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.”As the footman opened the door to the master’s chambers, Ogley asked, “Lady Millicent, would you make sure my wife has a tray in our room so that she can join us later in the evening?”“Of course!” Lady Millicent turned to Brenda in a flurry of concern.“Have you the headache? Could I send up a tincture too?”While the ladies chatted, Ogley gazed at the magnificence of the MacKenzie master suite.He recognized wealth when he saw it.The large sitting room could be described only as magnificent, with chairs grouped around the fireplace, a writing desk stocked with paper, pens, and ink, a carpet so old the colors were faded yet so posh it still looked superb, and drapes of royal purple and gold.The carved table was adorned with an embroidered velvet runner and gold salver for calling cards.There Waldemar, dressed in a servant’s livery, unloaded Ogley’s war mementos from the bag he carried with him everywhere.The door opened into the bedchamber, and inside Brenda’s maid stood beside the gilded bed, turning down the covers.The bed stood on a dais, as if the laird of the MacKenzies were some petty monarch worthy of worship.The royal purple and gold was echoed in the bedcurtains and the coverlet, and Ogley reflected bitterly that Hepburn must feel like a king when he slept there.But Hepburn had given up the bedchamber to honor Ogley, and that made Ogley smile.Did Hepburn fear Ogley? Did he think to bribe him? Did little Lord Hepburn imagine that if he flattered Ogley that Ogley would forget Hepburn’s insults and play fair?There was nothing fair about that night in London fourteen years earlier when a young, drunk Lord Hepburn had challenged the newly commissioned Ogley to a swordfight—and won.And laughed.Ogley hated being laughed at.He had been the third in a poor, noble family of six rough-and-tumble sons, and it seemed he had always been the one who fell out of the tree or flipped off the sled or hid under the table and got caught.He had been the scapegoat for all his brothers, and he had hated it, retaliating by sneaking around and getting them in trouble.They in turn hated him.When he turned twenty and his father bought him the commission, it was the best thing that ever happened to him.He loved the army.Loved the uniforms, loved the formality and the chance to command lesser men who had no choice but to obey.He didn’t care if none of his fellow officers liked him.He was dashing and handsome, the ladies liked him, and he saw opportunity there.Then Hepburn’s victory had made Ogley the butt of every jest by every officer in the army.Worse, Hepburn compounded his transgression by appearing the next day—and apologizing.The worthless blackguard apologized for being intoxicated and unforgivably rude, and that apology underscored one thing—that Ogley had been beaten in swordplay by a seventeen-year-old so drunk, he could scarcely stagger.It wasn’t until Ogley had married Brenda and bought a new commission, a better commission, that the mockery had eased.Oh, some still whispered behind his back, but none of the lesser officers dared say anything, and when a superior officer had teased him…well, Ogley had learned how to get revenge on his brothers.Teaching a mere officer a lesson was nothing.A mere hiring of thugs to teach the officer better manners.Of course, Ogley had been sent to the Peninsula in retaliation, but for a man of his talents, even that wasn’t so bad.He was out from under Brenda’s adoring, smothering gaze, and in the wreck left behind by the struggle between the French and English on Spanish and Portuguese soil, there were opportunities for profit.Best of all, the elder earl of Hepburn had grown tired of his son’s frivolous ways.To put an end to Hepburn’s rowdiness, he’d bought Hepburn a commission.A commission that had sent Hepburn right into Ogley’s regiment.Even now Ogley chuckled in remembrance.How delightful it had been to give the lad the most recalcitrant of men from the dregs of the prisons to tame, then demand that he lead them into missions from which they would never return.Hepburn always led them out…some of them.Their numbers dwindled as they were killed, but Ogley volunteered his regiment for another mission, and another, taking care that no one in command should know it was Hepburn who succeeded while everyone else failed.In the isolation of the Peninsula, it was an easy thing for a man with intelligence and time to write up the exploits as his own and send the manuscript away to be published.By the time Ogley resigned his commission, he had returned to England as a hero.His gaze lingered on Waldemar.And no one dared tell the truth, certainly not Hepburn.Not as long as Ogley held Waldemar in his power.Ogley would have to be a fool to let Waldemar go—and Ogley prided himself on his cleverness.Brenda slid her hand in his.“Isn’t the master’s suite marvelous?”“It is indeed.” Satisfaction spread like oil through his gut, and he smiled at Lady Millicent.“I thank you, Lady Millicent, for placing us here.”Lady Millicent fluttered like any spinster given a compliment.“It was my brother who insisted.”“I hate to think he’s given up his room for us,” Brenda protested.“No, please, don’t distress yourself.” Just like Hepburn, Lady Millicent spoke with that faint Scottish accent that betrayed inferiority.“My brother doesn’t sleep here.Since his return from the Peninsula, he has preferred to stay in a cottage on the estate.”“That makes me feel better.” Brenda beamed.Sometimes her kindheartedness gave Ogley a bellyache.“Doesn’t it you, Oscar?” she asked.No.He wanted to displace Hepburn.Putting his hand under her arm, Ogley held too firmly.As Brenda squirmed beside him, he said, “Lady Millicent, I beg your pardon, but my wife really does need to rest.”“Of course, I’ll make sure I send up a tray.” With a brisk curtsy Lady Millicent left the room.“That was abrupt.” Brenda tugged at his bruising fingers.But decisively he led her into the bedchamber.He helped her onto the mattress.He kissed her forehead.To her maid he said, “Make sure she rests.” Leaving the room, he shut the door behind him.Waldemar was supervising the arrival of their trunks.“Put the bags there by the door, lad.Ah, lassie”—he pinched the maid on the cheek—“t’ see a pretty lass such as yerself does me ’eart good.”The footman grinned and the maid giggled.Everyone liked Waldemar, with his sandy-blond hair and his handsome countenance.His good-humored blue eyes glinted from beneath blond eyelashes and brows, and freckles marched across his nose.He looked like the picture of honesty and sincerity—as long as one didn’t notice his long, thief’s fingers and swift, catlike walk.Waldemar had been dragged out of the mud of prison and given a choice between fighting for Mother England—or death.He’d taken the voyage to the Peninsula, of course, but once there, he’d tried to escape.Tried to avoid his duty.Been insolent and cocky
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