“Mrs. McCluskey.” Kit searched the housekeeper’s face in vain for any hint of resentment for her deception.
The housekeeper, who had been a figure of authority to Kit the stableboy, dipped into a deep curtsy. “I wanted to wish ye and Mr. Quentin a long and happy life together and to say how happy we are downstairs that you’ve joined the clan.”
Kit reached out and caught the middle-aged woman’s elbow to help her up. “No, please, I still feel like the lowliest member of the household. You were all so kind to me. I’ll always be grateful.”
“You never put on airs, my lady. It was an honor to serve ye.”
Kit remembered that odd moment on the stairs when Hamish had announced her identity to the household. “You knew all along?”
She should have realized that she wouldn’t fool any really sharp eyes. The tact and goodness of the people she’d worked with these last weeks left her floundering.
Mrs. McCluskey smiled with the warm good humor that had such an influence on the atmosphere in Lyon House. “Och, your ladyship, ye did your best, but naebody in their right mind would ever mistake the Countess of Appin for a servant. Or for a lad.”
Kit found herself blushing. “Did everyone know?”
“I suspect quite a few of us did. Maybe no’ some of the younger ones. They’re all silly as wheels.”
Quentin caught her hand. Kit told herself that he acted for appearance’s sake, but that didn’t stop her nitwit heart from breaking into a vigorous jig. Nor did it stop warmth from settling in her stomach where it proved incompatible with her roiling misgivings.
Over the course of the evening, Quentin had often touched her. She had to give him credit for doing a marvelous job of pretending that this wedding was no imposition at all.
“And none of you said anything?” Kit asked.
“I thought a lady of obvious quality must have a good reason for doing such a thing. Now I ken right well that ye did. I’m so sorry ye had to flee your home like that, your ladyship, and I’m proud that here at Glen Lyon we’ve kept you safe.”
A tide of gratitude rose and made tears spring to her eyes. “Thank you from the bottom of my heart.”
When Mrs. McCluskey beamed at her, her smile took in Quentin holding Kit’s hand. “It was lucky in the end ye came to us, because it meant you met Mr. Quentin.”
“Yes, very lucky,” she said faintly. “You truly don’t mind that I told all those lies?”
“Needs must, my lady. Anyway it’s like an old story, ye ken, the runaway countess working as a goose girl and catching the eye of the prince. And to think I was part of it!”
It was Quentin’s turn to blush. Bashfulness always looked spectacular on him. Kit was sinkingly aware that everything did. How she wished he’d married her because he wanted to and not because he had to.
Quentin had chosen English clothing for their wedding, but tonight he wore the kilt in the MacNab colours of blue and green. With his snowy white jabot and black velvet coat with its engraved silver buttons, the traditional Highland dress looked magnificent on him.
“Och, away with ye, Mrs. McCluskey. Nobody in their right mind would call me a prince.”
Both Kit and the housekeeper spoke in unison. “I would.”
Which meant all three laughed.
He regarded the two of them with fond exasperation. “You both talk a lot of nonsense. Now if you’ll excuse me, Mrs. McCluskey, I’d like to whisk my goose girl princess of a bride away and keep her to myself for a wee while.”
“A wee while?”
Kit blushed even hotter than Quentin had, as he put his arm around her and sent the housekeeper a sly smile. “Perhaps not so wee.”
Mrs. McCluskey broke into delighted giggles as Kit surveyed Quentin in admiration. What an actor he was. Anyone would think he was genuinely delighted to marry her.
Luckily a new reel started and the sound of the fiddlers tuning covered Mrs. McCluskey’s laughter. Quentin and Kit managed to slip out of the room unnoticed and step into the empty hall, bright with candles.
“It was a bonny way to celebrate our wedding,” he said as, keeping hold of her hand, he led her up the main staircase.
Now there was nobody to see them pretend to be joyful newlyweds, Kit supposed she should release his hand. But he didn’t seem to have noticed, and she wasn’t going to point it out. “It was. These are good people.”
“Aye, they are. And it’s clear they’re fond of you.”
“So they should be. I was an excellent stableboy,” she said smartly.
Quentin stopped on the first landing and tugged her close for a quick kiss. The contact was over almost before it started. She had a dizzying impression of heat and firm lips before he shifted away.
Kit snatched her hand free and raised it to lips that tingled. “What did you do that for?” she stammered, as her heart performed wild acrobatics in her chest.
He smiled at her as if they remained under observation, even though they were alone here. “Sheer impulse.”
“I’ve never been kissed before.”
“Yes, you have. I kissed you when the minister pronounced us man and wife.”
He had. A brief brush of his lips across her cheek. It had been even more fleeting than his kiss tonight. But still powerful enough to set her knees wobbling.
“But that wasn’t…”
“On the lips?”
“No.”
He watched her with a friendly curiosity, as if they discussed something mundane, like whether he took coffee or tea in the morning. “Did you like what I just did?”
Too much.
She raised her chin, scorning the idea of playing coy. “Yes, I did.”
When his smile expressed unfettered appreciation, her wayward heart flipped over in her chest. It was doing that a lot tonight. “Well, that’s good, then.”
“I suppose so,” she said in a reedy voice.
Her tone made him bestow a considering look upon her, but to her relief, he didn’t keep talking about kisses. He reached out to take her hand again. It was terrifying quite how reassuring she found his touch. Reassuring and disturbing. Because he didn’t just touch her now as her defender, but as her husband.
“Actually it’s not quite true that I’ve never been kissed before. Neil’s horrid friend tried to kiss me, but I fought him off. I’m stronger than I look.”
Quentin frowned. “I hate that those bastards treated you so badly.”
“I’m almost free of them.”
“Aye, you are. I hope my kisses are nicer than his.”
Oh, my… “Definitely.”
“I also hope you like my rooms. Hamish and Emily offered us a cottage on the estate, but I thought you might feel safer in the house, at least until your birthday.”
“I’m sure I’ll love them. Apart from last night, I’ve been sleeping in a back room in the stables since I arrived. I hardly knew what to do with all the space in the guest bedroom.”
He kept hold of her hand as he headed up to the next landing and down a corridor. “How did it feel to be back where you belong?”
“Rather odd. And I’ve decided skirts are a cursed nuisance.”
“As far as I’m concerned, you can wear breeches any time you like.”