Part 15 (1/2)
The music played on-reels, country dances, elegant minuets. Serena danced with elderly gentlemen, sons, cousins, the portly and the das.h.i.+ng.
Her love of dancing and her skill kept her in constant demand. She had one other set with Brigham, then was forced to watch him lead out one after another of the pretty guests.
He couldn't keep his eyes off her. d.a.m.n it, it wasn't like him to resent watching a woman dance with another man. Did she have to smile at them? No, by G.o.d, she didn't. And she had no business flirting with that skinny young Scot in the ugly coat. He fingered the hilt of his dress sword and fought back temptation.
What had her mother been thinking of to allow her to a different direction by her partner. One who was wearing, in Brigham's opinion, a particularly hideous yellow brocade. While the coat might have offended him, the possessive manner in which the man clutched Serena's hand did a great deal more.
”Who is that Serena's talking with?”
Gwen followed the direction Brigham was scowling into. ”Oh, that's only Rob, one of Serena's suitors.”
”Suitors?” He said between his teeth. ”Suitors, is it?” Before Gwen could elaborate, he was striding across the room. ”Miss MacGregor, a word with you?”
Her brow lifted at his tone. ”Lord Ashburn, may I present Rob MacGregor, my kinsman.”
”Your servant,” he said stiffly. Then, taking Serena's elbow, he dragged her off toward the first convenient alcove. ”What do you think you're doing? Have you lost your senses? You'll have everyone staring.”
”To h.e.l.l with them.” He stared down at her mutinous face. ”Why was that popinjay holding your hand?”
Though she privately agreed that Rob MacGregor was a popinjay at his best, she refused to accept any slur on a kinsman. ”Rob MacGregor happens to be a fine man of good family.”
”The devil take his family.” He had barely enough control left to keep his voice low. ”Why was he holding your hand?”
”Because he wanted to.”
”Give it to me.”
”I will not”
”I said give it to me.” He s.n.a.t.c.hed it up. ”He's no right to it, do you understand?”
”No. I understand that I'm free to give my hand to whomever I choose.”
The cool light of battle came into his eyes. He preferred it, much preferred it, to the grinding heat of jealousy. ”If you want your fine young man of good family to live, I wouldn't choose him again.”
”Is that so?” She tugged at her hand and got nowhere. ”Let me go this instant.”
”So you can return to him?”
She wondered for a moment if Brigham was drunk, but decided against it. His eyes were too sharp and clear. ”If I choose.”
”If you choose, I promise you you will regret it. This dance is mine.” Moments before, she had longed to dance with him. Now she held her ground, equally determined not to. ”I don't want to dance with you.”
”What you want and what you'll do may be different matters, my dear.”
”I will remind you, Lord Ashburn, only my father can command me.”
”That will change.” His fingers tightened on hers. ”When I return from London-”
”You're going to London?” Her anger was immediately eclipsed by distress. ”When? Why?”
”In two days. I have business there.”
”I see.” Her hand went limp in his. ”Perhaps you had planned to tell me when you saddled your horse.”
”I only just received word that I was needed.” His eyes lost their fire, his voice its roughness. ”Would you care that I go?”
”No.” She turned her head away, to stare toward the music. ”Why should I?”
”But you do.” With his free hand he touched her cheek.
”Go or stay,” she said in a desperate whisper. ”It matters nothing to me.”
”I go on behalf of the Prince.”
”Then G.o.dspeed,” she managed.
”Rena, I will come back.”
”Will you, my lord?” She pulled her hand away from his. ”I wonder.”
Before he could stop her, she rushed back into the ballroom and threw herself into the dancing.
Chapter Nine
Perhaps she had been more unhappy in her life. But she couldn't remember when tears had seemed so miserably and inescapably close.
Perhaps she had been angrier. But she could think of no time in her life when fury had raged quite so high or burned so hot.
And the fury and misery were all with herself, Serena thought as she kicked the mare into a gallop. With herself, for dreaming, even for a moment, that there could be something real, something lovely, between herself and Brigham.
He was going back to London. Aye, and London was where he belonged. In London he was a man of wealth and means and lineage. He was a man with parties to attend, ladies to call on. A line to continue.
Swearing, she pushed the horse harder.
He might stand behind the Prince. She was coming to believe he was dedicated to the cause and would fight for it. But he would fight in England, for England. Why should he not? Why should a man like the earl of Ashburn waste a thought on her once he was back in his own world?
Just as she would waste no thought on him, she promised herself, once he was gone.
She knew he had met with her father and many of the other chiefs early that morning. Oh, women weren't supposed to know or bother themselves with plans of war and rebellions, but they knew. France would move on England, and when she did, Charles hoped to sway the French king to his cause. The previous winter, Louis had planned to invade England with Charles in attendance as his father's representative. If the fleet had not been wrecked in a storm and the invasion abandoned... Well, that was another matter. It was clear that Louis had supported Charles because he wanted a monarch on the English throne who would be dependent on France. Just as it was clear Charles would use France or any means to gain his rightful place. But the invasion had been abandoned, and the French king was now biding his time.
Just because a body had to busy herself with sewing and cleaning didn't mean she had no head for politics.
So Brigham would go to London and beat the drum for the young Prince. It had become more important than ever to rally the Jacobites for the Stuarts, English and Scottish. The time for rebellion was ripe.