The tension eased from her face, and he caught a welcome glimpse of a fledgling animation. “But when I gain control of my money, I can do an awful lot of good with it, assuming Neil hasn’t spent me out of house and home. He’s hidden the accounts from me for years, but I’m my father’s daughter. I can see how he’s mismanaged the estate. Once I’ve rid Appin of this plague of Maxwells, I can start to rebuild. That will keep me busy while the world wastes its time, gossiping about the scandalous countess who ran around the countryside in breeches.”
Quentin sighed and folded his arms as he stared down at her where she sat on the window seat. “You’re wrong, you know.”
She looked startled. “About what?”
“Let’s start with doling out responsibility for our predicament. You seem to blame yourself for this tangle, but the mess isn’t your fault. It’s mine. If I hadn’t tried to get you alone so I could satisfy my curiosity, there wouldn’t be any talk about us spending the night together.”
She cast him a quick glance, and he could see he was far from convincing her. “You meant no spite.”
“I didn’t, but that doesn’t alter the result.”
The light flooding through the window behind her revealed the purposeful set of her chin. “You don’t want to marry me.”
He wouldn’t say that, but he could see now wasn’t the time to tell her that he found her enchanting. If he confided what he really thought of her, she might even wonder if he was one of those fortune-hunting gentlemen. To Hades with that notion.
So he kept his tone neutral. “Marriage wasn’t something I was planning right now, no.”
“You see, then? Emily means well, but we can go on without an engagement.”
He frowned as he unfolded his arms and dared to take a step toward her. “You’ve got it all worked out, but you’ve forgotten one thing, Kit.”
The wariness returned to her expression. How he itched to eviscerate Neil Maxwell for stealing all the trust away from this lovely girl. “I told you I don’t give a fig for the damage to my reputation.”
It was his turn to give her a bleak smile. “That’s all very well. But what about the damage to my reputation?”
“Your reputation?” she echoed in bewilderment.
Quentin sat down beside her. He was almost certain that they’d passed the stage where she was likely to take off. “Aye, my reputation. I don’t particularly fancy spending the rest of my no doubt blameless life tarred as the man who seduced the innocent Countess of Appin, then refused to restore her honor.”
“Oh.”
The glum little sound expressed a world of unhappiness. He supposed he couldn’t blame Kit for being miserable. She’d struggled so hard to avoid the trap of marriage, but escape was now out of reach. She stared down to where her slender fingers twined together in her lap.
“Oh, indeed.”
He let the silence continue. She needed time to work through the implications of their situation.
Finally, she raised dull eyes to his. “I’m so sorry, Quentin. You must be cursing the day you met me.”
Despite the fraught atmosphere, he gave a short laugh. “No need for melodrama. I like you, Kit. I think Emily is right. Despite how we’re beginning, we might have a chance of making a go of things.”
She didn’t smile back. “I don’t deserve you.”
“Enough of that.” He felt himself blush. “But I mean you to know that I have no interest in your blasted fortune. If we’re going to do this, I want papers drawn up that give you control of all the Appin assets.”
Delicate eyebrows arched in surprise. “You’d do that?”
“Without a second thought.” He paused. “So you may rest assured that you can go ahead with any plans to restore the estate. In fact, I hope you’ll let me help.”
“I’m still not sure that you have to do this drastic thing.”
“Marry a pretty girl and save her from the wolves baying around her? It doesn’t seem that drastic to me.”
She didn’t smile. “A girl who will be the talk of Scotland, once the tale gets out.”
He shrugged. “A lot of people will say it’s romantic, like a fairy tale. Emily is right about that, too. If we show the world how virtuous we are at heart, eventually the tattle will turn in our favor.”
“You’re an optimist,” she said with a hint of sourness.
“I am.” He dared to reach out and take her hand. He’d held her in his arms all night and never for a moment had he forgotten she was female. But when he took her hand now, it felt in an odd way like the first time he touched her. “I think…I hope I can teach you to be an optimist, too, if you’ll let me.”
Quentin waited for Kit to pull away, but she contemplated their joined hands with an unreadable expression. She looked much older than twenty. He promised himself that if she took him on, he’d show her that life could still hold joy and goodness.
His grip tightened, and he spoke in a low voice. “My lady, would you do me the inestimable honor of becoming my wife?”
When she didn’t answer immediately, his heart sped up. It felt like an hour before she lifted her gaze to his face, although common sense said it could only be a few minutes. Her expression was stern and her eyes were lightless, but her jaw was set with determination.
“Thank you, Mr. MacNab. I accept.”
Chapter 8
From where Kit stood halfway up the grand sweep of the staircase, she watched the latecomers sidle in to join the restless crowd. The entire staff, inside and outside, of Lyon House had assembled in the hall below her.
It was the morning after she’d accepted Quentin’s proposal. Curious eyes fixed on the party gathered on the steps, and she could hear a questioning murmur as the servants noted that Kit the stableboy was now dressed as a girl.
Emily and Hamish stood on the first landing, with Quentin and Kit together a few steps higher. Andy and William waited below with their nurse, wide-eyed and uncharacteristically silent as the portentous atmosphere dampened even their high spirits.
This was uncomfortable. Kit felt like she was on a stage. Which was of course why Emily had arranged it this way.
Kit was sick with nerves and guilt. Nobody liked being exposed as a liar, and she’d lied to almost everyone at Glen Lyon since the day she’d arrived. Would her former colleagues hate her? Would they betray her to her stepbrother?
She felt some small relief when Laing looked up to give her a brief smile. Without his help, she couldn’t have managed this masquerade at all. She owed him so much, and she tried to convey that gratitude in the smile she returned to him.
“Don’t be afraid,” Quentin murmured at her side.
He’d dressed carefully for this gathering, in a stylish black coat and a white neck cloth, tied in a more elaborate knot than he usually wore. As Kit the stableboy had been achingly aware, Quentin was a good-looking man. Today he was dazzling.
“I’m always afraid,” she said flatly.
His gaze was steady. “I hope to change that.”
“I don’t want them to despise me.”
“They won’t despise you.” A faint smile curled his mouth. “They’ll love claiming a part in the grand adventure.”