,” Celia said hotly. “It is a legal marriage. Mr. Finn is a gentleman, and none of the conditions of annulment can be met.” She flushed as she spoke the last.

A marriage could be annulled upon one of three conditions—if a man were already married, or if the couple were too closely related, or if the man were impotent. Alec had proved fairly often the last few nights that he was not the latter.

Edward couldn’t meet her eyes. “Celia, you are unseemly.”

“I am practical,” Celia said. “The marriage is true and will remain so. Not the brilliant match everyone expected, I know. I’m certain Mama will write reams to you about it, once she ceases raging. But I am happy. I hope that is enough to assuage your anger. ”

Mrs. Reynolds broke in gently. “Perhaps an inn yard is not the place to quarrel about it. Lady Flora speaks highly of the man. Would you be willing to shake his hand?”

Celia did not want her brother, a soldier who’d fought under Cumberland to come face to face with Alec Mackenzie, but on the other hand, the sooner, the better. No one knew Alec as Alec—as far as most of the population of Britain was concerned, Lord Alec Mackenzie was no more.

Alec turned from the horses and came forward, hand outstretched. He’d pressed his hat firmly down to his ears, and took on the befuddled expression he’d been using with the innkeepers.

“Good afternoon, sir,” he said to Edward. “How do you do?”

Edward peered under the shadow of Alec’s hat as he accepted his outstretched hand, as though trying to decide what to make of him. “So you have married my sister, have you?” he asked in a stern voice. “Is she correct that you make her happy, or will I have to call you out?”

Alec flinched, the very picture of alarm and confusion. “Good heavens, no. Of course not. I am very much in love, sir. Very much in love. I wouldn’t know one end of a sword from the other.” He chortled nervously. “I believe Mrs. Finn is pleased with me. At least, she has said so.”

Celia, her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, could say nothing at the moment.

Edward withdrew his hand, disapproval in his eyes. “A drawing master, eh? That sounds as though you don’t have many coins to rub together. How will you support her?”