Dazed and unmoving, Kit stared at Neil. The word love seemed a blasphemy on his lips. The only things Neil loved were himself and the Appin money. Money that for some reason he felt entitled to claim.
Despair weighted her stomach and made her mouth taste sour. Quentin was right. There was nowhere to run. The time for running had passed when Quentin had uncovered her secrets. After that, her avenues of escape had narrowed by the minute.
As Kit the stableboy, she might have a chance of getting away. But here in Lyon House and dressed as the countess she was, there
was no way to evade her stepbrother.
Her view of the room retreated in an alarming manner. As she swayed, she felt a powerful arm curl around her waist. “By what right do you enter this house, you bastard?” Quentin asked, hauling Kit into his side. “Get the hell out.”
Hamish strode up, bristling with anger. “I’m the Laird of Glen Lyon, and I’d like to know what the devil you think you’re doing, bursting in on our Christmas revels without so much as a by-your-leave or an introduction.”
Not shifting his gaze from Kit, Neil performed a perfunctory bow. “I’m Neil Maxwell of Halfrew, this lady’s legal guardian. Under the law, you must return her to my custody.”
“Like hell I will,” Hamish snarled, standing large and belligerent on Kit’s other side.
Neil’s gaze didn’t waver from Kit’s face. “The game’s up, Christabel. Belmont is here to marry you and take you back to Appin where you belong.”
“Stop talking such confounded rubbish,” Hamish snapped.
Quentin’s nearness and Hamish’s defense bolstered Kit’s dwindling courage, although she shuddered to hear how reasonable Neil sounded. She struggled to summon her defiance, even as the memory of his domination made her tremble.
“I’m…I’m not going to marry Belmont.”
Most of the guests had drawn back from the confrontation to watch what happened. How Kit wished that the room was full of the Douglas clan, as it had been last night at the ceilidh. A dozen stalwart stablehands wouldn’t stand for her stepbrother’s arrogance.
“Poor girl. You haven’t been well.” Neil’s sham pity chilled her to the marrow. “Everyone knows you’re delicate.”
“Delicate? She’s the bravest lassie I know,” Hamish said, his size dwarfing Neil and his thugs. Kit could sense how much he wanted to pick her stepbrother up by the scruff of the neck and toss him out of Lyon House, but the intruders were heavily armed and nobody else in the ballroom was.
“Christabel, for everyone’s sake, come quietly,” Belmont said, reaching out for her. “The scandal will already be bad enough.”
She flinched away from his touch. “Get away from me, you avaricious worm.”
“That’s my girl,” Quentin said.
His approval reminded her that she was no longer friendless and at Neil’s mercy. At last – too late in her opinion – she straightened her backbone and lifted her chin to face Neil down.
Her unthinking terror receded, as she sucked in a breath that cleared her swimming head. She had Quentin and the people of Glen Lyon on her side. Neil had bullied her for years, but he’d never bully her again, damn him.
“I’m not coming with you, Neil,” she said in a firm voice. “So go back to Appin and pack your belongings and get off my lands.”
“I can see all this has been too much for you.” Neil responded with more of that unconvincing sympathy. “It’s no surprise. Your wits have always been feeble.”
Kit’s temper stirred, vanquishing the last of her weakness, and she glared at this man who had tormented her for too long. “When I turn twenty-one, I take control of my inheritance.”
“Not if you’re of unsound mind, and I’ve got half a dozen men with me, ready to swear to your imbecility.” Neil’s superior expression was lamentably familiar. He still thought he could win, even now. “This mad act of running away to become a stablehand speaks to the frailty of your nerves. Once I set out the sad facts, no judge in the land will give you control of the Appin estates.”
In the face of his self-assurance, her confidence faltered. Kit’s frightened gaze swept the crowded room. Could anyone here be ready to believe Neil’s lies? The problem was that her stepbrother sounded so plausible. The toad always sounded so plausible.
“I’m not mad,” she said, detesting how her voice trembled. “You should rather look to your own future. Once I lay what you’ve done at Appin before the courts, you’ll be lucky to escape prison.”
“So sad to see you like this.” Neil’s expression conveyed insincere regret. “Completely insane.”
“Prove it,” Quentin snapped.
“I’ve got the minister from Appin outside.” Neil didn’t spare Quentin a glance. “He’s ready to perform the marriage ceremony for Christabel and Lord Bogle. He, too, will swear the girl hasn’t been in her fit mind since she was a child.”
“Yet this paragon is willing to marry this pathetic creature to your friend?” Hamish asked sarcastically, stepping closer to Neil and further away from Kit. She missed his brawny presence at her side.