Facing the enemy, p.14
Facing the Enemy, page 14
Elise’s stomach plunged to her toes. He was going to make her beg—same old Harry.
While the Roxbury Jump Race was not Royal Ascot, its large following had become a favorite among the horsey set for those willing to battle Scotland’s weather. Elise’s mother insisted that she could not attend unaccompanied.
“That’s ancient history. And my mother’s patriotism borders on the obsessive. She’ll take one look at your uniform and drill you with questions about our latest overseas campaigns.”
“What’s wrong with the duke’s son?”
If Harry wanted her to beg, Elise would. She was that desperate. “He has roaming hands and foul breath. And he brays like a donkey when he laughs.”
His eyes crinkled around the corners. Since his time in Lebatu, he was rather partial to donkeys. “Such a dilemma for a titled lady.”
“Harry, please help me.” Elise descended the remaining steps until she was on level with him. At her wit’s end, she unsheathed her sgian dubh, the blade glinting in the light.
“Going native on me, eh? Will you paint your face blue as well? If you do, I might consider this unique request.”
The dare was in his eyes. A dare she could never resist. Quick as a wink, she held the knife to his throat.
“Be a gentleman,” she threatened.
“My little tiger lily, that’s not the politest way to ask a man to accompany you to a ball.” Harry grinned; his expression was not the least perturbed.
Elise blinked at the pet name.
Harry grasped her fingers and bent them backward, forcing her to drop the blade or cut him. The sgian dubh clattered onto the stone steps at their feet.
“I believe I am much more the gentleman in this situation than you are the lady.”
Heat burned her skin like fire. The dirty dog. Harry had used that memory to distract her and extricate the knife—an old spymaster trick. And like a novice, she had fallen for it.
“Are you turning me down because you don’t know the reels?” Her eyes fastened on his while the pulse in her throat kept time to her thudding heart.
Harry closed the gap between them. “I can reel with the best of them, my wild Scottish thistle. In fact, I doubt you could keep up with me.”
Another endearment? Elise swallowed as old emotions resurrected from the locked chambers of her heart. The dark-blue specks in his eyes stood out. She’d forgotten how truly beautiful his eyes were. She inhaled and caught a whiff of his aftershave, something woodsy, dangerous, and as compelling as the man himself.
“Where did you learn to reel?” She could have bitten off her tongue. It was none of her business where Harry had learned his dancing skills. It certainly hadn’t been during university. He’d had two left feet back then. Harry must have improved during his military service.
The teasing light left Harry’s eyes. “Are you truly up for a night of dancing?” he asked, sidestepping her question.
“As long as I’m careful.” It didn’t matter if she was up to it or not. When in residence, Elise and her siblings were required to attend all their parents’ formal functions. One of the reasons for her rare visits home had everything to do with those stringent expectations and the added risk of blowing her cover if one of the society papers took her picture.
“You haven’t answered my question.” She was never sure what went on behind that mask of his, but just now, when Harry had called her his wild Scottish thistle, Elise would have sworn he still cared—at least for her physical well-being.
He scanned her face, his eyes hooded, but the flash inside them turned her insides to porridge. When he looked at her like that, memories brewed quicker than a storm blown in from the sea, and she yearned for things best left unexplored.
Harry stirred her heart, yes, but his thoughts remained his own. Until she was sure of him, she kept him at a distance and hugged her secret to herself. She still cared for him—had never stopped really. When she had heard his voice last summer for the first time in nine years, it had spooked her, stirring her locked emotions.
Harry was a man, a father, and a self-assured agent. He was nothing like the young man she had dated at university who had a good mind, no assets, and a heart full of ambition. Back then, he was brimful of raw talent and had little else to recommend him.
A decade later, he had returned a decorated military hero and was now a vetted undercover agent for HM’s Secret Service—his body a lethal weapon. Rumors had circulated among her old university crowd that Harry had invested in Nick’s financial empire from the ground level and now had a healthy portfolio of his own. After her parents’ arm-twisting, Elise was secretly proud of all Harry had achieved.
His wife’s running off must have done some damage though. After his divorce, she had caught sight of Harry on the London scene, a new lady on his arm at every outing. Then Nigel had assigned her to train him. And poof—Harry abandoned the social pool as quickly as he had appeared.
Shortly before the explosion that had broken her pelvis, Harry had turned up at her flat unexpectedly a time or two to talk shop. But the vibes coming off him were anything but business-like. After the accident, he had haunted her hospital room until Nigel had sent him to Africa.
Now that they were no longer partners, they were free to date, but since Harry’s return from Lebatu, he had blown hot and cold. The more aloof he behaved, the more her curiosity roused. If he should ask her on a real date, she might accept—just to find out what kind of man he’d become.
Tonight, she had begged him to be her escort to the Jumpers Ball. What had gotten into her? No man in his right mind accepted a date with the woman who had dumped him.
“If you’d prefer not to attend the ball, Harry, I do understand.”
“I only have one question, Elise.” Harry’s words came out slow and measured, but his eyes were alert, curious even, and if it wasn’t completely ridiculous . . . vulnerable.
Her breath suspended inside her chest.
“Why me? Why not one of those fancy chaps always sniffing around you?”
“Whom are you referring to?” Elise crinkled her forehead in confusion.
“The titled, chinless, drawling sorts your parents seem to fancy.”
The truth teetered on her tongue. Over the years, she had learned to accept people for who they were, not from where they originated. Good, honest men could be found at every level of society, from the wealthy elite down to the local binmen. If she were surer of Harry’s answer, she might have told him. But she wasn’t sure—not at all.
Despite her fears, she sensed her answer was every bit as important to him as his agreement to attend the ball was to her, though as to why she couldn’t say. Nothing but mild curiosity showed on his face.
“Because my parents will never sway my decisions again.”
“Ah.” A muscle bunched in his jaw before his face smoothed of all expression.
Not for the first time, she tried to breach the armor that covered his thoughts. No chinks showed through though, which made it impossible to penetrate.
Harry leaned forward and touched her chin while his gray eyes bored into her soul. “Your parents do hold power over you, every bit as much as a decade ago. It hurts you to displease them, but you continue to do so because you can’t be caged.”
Her eyes stung, and the emotions so close to the surface since her accident threatened to overflow. She blinked twice and didn’t answer until she pulled herself together.
“You see too much,” she murmured.
He kissed her forehead. “I see plenty, Elise. But not enough.”
“Fine. I’ll ask someone else.”
She spun on her heel, but Harry’s hand clamped on her upper arm, the fingers not tight but firm enough to let her know that if she tried to pull away, she wouldn’t get far.
“Kilt or tux?”
Flutters rippled through her body. Victory. She stifled the elation and forced herself to behave. “Surprise me.”
Chapter 17
Overloaded with packages, Elise trailed after her mother and sisters, her hips screaming for relief. Rain pelted the pavement, and wind funneled between Edinburgh’s tall Georgian buildings. Elise paused to readjust their purchases.
“Let me take some of those from you,” Sophie said, removing several bags.
“Girls, let’s stop at the Iona for tea before we go home.” Mother’s face positively glowed after spending an entire day with all three of her daughters.
“Don’t we need a reservation?” Elise asked. The Iona was always booked well in advance.
“The manager knows me. He’ll find us a table.” Mother led the way down the block to the neoclassical tea room.
When they entered, Elise glanced around. It had been years since she had entered the Iona’s portal. The lofty glass-domed ceiling and chandeliers that dripped antique crystal was a perfect backdrop for the linen-covered tables and oval-backed chairs.
Elise followed the greeter to their table. She sank into the upholstered chair and almost sighed, the relief instantaneous.
“I thought you were going to pass out back there,” Sophie said under her breath. “Your face went completely white.”
“I just needed to sit down,” Elise said while their mother ordered an elaborate high tea for their party.
Cairstine’s gaze darted around the room. “Last time I came with Mummy, Gordon Sinclair was here with his new wife,” she said, referring to a Scottish Television host. “And last year, we ran into the Duke of Bewcastle.”
Elise bit her tongue and refrained from glancing at Sophie. Cairstine had always been impressed by celebrities and titles. Perhaps one day, she’d outgrow it.
The waiter arrived and set the sweet and savory confections Mother had ordered in the center of the table, along with a pot of oolong. Elise had to admit it; Mother had the right of things. Elise crossed her legs and bumped one of the packages on the floor beside her chair.
They had spent most of the day in a dressmaker’s shop, being fitted for the upcoming Jumpers Ball. Her father’s annual event was followed the next morning by the Thistle Cup, a steeplechase and flat races on the Roxbury estate.
Elise quietly sipped her tea, her eyes on the busy road outside the window. The rain had let up, and the sky, though still leaden, had lightened considerably.
“I had my doubts when you first insisted on that gown, Elise,” her mother commented. “But I think it will do nicely.” Lady Roxbury lifted her teacup and took a small sip, her slender fingers curled daintily around the porcelain handle.
Elise pulled her eyes from the hustle and bustle of George Street. “It’s a lovely dress.” Simple lines suited her better than the big-skirted dress Cairstine had fancied.
“If I had a figure like Elise, I’d select that cut as well,” Cairstine remarked to no one in particular.
Their mother snorted. “You’re entirely too young to carry it off. It takes a certain disregard to wear that sort of gown.”
Cairstine’s large blue eyes rounded at her mother’s comment.
Elise hadn’t chosen the figure-hugging gown to show herself off. It quite literally was the only style in the shop she could tolerate. At almost six feet, the idea of wearing a fluffy ballgown was ludicrous; she’d take up half the dance floor.
“Who’s escorting you?” Sophie asked, curiosity limning her words.
“A military officer,” Elise said, grateful for Harry’s cover story.
Mother’s pink lips made a perfect O, and her eyes brightened. “From the base?”
“Aye.” Elise took another sip of tea. For the first time in forever, she had a date taller than herself, one who, on occasion, even made her feel feminine.
“You’ve been home no time at all. How did you meet him?” Mother didn’t bother to hide her interest. If civilians were given patriotic medals, Mother would be first in line.
“I knew him in London.” Elise stuck as close to the truth whenever possible.
“Does this officer have a name?” Cairstine asked.
Elise delayed her answer while she did a quick mental calculation. She couldn’t remember if Harry was using an alias on this mission. “Planning to look him up?” Elise asked instead, instantly regretting her words when Mother’s lips thinned, and sudden hurt clouded Cairstine’s blue eyes. “I’ll bring him round beforehand so you can meet him,” Elise said to soften her comment.
Picking up her knife, she slathered a scone with clotted cream, then added a dab of jam.
“Who’s escorting you, Cairstine?” Elise asked when Mother appeared ready to continue her inquisition about Harry.
“Viscount Ahern,” Cairstine gushed. “He’s the dreamiest.”
Elise felt, rather than saw, Sophie stiffen. Oh dear. Sophie had fancied Viscount Ahern, the Earl of Shrewsbury’s heir, for years. She had innocently introduced Cairstine to him at a hunt ball over the holidays.
Mother fussed with her napkin, well aware of Sophie’s emotional leanings. Cairstine appeared to be the only one at the table oblivious to the situation.
Elise squeezed Sophie’s hand under the table. Sophie and Ahern had been friends for ages. Both belonged to the horsey set and spent a good deal of time mucking about racecourses and riding to hounds.
Sophie was beautiful—when she made an effort. Most days, she scraped her mass of frizzy curls into a bun and wore little to no makeup. She had done her best throughout her teens to hide her well-endowed chest by slouching and wearing oversized jumpers. Elise would give anything to be six inches shorter and not have almost every article of clothing bespoke.
Her lips curved as she sipped the last of her lukewarm tea. Viscount Ahern was in for a big surprise when Sophie showed up at the ball. The gown the dressmaker had planned for her sister suited her perfectly and accentuated all her best parts.
“Sophie, you never mentioned who you are going with.” Cairstine selected a cream puff, with the custard fairly oozing from its shell, and popped it into her mouth.
“I didn’t, did I?” Sophie added a dollop of cream to her tea.
Mother set her teacup in its saucer. “Well, don’t keep us in suspense, Sophie. Who did you ask to escort you?”
Sophie’s eyes dropped to her plate. “Zander asked me.”
Mother’s jaw dropped, and Cairstine set down a bite-sized eclair.
Elise bit back a sudden urge to cheer. Well done, Sophie. That had certainly spiked Cairstine’s triumph over snagging a titled date.
“He asked you?” Cairstine asked, apparently seeking clarification.
“Aye,” Sophie said.
Dead silence.
“Yet just another area in which Mr. Matthews displays incomparable acumen.” Elise lifted her teacup as though to toast her sister.
No one would feel sorry for Sophie at the Jumpers Ball when Cairstine entered on Ahern’s arm, not with a man like Zander Matthews as an escort. Warmth spread through Elise, and she glanced at her mother beside her.
A pleased smile hovered on Mother’s lips. “We’ll have quite a party. Too bad Roddy isn’t attending this year.”
Elise raised her brows. “I’d call that a good omen.”
“I completely agree.” Cairstine popped another miniature cream puff into her mouth and chewed.
Sophie nodded as well.
“What’s gotten into you girls?” Mother asked. “Don’t you think it would be lovely to see Roddy again? He’s been gone for ages.”
“Good thing,” Elise muttered into her teacup.
Sophie kicked her ankle and frowned.
“Oh, Mummy. Roddy . . .” Cairstine let the words dwindle.
Elise and her sisters had little in common, but on the topic of Roddy, each agreed. Their charming, charismatic brother was an utter disgrace.
Two years ago on assignment, Elise had extricated Roddy when he’d become entangled with an oil magnate’s daughter with ties to nefarious dealings.
“I’m excited to see what the hairstylist will do to my hair.” Sophie tactfully changed the subject.
Just yesterday, Mother had booked a hair and makeup artist recommended by one of her cronies.
“I daresay each of you girls will show to best advantage and do your father and me proud. We aren’t getting any younger you know. It might be nice if one of you actually settled down and started a family.”
Elise closed her eyes. Mother wanted grandchildren and was tired of waiting for her four offspring to take the hint. She had all but washed her hands of Elise. Lately, her eyes had settled on Cairstine. Baby sister had better watch out. When Mother set her mind to something, she usually obtained it.
Would Cairstine prove more biddable than Elise had at that age? And if Mother pushed, would Ahern willingly give up his freedom for such a silly girl? Either way, Sophie’s heart would break.
Elise’s skin prickled, and she glanced once more at her mother. Two indentations marred the skin between her perfectly tweezed brows. Though Elise had done nothing to incur her attention, she had the distinct impression that she, and not her sisters, had somehow rekindled Mother’s crusading spirit.
Elise exited the tearoom with an armload of purchases, followed by her mother and sisters. When she reached the pavement, she stopped abruptly. Two doors from her stood Harry. She’d recognize him anywhere. The tall, lean man spoke to his young son, who tugged on his hand. What were Harry and Sammy doing in Edinburgh?
“There’s Hugh,” her mother said and waved the family driver over to the curb.
Hugh parked in a bus zone and popped the boot.
Elise pivoted and carried her mother’s purchases to the silver Jaguar, but Cairstine beat her to the car before the driver rounded the bonnet.
