Her Wicked Highland Spy (The Marriage Maker #10)(20)

Elana smiled. She didn’t need to read the rest. The scheme had clearly succeeded beyond her wildest dreams. So, Rosalyn had succumbed to temptation, had she? Elana skewered Ethan with a probing look. Just how far had he ‘tempted’ her?

At least, now, she knew in what direction his thoughts lay.

She folded the letter and tucked it into her reticule. “The young lady provides a service to brides, an evaluation of their potential husband’s qualities.”

Ethan tilted his head to one side. “Go on.”

“We merely sought to give the magic of attraction a chance, Ethan. More for her, than you. What better way than to force the young lady into evaluating you as a catch?”

“Stirling, was it?” he asked shrewdly.

He was a master at hiding his emotions. She had no clue what he was thinking behind those blue-gray eyes.

Elana sighed. It was time for the truth. The whole truth. She dropped all pretenses and looked him straight in the eye. “I elicited his help. Put it down to the fact I love you dearly, Ethan, and merely wish to see you happy. I only wished to help you see you weren’t truly living, and I dared hope I could find you a wife.”

Ethan drew a deep breath.

She waited.

“Aye, I deserved a swift kick in the arse.” He chuckled. “I stand in your debt.”

Elana laughed with more relief than she cared to admit. “May I ask what you intend?”

“Intend?” He uncrossed his arms and towered over her. “I intend to take you straight to Brighton, Elana, and set this matter straight with Rosalyn. I then--I very well intend--to elope to Gretna Green. I’m not in the mood for a long courtship.”

Elana rose from her chair and pulled on her gloves. My God, Stirling was a wizard. How had he known? “Then, shall we?” was all she said.





Chapter Eleven


A Journey of Splendor



Rosalyn stood on the veranda in the early morning sun. Clouds threatened the horizon. A brisk wind blew in from the sea. Soon, Lady Elana would receive the letter…and Ethan? He’d vanished unexpectedly on a matter of business. She supposed she should be grateful. His absence would spare her a painful goodbye.

Her trunk stood ready in her room, her belongings neatly packed—all except the journal. She’d tossed it into the fireplace that very morning, in the vain hope its demise would help her forget. It wasn’t likely. She couldn’t forget Ethan so easily—if ever. The summer hadn’t turned out at all like she’d expected. She’d merely thought to observe the man. In her wildest dreams, she’d never expected to fall in love.

“Are you ready?” her aunt called from the bottom of the stairs.

Rosalyn hurried to meet her.

“I do wish you’d change your mind,” Lady Sarah said as she arrived.

Rosalyn kissed her aunt’s cheeks. “I can’t really stay, Auntie dear.”

“Still, you should at least stay until Ethan returns,” her aunt insisted yet again.

The rush was entirely the point, but Rosalyn could scarcely tell her that. Instead, she pulled her straw bonnet over her curls and looped her arm through her aunt’s. “Auntie dear, you act as if I’m going so very far away. I’m merely returning home to London and you’ll join me within a month. So, enough of this. Let’s enjoy our last day together here at the sea.”

“Yes, dear, I suppose.” Lady Sarah patted her hand.

They strolled to the veranda to await the butler, and within minutes, the man arrived in a smart barouche with Lady Sarah’s friend, Hettie, seated at his side.

“I’ve procured the services of Martha Gunn,” the spry, birdlike woman announced excitedly as they settled themselves in the barouche’s back seat. “They say she’s built like an ox.”

“Who is Marth Gunn?” Lady Sarah asked.

“The dipper,” Hettie replied.

“Dipper?” Rosalyn lifted a brow.

Both Hettie and Lady Sarah smiled at her indulgently. “Not all of us can swim like you, child,” Hettie said. “Some of us need the help of a dipper.”

As the two women began to chat, Rosalyn turned her head away. Talk of swimming brought her night on the beach to mind, and her cheeks heated with the memory of Ethan’s hard body pressed against hers.

They clipped along the road, headed for Brighton’s beach. Here and there, they met carriages and curricles along the way. It was a bright, cheerful summer day, but Rosalyn’s heart grew heavier with every passing moment. She’d miss Ethan dreadfully. His sensual, easy smile. The soft burr of his accent. His kindheartedness toward her aunt. She didn’t dare think of his kiss…they all belonged to another woman now. The thought hurt.

Finally, they arrived in Brighton and drove through the bustle of the town to the beach where the bathing machines were lined in a row next to the docks, each one a sturdy contraption that looked to Rosalyn like a wooden shack built on the back of a cart, each complete with a door and steps. The drivers lounged on top of the shacks, sporting striped bathing costumes, but it was the horses that caught her eye. They were massive creatures with hooves twice the size of a normal horse.

Already, several of the machines had been deployed. Rosalyn stepped down from the barouche, shaded her eyes, and squinted at the sea. She could make out the forms of women floating on the waves, hanging onto paddleboards, some wearing hats for protection from the sun while others employed women to swim alongside them and hold umbrellas.