Alec Mackenzie's Art of Seduction (Mackenzies & McBrides #9)(74)

“I know, but I wanted to say good-night to Jenny.”

Alec’s eyes flickered. “You’re the one who’s good to her, lass.”

Celia mimicked his earlier words. “Of course I’m good to her. I’m her mama now.”

Alec’s expression held gratitude as he handed Jenny over for a quick hug, but his tone remained brisk. “Say your good-night then, and off to bed with ye.”

Celia kissed Jenny’s softly scented cheek, then she kissed Alec’s as she returned Jenny to him. He turned his head and caught her lips.

The kiss was brief but held passion. The kiss ended when Jenny squealed with impatience, and they broke apart, Alec’s laughter rumbling.

Celia’s lips tingled as she turned away to descend to their bedchamber, as did her body from the heat in Alec’s eyes. Not long later, he joined her, and the promising look he’d given her in Jenny’s attic room became truth.



The encounter with Celia’s family took place at Lady Flora’s. Alec arranged them in a tableaux in Lady Flora’s private sitting room, the one that held a portrait of Lady Flora as a young woman, a regal beauty.

Alec seated Celia on a gold damask settee near the window and stood behind her, his hand on her shoulder. He’d dressed in dark brown, his coat without frills, embroidery, lace, or trim. He’d found a white wig that settled over his dark red hair, two rolls of small, tight curls on either side of it.

Alec fixed his expression into that of a muddled country squire who was wondering what his steward might be up to while he was away. Celia wore one of the gowns Alec had asked Sally to bring to Josette’s along with her portfolio, a light summer cotton with gold and green flowers—becoming, simple, modest.

The duchess led the way into the room at high speed, and under Alec’s hand, Celia tensed. She lifted her chin, however—no crumpling under the duchess’s enraged stare.

“Explain yourself, Celia,” the duchess commanded in window-rattling tones.

The duke entered behind his wife, briefly taking in Alec before his eyes settled on his daughter.

The look of relief and love that came over the duke startled Alec. For such a long time, Alec had been picturing the man as a dire villain, one who hid away captured Jacobites for whatever nefarious purpose he had in mind.

What Alec saw was a short, plump man with a round face that held no malevolence. He had lines about his eyes, etched by a life of responsibility, not to mention marriage to a high-handed wife. At the moment, the duke’s attention was all for Celia, his expression one of thankfulness that she was well and unharmed.

The duchess moved her glare from Celia to Alec. Her face was narrow, her nose long, the eyes above that nose holding a coldness Alec had seen over a musket aimed at him on Culloden field.

It was a saying in the Highlands that a man should take a good look at his sweetheart’s mother before he stole her away, to get a glimpse into his life to come. Alec decided the saying wasn’t quite accurate—he saw nothing of Celia in this woman and nothing of her in Celia. Celia must take her kindness from the genial-looking duke and probably her interest in art and curiosities from him as well. The duchess held only coldness and ruthless ambition.

“Who are you?” the duchess demanded of Alec.

Lady Flora and Mrs. Reynolds had come in behind the duke, the mitigators in this tricky situation.

“You know who he is, Your Grace,” Lady Flora said. “Mr. Finn, the drawing master from Ireland, lately from Paris. He is a gentleman with a bit of land.”

“Barely a gentleman.” The duchess sniffed. “But I mean, who are you? What sort of land do you have? How many acres? How many in the arable? What sort of income will you be giving my daughter? Or will you be rushing to us in a few years from your Irish retreat with your hand out?”

“Now, Freya, let us not be hasty,” the duke said.

The duchess’s eyes went frosty, and Alec remembered Celia telling him her father and mother rarely used their given names with each other. A special occasion indeed.

“Hasty?” the duchess snapped. “She has defied me at every turn, and now she disgraces herself completely by marrying a … a nobody. But not for long. Your father will have the marriage annulled.”

Celia went pink, no doubt recalling the conversation with her brother about how they had no grounds for annulment. Alec drew a breath to begin the embarrassed and blundering speech that he’d prepared to argue against annulment, but Lady Flora cut in.

“Perhaps not the best recourse, Your Grace,” she said. “This step need not be a humiliation, you know. Mr. Finn is gentleman born, and could be a good resource to you. Your Grace will suffer less indignity if you put it about that the match is part of your plans. Mr. Finn can be given a courtesy title if you have approval—there is precedent for such things. And think of what you might make of the grandchildren.”

The duchess did not look mollified by Lady Flora’s words, but Alec watched the wheels begin to turn behind her eyes. If Celia had sons, she must be thinking, though they wouldn’t be in the direct line for the dukedom, they would be more people for her to manipulate.

“Hmph,” the duchess said.

Throughout this exchange, Celia looked not at her mother, but at her father. “Papa?”

“Are you happy with this man, daughter?” The duke spoke with resignation.