Page 12 of A Bonny Pretender
Wilkens also enjoyed a glass of claret as they waited for their meal and shared the latest news, telling of Evie’s wedding and that of her sister. Guilt niggled at him as his friend—cousin—spoke of Frank’s half-sisters. He wondered if he should tell Charles about Sir Horace. Would it push the limits of their friendship to keep such a secret? And how would Wilkens feel about being related to him?
“So, what brings you to London?”
Frank hesitated, then plunged on with the safer subject. “I find myself in need of a wife.”
Wilkens sprayed a mouthful of claret over the table, red seeping into the white cloth. “I beg your pardon,” he spluttered. “When did you come to this conclusion?”
“Christmastide,” he admitted. “I’m lonely.” Did he sound pathetic? To the devil, he didn’t care.
“Buy a new horse, get a hound to lay at your feet in the evenings.” Wilkens wiped his sleeve and the tablecloth with his napkin. “That explains your trance this afternoon, then.”
He flushed. “Miss MacNaughton took me by surprise.”
“I gathered that.” Charles leaned back in his chair. “So, you’re interested?”
“I forgot what a genius you are, Wilkens.” He threw back the rest of his claret, not liking where this conversation was headed. Then again, hewasinterested. “She’s a beauty.”
“A rough diamond of the first water. Here to learn some English etiquette from what I understand.”
“Has she favored anyone?”
Wilkens studied him for a moment, then shook his head. “Not until today.”
He let out a long breath. Had he been holding it?Bloody hell!“What does that mean?”
“You’re the first English gentleman she has shown any interest in at all,” Charles said, his eyebrows raised. “However, I’m not sure she’s a suitable match.”
“Why?” His chest tightened, coming to her defense. “I thought she was delightful.”
“Indeed. I’d even add witty, alluring, and clever. Then there’s stub—”
“You’re also interested in her, aren’t you?” Why else would Wilkens talk him out of courting someone as lovely as Miss MacNaughton?
“I admit I’m attracted to her, but what virile man with eyes wouldn’t be? You can’t choose the first woman you meet in London.” He rubbed his jaw, his gaze thoughtful. “She comes from a different world. The Highlands have unique customs, an older way of life,andshe has no title.”
If he only knew,thought Frank,that I shouldn’t have one.“It doesn’t matter to me. I’m close enough to the border to understand the Scots,” Frank argued.
“Lowlanders aren’t the same as their countrymen in the Highlands. The two groups have been feuding and raiding each other’s lands for centuries.”
“You want her for yourself,” Frank broached again. He didn’t want to compete with his friend, but he was drawn to this girl. There was something about her that spoke to him.
“Rest easy.” Wilkens held up both hands. “I’ll not stand in your way, but be warned. Miss MacNaughton is forthright and inexperienced with English customs and propriety. She’s not the type of poised woman you’re accustomed to.”
Frank grunted. It had been a long while since he’d entertained anyone of the female persuasion. The opportunities to dally with a woman, the type who only wanted some distraction, dwindled in the country. And when it came to carnal pleasures… it wasn’t as if he could take up with a maid or a village girl. He had to make do with his rare trips into London.
Could that be the reason for his instant ardor? It would make sense. But more than the physical attraction, there had been an inexplicable sense of wholeness inside him when their eyes met. She was his destiny; he was certain of it.
“I don’t want a typical woman. She must be content on my estate most of the year and not miss the glitter of London. A wife whowantschildren rather than gives birth out of duty. I was raised by one parent who loved me, and one who tolerated me out of duty.” He swiped a hand over his face. “In short, I want what my mother never had. A love match.”
And when had he decided that?This afternoon,he thought, conjuring up the image of an auburn beauty with sapphire eyes.
A footman appeared with a cart and two silver trays. They ate overcooked beef-steaks and boiled fowl with oyster sauce. The clubs weren’t known for their chefs, but this wasn’t bad. Still, Frank missed the cook at Castle Raygin.
“Shall we try our luck tonight?” he asked, not ready to go back his rooms at the Mivart and brood by himself. He was enjoying this time with Wilkens. “A few games of whist? Vingt-et-un or hazard?”
“Consider me your accomplice for the evening.”
After success at whist and a bottle of brandy, they tempted fate at the hazard table and lost. This called for a second bottle of brandy.
