Kimberly Nee - The McKenzie Brothers Page 4

  She couldn’t help but return his smile. He was warm and friendly, unlike Mrs. Markham. If her presence troubled him, he gave no indication but treated her with the utmost courtesy. “Not especially, but it’s preferable to rattling about in there with her.”

  Jameson’s tranquil blue-gray eyes danced with mischief. “Yes, she is a cold fish, that one. But, if you are in need of a good chuckle now and again, you ought but take in the way she follows Captain McKenzie with her eyes. Quite taken, she is. Quite taken, indeed.”

  Heather chuckled. Servants were often terrible gossips, but this was the first time one chose to gossip with her. The image of the icy Mrs. Markham staring longingly after Drew brought a smile to her face. “Is she?”

  He chuckled, nodding. “Very true. Watches him like a hawk watches a mouse, she does. It’s funny to see her fall all over herself the moment his eyes land upon her.”

  “But she gives me the impression she isn’t fond of Captain McKenzie.”

  “Oh, she feels he is an upstart American, of course. Still, she is not immune to his face. None of the ladies are. They kill one another trying to catch his attention. I must admit: I feel outnumbered. His face has no effect on me.”

  She laughed. “Oh, Jameson, you are terrible! Does the marquis know about your penchant for gossip?”

  He nodded, all smiles and not looking the least bit chagrined. “He is surrounded by women, so he is terribly grateful for my not being one.” Jameson pulled open the carriage door and held out his hand. “Up you get then.”

  Still chuckling, she settled into the plush seat. She liked Jameson. He was an adorable man and Michael Montague was quite fortunate to have him on staff. He was preferable to the grouchy Mrs. Markham any day.

  Jameson told the driver to drop them in Oxford Street. Their driver did just that, following along at a close pace as they popped into shops. It was exactly what she needed to forget her headache after all, and a lovely way to pass her day. She visited the perfumers, the stocking warehouse, the silk merchants, and even in shops where she bought nothing, she enjoyed looking.

  It had been so long since she’d been able to go shopping without having to watch every shilling. Not that she went mad now. She followed Drew’s list to the letter. If an item didn’t appear on it, she did not purchase it.

  The one exception was at the perfumers, where she fell in love with a soft, lavender fragrance at first sniff. It was expensive, and not on her list, but she talked herself into purchasing it. That bottle, her one extravagance, was tucked away with her other parcels.

  Jameson brought her purchases out to the carriage and walked alongside her as they moved down the walkway. In between suggestions, he provided a steady stream of conversation that put her at ease. It was a bit strange at first, thinking of Jameson as her chaperone, but she adjusted quickly. He kept her hand tucked into the crook of his elbow, much like a father would for his daughter, and for a moment, Heather felt very much like his daughter. He was a sweet man and she was grateful for his company.

  The last stop on her agenda was Mary Cartwright’s shop. Drew was quite explicit in his list of what he wished her to purchase there. As she scanned that missive for at least the tenth time, she realized that he was a man who most definitely knew how a woman should dress.

  Jameson tactfully waited outside while Heather stepped into the shop. A bell tinkled to announce her arrival, and she was happy to see only two women inside the studio. But as the door shut behind her, Heather stifled a groan. She knew one of the women.

  Lady Amanda Summerton, Countess of Winchester, chatted gaily with an older silver-haired woman Heather didn’t recognize. Amanda stood on the small block used for pinning up gowns, twisting to get a better look at her reflection in the full-length mirror. Her jaw went slack when she spotted Heather in the glass and her eyes went round. “Heather Morgan? Is that you?”

  “Good day, Amanda. How are you?”

  “Quite well, thank you.” Amanda ran a hand down the apple green muslin, which didn’t need smoothing. “And yourself? What brings you here?”

  Heather shrugged, crumpling the note to shove back into her reticule. “Doing a bit of shopping. Same as you.”

  “Really now?” Amanda’s eyes, the same pale green as her gown. glinted. “I hadn’t realized you had the funds for such frivolous spending. Papa’s paid off his debts, has he?”

  Heather bit the inside of her cheek, fighting the embarrassment rising within her. She and Amanda had once been friends, although their friendship waned somewhat after Amanda’s marriage, and her words were no surprise to Heather. After all, there was nothing the woman loved more than a bit of malicious gossip. The juicier the better was the rule of the ton. At one time, Heather would have been there with them, chewing on the latest scandalous story. Now she knew what it felt like to be on the receiving end of the ton’s vinegar.

  Not that it mattered. She was shunned by society. It would not matter what bloodline she bore, the ton would most definitely find out about the auction and her role in it.

  Bought as a mistress.

  “As a matter of fact, yes. Everything is settled.” Heather forced as much pride into her words as she could. “So, do tell me, how is your family?”

  “We are fine, thank you. I’d ask about yours but — well — we all know the story there, don’t we?” Amanda glanced at her companion and her laugh could only be described as mocking. “Oh, I don’t believe you’ve met, have you? Heather Morgan, this is the Duchess of Marston. Your Grace, Heather Morgan.”

  Trust Amanda to make certain Heather knew she was in the presence of a duchess. To her credit, Danielle Marston seemed equally embarrassed as she coughed and smiled. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Morgan.”

  “The pleasure is mine, Your Grace,” Heather replied, dipping into a curtsy.

  Mary Cartwright emerged from the back of her shop, smiling. “Miss Morgan! How lovely to see you again.”

  The Duchess narrowed her eyes and studied Heather. “Are you any relation to Lady Susan Morgan?”

  Hopefully, she didn’t show the surprise that sliced through her at the duchess’ question. “Yes, actually. She was my mother.”

  A wide, pearly smile split Her Grace’s face. “I should have known! I knew your mother and knew her well. I haven’t seen you since you were a baby but you look so much like her when she was about your age.”

  Her mother was friendly with a duchess? “You knew my mother?”

  “Of course. We practically grew up together. My family’s estate borders Waterbury.”

  Heather smiled. “You lived at Wickingham? I always had the wildest urge to explore the woods over there. They were like something out of a fairy tale.”

  The Duchess laughed girlishly. “I suppose they must have seemed so to a child, but they were quite boring, actually. Imagine that, Miss Morgan. Oh, but you’ve become a lovely young woman. I was so sorry to hear of Susan’s passing. Do tell me — have you a sponsor?”

  Heather didn’t miss the darkness flitting through Amanda’s eyes. The countess looked ready to commit murder as Heather replied, “Oh, no. I’m afraid I don’t.”

  “Well, you will have to pay a call on me while I am in London and we will discuss that matter. A lovely young girl such as yourself ought not be deprived of a come-out, even if it’s a bit late. Oh, if I’d but known your father would let this slip by him, I’d have swooped down on Waterbury and snatched you away years ago.” The Duchess rummaged in her reticule, coming up with a pale blue card. “Here, my dear. Take this. Eric and I will be in Town for a while longer — although the Season is not what it used to be. I think we may be a bit late for this one, but there is no reason why we can’t try for next Season now, is there?”

  Heather took the card, willing her fingers not to tremble as she did so. Her Grace’s proposal was so unexpected. Never in her wildest imaginings did she envision a duchess offering her sponsorship for a London Season.

  Her happiness was short-lived.
She could never accept the duchess’s offer. What would Her Grace think once it was learned Heather had been at Coal’s?

  Amanda stepped down from the block in a huff. “I need more time to think, Mary. I shall return in a few days to look at more plates.”

  Mary nodded. “Of course. And as for what you’ve already selected? Shall I send it to you?”

  The countess sniffed. “Of course.”

  “Very well. A good day to you, Countess.”

  Amanda didn’t bother to reply. She turned to the duchess. “Shall we?”

  Danielle Marston’s cheeks flushed as she got to her feet, as if embarrassed by Amanda’s snit. “Yes, well, it was lovely to see you again, Heather. Please, feel free to call on me any afternoon. I will be in Town for the next three weeks.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace.” Heather curtsied again.

  The Duchess gave her a warm smile, patted Heather’s arm and followed Amanda out of the shop. Heather glanced at the card clutched between her fingers, and a wave of regret crashed down over her. She would never be able to call on the duchess. Should she learn Heather’s shameful secret she would also be tainted by association.

  “Miss Morgan?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Miss Cartwright,” Heather exclaimed, jerked out of her thoughts by the seamstress’s concerned voice.

  “So, what can I do for you today?”

  Heather took a deep breath. “I’m going to need to look at some more plates and fabric, I’m afraid.”

  “That will be no trouble at all, Miss Morgan. Here, make yourself comfortable and I will fetch the books.”

  Heather sank down into the plush chair vacated by Danielle Marston. Her headache had returned, but she managed to focus her attention on Mary and begin the process of selecting a larger wardrobe.

  Chapter Seven

  Heather was exhausted when she and Jameson returned to Grosvenor Square. A footman brought her parcels inside at once, making certain they were stowed away before she went to upstairs to freshen up.

  At the top of the stairs, Heather froze. She wasn’t certain where she was expected to do any freshening up. True, she’d been sharing Drew’s chambers, but what if he was already there? Her cheeks burned. What if she walked in on him before he was decent?

  She eyed each of the four closed doors, tapping her forefinger against her pursed lips. Mrs. Markham was nowhere to be found.

  That woman is like smoke, Heather thought with frustration. Well, I cannot stand out here in the hallway all night. I may as well return to Drew’s room for now.

  She turned the knob, opening the door without bothering to knock, and then halted in her tracks as fire tore through her.

  Drew had returned. Not only had he returned, but he had also decided to freshen up, for he was in the process of dressing.

  Thankfully, he wore trousers. But that was all. He didn’t seem embarrassed by her sudden entrance. Instead, he smiled as he turned to face her. “Welcome home.”

  She stood stock-still, fighting to keep from staring. It was impossible. Heat swept through her like wildfire. If she’d thought the eyeful she’d gotten the other evening was impressive, it was nothing compared to the view he offered her now.

  Did he have even an ounce of fat on his body? More importantly, was it possible for a man to have a beautiful chest? If so, then his was the most beautiful chest in existence.

  Her pulse thrummed through her as she gave up trying not to stare. His skin, a sun-kissed bronze, was taut over his shoulders and arms, the heavy, corded muscles bunched with each movement.

  He was shaving, the razor still in his right hand, a cup flecked with soap foam standing on the lip of the washbasin. His hand lowered from his cheek, and the wildest urge to caress his newly-smooth cheek with her own swept through her.

  “I’m — I’m sorry.” She swallowed hard as she fought the urge to fidget and look away. “I should have knocked first.”

  “No need to apologize,” he replied easily, reaching for the linen towel beside the silver lather cup. He patted his face dry, refolded the towel, and tossed it back onto the dressing table. “I trust Mrs. Markham gave you my message?”

  “She did,” Heather replied, eyes riveted on the floor.

  “And did you do as I asked?”

  “Of course. You are the master.”

  She swallowed hard at the glint in his eye. Her heart sped up and that served only to push that awful uncomfortable heat deeper into her being. Her mind whirled as she struggled to deflect it. “You were out all night?”

  “It was almost dawn, yes. I was tied up with business at the harbor, as I said, and I spent the night on my ship. I have never been so grateful to see this townhouse as I was this morning.”

  As he spoke, he closed the space between them. Her breath caught in her throat, and her discomfort worsened. Her muscles were so tight, she was certain she’d been screeching in pain at any moment.

  Then it changed.

  What had been uncomfortable — almost painful — tension twisted, then burst like a soap bubble. Discomfort became something much more pleasant. Not quite delight, but something very close to it.

  She bit the inside of her cheek. No pain this time. He caught her face between his rough palms. His fingers moved over her cheeks in long, soft strokes. The touch brought weight to her eyelids, making them heavy, but she didn’t want to close her eyes. She wanted to see him, wanted to see how he gazed down at her with such intensity. The topaz of his irises seemed to glow with a fire she’d never seen, and touched her without making any sort of contact. Desire. She knew, without having to be told, that desire was the driving force behind those sensual eyes. Before she could say anything, he leaned closer, his lips closing down over hers.

  She had not imagined their softness the first time he kissed her. The fluttering began, wings uncurling in her belly as his mouth moved against hers sensually, caressing her lips as if they were delicate rose petals.

  She paused for a moment, not knowing where she should put her hands. It seemed forward to place them on his bare chest, even more so to slip them about his waist. Aside from that, she didn’t know her other options.

  She finally decided on his hips, so that was where they went, and she was amazed at the solid feel of the muscle stretched taut over his hipbones. He seemed to be made entirely of granite, without a soft spot to be found anywhere.

  He explored her with his kiss, his tongue teasing hers in a silky caress. His fingers crept higher, pushing into her hair, to stroke along her scalp, dislodging pins to send the curls spilling over her shoulders. His fingers slid through her hair before moving lower to brush against her neck, skimming over her shoulders, before moving down her arms.

  She shuddered as he swept along the outer contours of her breasts with his thumbs. The heat started deep in the pit of her belly to slowly uncoil itself, like a cat waking from a nap. It spread through her limbs, her knees threatening to buckle under the onslaught of his lips.

  Drew slid his arms about her waist, breaking the kiss to trail his lips along her throat. Her head fell back beneath the delicious tingling sensations coursing through her, a soft groan bubbling to her lips.

  She wanted to touch him, to feel his bare skin against her palms. He awoke something in her and she wanted to spread her fingers over the warm rise of his chest, to wrap her arms about his neck and crush herself against him.

  She let out a soft mewl as his hands skimmed down to cup her backside. He lifted her, pressing her into him, bringing her into her first contact with his arousal.

  That most solid part of him sent a shiver tickling down her spine. It was the first time she’d ever felt a man’s desire. But there it was, pressing right up into her as if seeking her out.

  He eased one knee between hers and she couldn’t contain her groan as the sensual frictions sent shockwaves pulsing through her. Apparently she had a desire of her own and it was just as unfamiliar to her. Until now.

  He pulled away and their eyes met
once more. His were hooded, darkened to a molten gold that practically snatched the breath from her lungs. No man had ever looked at her this way and her heart thundered in her chest as he took her by the hand to lead her to the bed.

  “Captain McKenzie?” Mrs. Markham tapped on the door.

  “Oh, hell…” Drew breathed, pressing his cheek into Heather’s hair. “I am going to recommend that Sheffield fire that woman.”

  “Captain McKenzie? It’s time for tea.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Markham.” Sarcasm dripped from each growled word.

  “Tea does seem to be important to her,” Heather murmured, eyes half-closed as he nuzzled her. Frustration, surprisingly strong, rolled through her.

  Damn that woman and her bloody awful timing.

  “I hate that woman,” he muttered after a long moment, pulling away to gaze up at her. “She interrupted what was a very lovely moment.”

  Heather smiled up at him. When would her heartbeat, her breathing, return to normal? The discomfort returned, and she bit back an aroused sigh. “There will be other moments.”

  “Ah, there should have been. Now, I’m not so certain.” He pulled free, then moved to finish dressing. “That is part of the reason I was gone all night. I had a little spat with the harbormaster. Seems I’ll be taking myself from these shores sooner than I thought.”

  “How much sooner?”

  “Most likely within the next two days, while the tides are favorable.”

  Her stomach dropped at that. Two days? Two days and she would be left to fend for herself. She thought about the calling card the duchess had given her. Heather supposed she could accept the duchess’s offer, and hope her secret never came to light.

  Then Drew surprised her. He must have seen the look of horror on her face, for he smiled then, crossing back to take her in his arms and whisper, “Come to America with me.”

  Chapter Eight

  She stepped back. Surely she must have misheard him. Hadn’t she?