Alec Mackenzie's Art of Seduction (Mackenzies & McBrides #9)(73)

The journey to London was silent, no one wanting much to speak now that plans were laid. Celia went over and over the speech she’d give her father when they arrived, telling him how she’d allowed her heart to decide her happiness, how her natural prudence had first made certain Mr. Finn would make a good husband.

With Alec, Lady Flora, and Mrs. Reynolds playing their parts, Celia believed they’d get away with the deception for now. But how long would that last? One day, Alec would be known as a Mackenzie—they could not live a lie forever.

One thing at a time, Celia told herself. First, they must see that Alec’s brother was safe, then they would decide how they would live. Exile was the most likely choice. Celia’s heart sank at the thought, but she steeled herself. She was no wilting weed—her family was old and powerful, and she possessed their strength and steadfastness that had let them survive for centuries.

The first stop when they reached London was Josette’s house. Alec declared he and Celia would not be going back to stay with Lady Flora, and he wanted to make sure Jenny was well. Celia had a wash before she climbed to the nursery to find Alec holding his sleepy daughter, speaking in a low voice to her.

“What is that language?” Celia asked as Alec’s musical words washed over her. “You told me Irish when I first met you—after you tried to make me believe it was Greek.”

“Erse,” Alec answered. “Which is similar to the Irish language—I did not mislead you much. Both tongues have a common origin. Erse is the language of my fathers, and I want Jenny to know it.”

“It will be banned, won’t it?” Celia said. “Everything about being Scots will.”

“Yes.” Alec’s tone was grim, yet he showed nothing but tenderness as he looked down at Jenny. “But this little one won’t grow up in fear, denying who and what she is.”

“We’ll have to live on the Continent a long time then,” Celia observed.

Alec sent her a startled look, followed by a grin. “My ever practical Celia. One thing I love about you.”

Love. Celia suppressed the jolt that ran through her. He’d said the word when he’d spoken to Edward—I am very much in love, sir. Very much in love.

But he’d been playacting, hadn’t he? Saying what would keep Edward calm, and fooled. Alec tossed the syllable out as though it was nothing.

It was everything to Celia.

And yet, Alec was a loving man. He demonstrated it all the time with Jenny, showed it in his terrible fear about his brother, and in the fact that he had raced across the Channel to find Will, leaving his younger brother safely behind. He’d also been married before, and grieved his wife’s passing.

“Tell me about Jenny’s mother,” Celia said softly. “What was she like?”

“Genevieve?” Alec opened his mouth, paused, closed it, and frowned. Jenny burrowed into his shoulder, making contented noises.

“The truth is, I barely knew the lass,” Alec said, candlelight playing shadows across his face. “She was a dancer in the opera. A wild thing, flittering and fluttering, her feet never touching the ground. I chased her—she chased me. We had an exciting affair, and I talked her into marrying me—I suspected she was carrying my child.” He splayed his hand across Jenny’s back. “We married but we never settled down. I thought there’d be plenty of time for that later. I went back and forth from France to Scotland, and when Prince Teàrlach crossed to Scotland and stirred up trouble, I told Genevieve to remain in Paris. We’d reunite after the Uprising was settled one way or the other.”

He let out a breath, his gaze going remote. “And then she was gone. A man brought a letter to me while Mal and I stood in the street outside our house in Edinburgh. The letter said Genevieve died bringing in our babe but that Jenny was alive and well. Malcolm put me on a ship, and I went to find Jenny.

“Genevieve’s family had already buried her by the time I reached Paris, and I realized how little I knew about her. I didn’t even know her sisters and brothers or her friends, and most of those friends weren’t aware she’d married me.” Alec shook his head. “It was like a dream, or a play. Just when you begin to know the actors, the curtain closes, and the fantasy dissolves.”

He trailed off, his voice glum, his words blending into the shadows closing on them.

“Jenny didn’t,” Celia said quietly.

Alec’s eyes softened. “Except Jenny. Aye, she’s real enough. The first night I knew her, I changed her nappy three times, and her screams went right through my head. She’s a Mackenzie all right, making sure she’s center of everyone’s world.” Alec kissed her hair, and Jenny gurgled.

“You are good to her.”

Alec’s brows went up. “Of course I’m good to her. I’m her dad, aren’t I?”

Celia knew full well that many a gentleman wouldn’t bother with an unexpected child, especially a girl. Alec could have denied Jenny was his and thrust her upon Genevieve’s family, or left her with a parish as a foundling.

Or he could not have gone to Paris for her at all, leaving Jenny’s fate in others’ hands. Instead, he’d rushed across the water to find his daughter, to make sure she was taken care of. Alec was a rare man, and Celia’s heart warmed.

He held Jenny close and spoke to Celia over her head. “You should go down to bed, love. It was a long journey.”