She'd had moments where she anticipated a future of his lovemaking and cajoled half grins, but she didn't know how she'd accomplish this since she'd never be allowed to marry MacCarrick even if he'd "ruined" her.
Not that MacCarrick wished for marriage to her. He'd made what he wanted clear. "Why have one when you can have many?" he'd asked, which made her angry. She'd rather not have him than have to share him. Where had that thought come from? She felt like a jealous schoolgirl who wouldn't share her ribbon. She knew better than ever to be proprietary over a man.
Only one thing could keep a man by a woman's side - she'd seen it in rare couples - and that was love.
When the steamer began docking, and he took her arm, she asked him, "Do you want to know what I was thinking?"
"Anna, every man on board knew what you were thinking about."
"Oh." Annalía hated being obvious.
"Every one of them would have taken you up on it." He sounded furious as he steered her toward a railed gangway.
He was furious? She was the one who had reason to be. She looked back at the ship and in an innocent tone asked, "Were any of them husband material?"
He glowered at her so fiercely any other woman would have quaked in her garters. After that, he said nothing, and his expression defied her to speak to him. Though she decided she wouldn't give him the pleasure, their next stop was proving unbearable.
He was taking her to London on a train. At the station, she had many questions, and she knew he could provide all the answers. It was like having a book in your hand with knowledge you wanted, but the pages were glued together. Sooner or later you'd want nothing more than to hurl it against the wall.
Then London was a chaotic snarl of noise and wares and food smells to be investigated, but he swiftly got them a hansom, and soon they were away from the city center riding into a charming residential area. Copious townhomes with late summer gardens queued along the brick-paved street. Trees abounded and lawns stretched in front of each with spotless perfection. "Fifteenth from the Throne" hadn't been lying when she'd said Brits had taste.
They stopped in front of a grand property with a stately red brick house. Large without being overblown, with every detail tasteful, the property bespoke the wealth of the owners. As was fitting.
"We're here."
She glanced at him, turned to observe the home once again, then frowned. "Did you give Aleix directions to this place?"
"Aye. He should find it easily enough."
"Do you know people who work here?"
He looked at her strangely as he opened his door. "Aye. I suppose I do." Then he was assisting her out and waltzing her up the freshly washed steps, directly to the double doors. The front doors.
"You can't just knock for entrance here, MacCarrick." If he had friends who worked here, he'd get them in trouble.
The skin around his eyes tightened as he rapped the huge ornate knocker. "I can."
Just as she was going to tell him to let her speak for them, one door opened to show a dour-looking butler, whose expression creased into a smile when he saw MacCarrick. "Master Courtland!"
"Erskine, it's good to see you."
As Erskine led them in, Annalía frowned at MacCarrick.
"Is this your home?"
"It's my family's. My home's in Scotland."
"Oh." And precisely why would the mercenary's family home be beautiful and luxurious? "Is yours as nice as this one?"
He gave her an unreadable expression. "Do you like me better now that you know I come from money?"
She poked her chin up. The nerve. She wasn't exactly a pauper. "No, to like you better, I would have had to like you some." Though her answer was dripping disdain, her words seemed to please him.
"Then no, my home is no' near to being this nice."
In the next room hung a large portrait of a woman, clearly the focal point. Annalía inspected it, fascinated with the beautiful redhead. "Who is she?"
"Fiona MacCarrick." He said the words as though reluctant. "My mother."
"She's beautiful."
He nodded tightly, giving her the impression that he wasn't close to her. She lingered, noting the quality of the work. The woman was posed in front of a piano, making Annalía wonder if the family had musical talent. "Does she play?"
"Aye, even a Scottish woman can learn to play the piano."
"MacCarrick! Don't take meaning from innocent questions. Pianos are rare in Andorra and denote wealth. A family would be proud to have one and would pose in front of it whether they played or not."
"Then I apologize."
Still piqued, she muttered, "It's not as if I questioned her posing with a book in her hand," then continued her examination of the home. As he guided her into another spacious area, she recognized that something in the house was...amiss. "Are there any women here?"
"No sisters. I have two older brothers."
"Any wives?"
His expression tightened again. "No wives."
"Your brothers are older than you and still not married? What do you people have against marriage?"
"This subject's ended."
She hated when he said that. How dare he? We are not kissing anymore. We are not touching. We are not talking about this subject. She stopped and refused to follow him, weary of his orders and of his coldness today. "Fine, I shall try to determine answers to my own questions. They won't be as factual or flattering as yours would have been. For instance, I shall say that none of your brothers are married because they are like you - thick-skulled, ill-mannered barbarians. Mal educat Escocès! Rude Scots who couldn't hope to get a mate without a club - "
"Appears you've brought a guest, Court." A deep voice interrupted her.
She whirled around, then craned her neck up. And this would be one of the brothers she'd just been insulting. Yes, his brother was very like him, with the same black hair, the same dark watchful eyes.
"Aye, Hugh, this is Lady Annalía Llorente. She comes from Andorra and has no' yet been convinced of all my charms. Annalía, this is my thick-skulled brother, Hugh MacCarrick."
If he intended to embarrass her, he'd have to do better than that. She was a master at social situations, even uncomfortable ones. She glided over to his brother and held out her hand, smiling demurely. He took it and kissed it perfectly. "Delighted."
She turned to MacCarrick. "No, I would say he is nothing like you." When she smiled back at the brother, she saw the tight lines around the man's mouth relax for a moment and suspected that was the only indicator of amusement you'd see from him. She'd wager her Limoges collection that this one hadn't smiled in years. What an odd, solemn family.
She wondered if she'd imagined the subtle easing in his expression, because now he was all sternness. "We'll talk later?" the brother asked MacCarrick.
"Aye," he answered with a grim nod. "Later."
If she were fanciful, she'd swear there was some undercurrent between them, some unspoken...warning?
After their intense exchange, she and MacCarrick continued on. The rest of the house was just as lovely and spacious, the room she was to stay in stylish. MacCarrick had grown up amidst wealth. So what had driven him to become a mercenary? And why would his family tolerate such an occupation, even for the youngest son?
Chapter Twenty-five
She'd eaten, she'd bathed, and now that she'd met him downstairs in the parlor, she was pacing, trudging back and forth across the plush carpets. Court sank back in a chair, knowing this wasn't a good sign.
"I need to go shopping," she informed him as she passed his chair. "For clothes."
"I just bought you clothing in the village."
"You know I can't go like that here."
He stared at her skirts swishing too high above her ankles and knew she was right. He also knew she wasn't leaving this house. "It's too crowded and too dangerous."
"Surely the assassins who want to murder me haven't caught up with us yet. And I'm not asking you to pay for them. I could finally sell a piece of jewelry."
"The hell you will." Did she think he fought her on this because of money? Did she believe she needed to sell her irreplaceable jewelry because he was unable to clothe her? "I'm no' letting you sell your things."