A Grand Design Part 20

"I do not like commands, my lord. And I do not wish to speak with you. Good day." With that, she turned back to the shelves, removed another book from the set, and opened it, all the while trying not to feel half so foolish as she knew she looked.

"d.a.m.nit, Cate." The ladder shook slightly as Tregaron grasped the rails. Cate glanced down, and was amazed to see him put his foot on the lowest rung. He climbed another, then stopped. "Oh, for G.o.d's sake," he muttered, stepping back to the floor "This is ridiculous!"

He looked so fierce, almost past gentility, as he stood glaring up at her. The hands gripping the ladder were large, powerful-looking, and Cate had the feeling that he could tear the ma.s.sive thing from its runners and send it-and her-flying with a mere flick of his wrists. For a long moment, she was convinced he was going to do just that.

Then he gave a snarl and let go of the rails. "Suit yourself. Stay up there." He stalked to the hearth, where he stopped to lean stiffly against the mantel. "There is talk . . . about us."

"I know." No wonder he was so furious, she thought. To have his name murmured about Town again, paired with hers Better than being labeled a murderer, certainly, but the tale could do no good to his quest for a second Society bride.

Lady Leverham had confirmed all of Cate's suspicions on that matter-in between wringing herplump hands and scolding. There was no doubt in that lady's mind that the marquess had returned toLondon to find himself a new wife. Cate had no doubts, either. What neither knew was how far the talehad gone. Not that it mattered, really. With Tregaron as a player in the piece, it would certainly reachmost of the ton by nightfall.

Should Fremont decide to add to the gossip by telling of their dismal little connection, Cate's humiliation would be complete. More important, she told herself, Lucy would be tainted, as would Buchanan and Buchanan. Cate was far from stupid. She knew how little it took, how absurd the reasons could be for Society, even in the most distant climes, to turn its back on people like her and her family.

"It is likely we will be going home to Scotland as soon as possible," she said, only half intending to speak aloud. "Until such a time, I do not need to appear in public."

"So you intend to seclude yourself more than you have already during your time here."

"I don't see an alternative. Nor do I particularly want one."

He had picked up one of the wooden spoons from the mantel now, and was slapping it against the palm of his hand. Cate flinched at each audible smack. He did not even appear to be feeling a sting. "I have an alternative for you."

"But I have just said I do not want-"

"Yes, yes. I heard you. Very resigned and n.o.ble. But hear me out." He stilled the spoon and began to trace the links and Celtic cross that decorated the handle. "I feel responsible for the situation."

"Don't," Cate said shortly. "I am a grown woman. I was not coerced." Seduced, perhaps, she thought, but oh so eagerly and willingly. "I am more than ready to face the consequences of my actions."

"Very mature of you," he muttered. "Now do be quiet and let me finish. As I said, I feel responsible for the situation in which not only you find yourself, but also the other members of your family. I would not see your sister or your uncles' business suffer for my . . . lapse in good judgment."

Cate had never thought of herself as a lapse in good judgment, appropriate as the phrase might be. The kiss she had shared with Tregaron had not been sensible, no, but it had been wonderful, and it hurt to have it dismissed so cavalierly by the only other person who could have known how wonderful it had been.

"I have no idea what, precisely, is being said," he went on, "but I can guess. It matters little to me; I am accustomed to the lash of flapping tongues. You, however . . ."

"I will survive."

"No doubt. I expect you would survive a direct hit with an arrow. However, I see a very simple way out of this twist. You must marry me."

Cate felt her jaw dropping.

He continued, "You, of course, would be removed from censure the moment our, er, connection is legitimized. Once you are Lady Tregaron, nothing from your past would signify at all. You have no desire, I am sure, to move in the so-called first circles. Furthermore, as Lucy would then be my sister-in-law, I would be pleased to settle upon her a sufficient dowry for her to wed whomever she chooses. And I have more than enough property to keep your uncles occupied for years to come." He set the love spoon back on the mantel with a decisive click. "What do you say?"

Words completely evaded Cate for a long moment. Then, "Have you gone completely daft?" she demanded.

"Daft?" He gazed up at her, a confused frown on his face. "Daft?"

"Daft! Beyond being insulting to an extreme, that . . . that proposal, if it can be called such, is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard! My goodness, you might just as well be suggesting we dip into a cup of hemlock. It would be every bit as dramatic and every bit as unnecessary!"

"Now, Cate."

"Don't you, 'Now, Cate' me!" she nearly shouted. "I might have allowed you certain liberties, Lord Tregaron. I might even have led you to believe that I would allow more. But I never once gave you leave to treat me like a dimwitted serf in Your Majesty's imaginary demesne. And I never gave you leave to use my name!;" She raised the book she was holding into the air, ready to send it flying down for emphasis.

"Catey!"

Both she and Tregaron spun to face the door. There, filling the doorway, was Uncle Ambrose. Just visible over his shoulder was a tuft of Uncle Angus's wild hair.

"What in G.o.d's name has gotten into you?" Ambrose demanded.

"Be a good la.s.s and put the book down," Angus suggested, wriggling around his brother's vast bulk to enter the room, "before you brain somebody with it."

Mortified, Cate set the book back on the shelf.

"Sirs, if you would-" Tregaron began."As for you, you arrogant pup"-Ambrose shook a large finger in the marquess's direction-I'm just sporting enough to give you a running start before I come after you for upsetting m'niece."

"Now, now, Ambrose," Angus murmured. "We have no idea yet what happened here."

"He insulted me unforgivably," Cate informed them.

"I made her an offer of marriage!" was Tregaron's hot retort.

Angus rubbed uncomfortably at the crown of his head. "Well," he said, "I suppose to some, there might be an insult there ..."

"Ach, Angus, you daft haddie." Ambrose rolled his eyes.

"Still your tongue, man." Then, to Tregaron, "Was it serious-the proposal?"

Slightly red of face, the younger man replied, "It was."

Cate snorted. Uncle Ambrose shot her a look from beneath his formidable brows before rounding on Tregaron again. "Was the insult serious, too?"

"The proposal was the insult!" Cate snapped.

Ambrose regarded her for a long moment. "Have you been doing something you oughtn't, Catey, la.s.s?"

It was her turn to roll her eyes. "That," she replied, "would require a dictionary and a list." At her uncle's grunt, she lowered her gaze and muttered, "If you're asking if Lord Tregaron's offer was motivated by necessity, the answer is no."

"Well. Grand." Ambrose rubbed at his jaw, which was faintly pink. "Good. Now, are you certain about refusing, Catey?"

"Quite."

"He's got a decent house here."

"I can live without the house," she said tartly.

"He's rich as Croesus."

"Uncle Ambrose!"

Her uncle shrugged. "Just stating facts. Of course you don't have to have him if you really don't want him. It's just that since these matters always seem to come down to money in the end, I thought why not get right to the heart of the matter?"

Cate resisted the urge to smack him with the book, then the urge to smack her own head against something hard.

"You know, Ambrose," his brother announced, " 'tis times like this that show why you never married. You've no notion of the romantic sensibilities."

"Oh, aye?" Ambrose crossed his arms over his barrel chest. "And what's your excuse?"

"Gentlemen," Tregaron tried.

"My continued bachelorhood certainly has nothing to do with a lack of romantic sensibilities," Angus retorted, chin elevated. "I am an aesthete-a connoisseur of life's delicacies. You, on the other hand, would not know a sensibility of any sort were it to fall onto your thick skull."

"Gentlemen, please." Tregaron thumped a clenched fist against the mantel. "I cannot see that this discussion is apropos to the situation at hand. I am certain you are both well justified in your single state -"

"And you're one to be commenting," Ambrose spun on him. "You've just had a proposal tossed back at you like spit in the wind."

Cate saw Tregaron's already rigid jaw tighten. "Consider it withdrawn!" he ground out. "G.o.d send me Robert Adam next time I look to renovate my home."

"He's dead, m'lord," Angus informed him.

"I know he's dead!" Tregaron bellowed and, thrusting both hands into his hair, stomped from theroom.

"Well, that's that, I suppose," Angus offered when the door thudded loudly behind him.

"Aye. You'll be hearing no more of this marriage nonsense," was Ambrose's addition. "Happy now, la.s.s?"

"To be sure," Cate replied with a sigh. "Overjoyed." There was no sense in trying to explain to them -or herself-that how she really felt was a bit ill. "Was there something you needed me for?" she asked wearily, thinking a change of subject would be wise.

'Nay, nay." Ambrose shook his ma.s.sive head. "We'd come to tell you we've had another commission, just this morning. And since you're so close to being done here, we thought we'd ask when you'd be ready to start the next."

"Another commission." Cate was not as thrilled as she thought she would be, somehow, but considering the current state of affairs, it was no wonder. This little boon might be whisked away from them at any moment.

"Aye, and we're expecting another after," Angus informed her cheerfully.

"In London?"

"Ach, nay." Angus shrugged. "First one's near York. Fellow was here in Town on business, saw this place, and wrote us when he'd reached home again. Wife wants their digs redone top to bottom. The other, if we get it, is Dumfries. Cousin or some such of Lord Leverham."

"York," Cate murmured. Dumfries. Far from the gossip, certainly. But so far from so much else as well.

"I'll miss the museums something fierce, I will," Ambrose was saying.

"And the churches," was Angus's glum addition.

Cate slowly descended the ladder. She wandered past her uncles, to the front of the house, where she stood in the open window. A brisk breeze fluttered her sleeve then fell still. Below, Mayfair coursed with its daily activity. Somewhere in its streets, a man was walking away. Cate looked both ways, but he was gone. She'd missed him, obviously.

Tregaron marched away from his house, his pulse pounding angrily with his stride. How dare she? he fumed. How dare she throw back his offer of marriage as if it were an invitation to walk on broken gla.s.s? For all her appeal, Cate was not likely to receive many more such proposals in her life. She was too forward, too sharp, too b.l.o.o.d.y tall for the men she would meet. Tregaron could not think of a single fellow who would want to be tied to her quick tongue, agile mind, and long . . . supple form . . . for life.

He did. He wanted Miss Catherine Buchanan rather desperately. He wanted every little quirk and corner of her. And she had just made it abundantly clear that she would not have him if he were presented to her dipped in gold.

A bit of soot fell onto his sleeve from the air. He brushed it off with a growl. No, he b.l.o.o.d.y well didn't think flowers would have helped. He would only have looked silly, standing so far beneath Cate, posy in hand. Nor would a small sparkly object have been any better. He could only imagine Ambrose Buchanan's reaction should he have seen Tregaron trying to present Cate with a diamond brooch. He would have thumped first and asked his questions later.

As for offering to give her the sky, well, he could have tried that one. Matters could not have turned out any worse than they actually had. Perhaps that was the way to woo women after all-flowers, gems, promises a man could not possibly think to keep.

He needed a brandy. So what if it were not yet noon.

At Bond Street, he automatically turned south toward St. James's. He was halfway to Piccadilly before he recalled that his club had very politely invited him to resign his membership eight years earlier. And he had done so without a fight. At that point, he hadn't planned on coming back to London. Now he had a choice. He could wander around looking for a place to drown himself in a bottle, or he could get on with his day, with his life.

He went in search of a pub.

"Didn't listen to me, did you, guv?"

Tregaron slowed as young Harris suddenly fell into step beside him, cherubic face filthy and creased into a smug smile.

"What makes you say that?"

"You look like a thunder cloud. 'Ave you a shilling to spare?"

"Why?" Tregaron demanded, even as he reached into his pocket.

"Just trying to ask politely," was the response. "Me mam always tells me to ask politely. I'll give you another bit of advice for it, though."

"Take the coin and welcome if you'll keep the advice to yourself."

The shilling vanished into the boy's pocket. "Will you be going back to wherever you came from, then?"