Книга - Her Highland Protector

Her Highland Protector
Ann Lethbridge


LADY JENNA ALEYNE MUST MARRY WELL IF SHE IS To CLAIM HER LANDS… Only there is a complete lack of eligible suitors in the Highlands! But then Niall Gilvry is assigned to watch over Jenna, and there’s no denying she finds this handsome Scot most distracting! Niall knows Jenna is too fine a lady for the likes of him – after all, high society has little time for a lowly third son – but he takes his duty seriously.With danger lurking in the shadows, Niall stays close. It would be just oh, so easy to pull her into his arms… The Gilvrys of Dunross Capturing ladies’ hearts across the Highlands












‘I couldn’t sleep.’ Jenna’s voice was husky from the dryness in her throat and the rushed beating of her heart.


‘I imagine not, after what almost happened today,’ Niall murmured sympathetically.

Not only that. But how could she admit that she hadn’t been able to sleep because of the way he’d intruded on her thoughts. The way she’d kept remembering the taste of him, the scent of the wild outdoors that clung to him. She couldn’t, so she merely nodded.

He closed his eyes briefly. ‘I felt sure the man in the market was going to carry you away. It makes me go cold every time I think of it.’

‘Your arrival was timely,’ she whispered, gazing up into his eyes, mesmerised by the heat she saw in their depths.

Slowly his hand lifted to her shoulder—a light touch, but searing—and she welcomed the contact, the feeling of not being quite so alone as she had been since her father died.

His other hand cradled her cheek. Warm. Callused. Yet infinitely gentle. She held her breath, fearful and wanting. Revelling in his touch when she knew she should shove him away. And knowing she did not want to.




AUTHOR NOTE


It is not often that I can point to a particular inspiration for one of my stories, but I can for this one. My theme for HER HIGHLAND PROTECTOR came after a visit to Lulworth Castle in Dorset. It was built as a hunting lodge, and after several renovations was used during the Regency era as a country house by several illustrious tenants. It is now a burned-out shell. It was the picture displayed on one of the walls of that building that stayed with me long after I had returned home—a painting of the burning castle in the background, and neighbours and holidaymakers watching the ‘show’. Over time, this lingering image became a major scene in this book.

I do hope you enjoy Niall and Jenna’s story and will visit me at my website http://www.annlethbridge.com If you are interested in my rambles around Britain as I seek ideas for my stories you can find lots of pictures at http://www.regencyramble.blogspot.com




About the Author


ANN LETHBRIDGE has been reading Regency novels for as long as she can remember. She always imagined herself as Lizzie Bennet, or one of Georgette Heyer’s heroines, and would often recreate the stories in her head with different outcomes or scenes. When she sat down to write her own novel it was no wonder that she returned to her first love: the Regency.

Ann grew up roaming Britain with her military father. Her family lived in many towns and villages across the country, from the Outer Hebrides to Hampshire. She spent memorable family holidays in the West Country and in Dover, where her father was born. She now lives in Canada, with her husband, two beautiful daughters, and a Maltese terrier named Teaser, who spends his days on a chair beside the computer, making sure she doesn’t slack off.

Ann visits Britain every year, to undertake research and also to visit family members who are very understanding about her need to poke around old buildings and visit every antiquity within a hundred miles. If you would like to know more about Ann and her research, or to contact her, visit her website at www.annlethbridge.com. She loves to hear from readers.

Previous novels by this author:



THE RAKE’S INHERITED COURTESAN** (#ulink_f19857c8-b1c6-57cf-8dc1-bf79265e8980)

WICKED RAKE, DEFIANT MISTRESS

CAPTURED FOR THE CAPTAIN’S PLEASURE

THE GOVERNESS AND THE EARL

(part of Mills & Boon New Voices … anthology)

THE GAMEKEEPER’S LADY* (#ulink_59d5668d-d57c-5ce0-9f28-866c2459a2da)

MORE THAN A MISTRESS* (#ulink_59d5668d-d57c-5ce0-9f28-866c2459a2da)

LADY ROSABELLA’S RUSE** (#ulink_f19857c8-b1c6-57cf-8dc1-bf79265e8980)

THE LAIRD’S FORBIDDEN LADY

HAUNTED BY THE EARL’S TOUCH


And in Mills & Boon


HistoricalUndone!eBooks:



THE RAKE’S INTIMATE ENCOUNTER

THE LAIRD AND THE WANTON WIDOW

ONE NIGHT AS A COURTESAN

UNMASKING LADY INNOCENT

DELICIOUSLY DEBAUCHED BY THE RAKE

A RAKE FOR CHRISTMAS


And in Mills & Boon


Historical eBooks:



PRINCESS CHARLOTTE’S CHOICE

(part of Royal Weddings Through the Ages anthology)


And in M&B:



LADY OF SHAME

(part of Castonbury Park Regency mini-series)


* (#litres_trial_promo)linked by character

** (#litres_trial_promo)linked by character

Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks?Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk




Her Highland

Protector

Ann Lethbridge

















www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


I would like to dedicate this book to all the people who work on my beautiful covers, as well as the wonderful staff at Harlequin Mills & Boon who make it possible for you to read my stories. I would particularly like to thank Bill and Lin, who suggested I visit Lulworth and who cheerfully put up with hours of my poking around in odd corners, taking pictures. Thank you.




Chapter One


Heart pounding in her ears, Lady Jenna Aleyne gazed at the three shabby ruffians blocking the road and cursed her ill luck. The horse picking up a stone in its hoof the moment she was out of sight of the castle had been bad enough, but three men intent on mischief looked like a disaster in the making.

On a normal day, she would have been accompanied by a groom, but this morning she’d heard through one of the local lads that a tinker in the market carried news of Braemuir, if she was interested.

When Lord Carrick, her trustee, had insisted she leave the running of her family estate to him, it had made sense to the terrified fourteen-year-old orphan she had become so suddenly. But she had missed her home, all these years. Had longed for the day she would return to her people and take up her duties as she had promised her father.

The thought of recent news of Braemuir and its people had pulled irresistibly. Yet she was loath to mention it to her cousin, as she did not trust him to let her go.

So she had slipped out alone.

She offered the men a smile. ‘What clan are you?’ she asked in her rather rusty Gaelic, wishing she’d made the effort to practise more in her years of absence in England. ‘There’ll be a welcome for you at the castle, if it is food and drink you are needing.’

‘Bloody heathen language,’ the smaller of the three said. ‘Can’t anyone in this godforsaken place speak English?’ He looked towards their leader. ‘You are sure this is the one?’ He moved closer with an oddly rolling gait and a hard glint in his eyes.

Not Highlanders, then. English sailors. Her mouth dried. Her heart thudded a signal to run. She wouldn’t get twenty yards. Better to face them than turn her back. ‘I’m headed for Carrick Castle and I am late,’ she said in English. ‘I shouldn’t wonder if they havenae sent out a search party, so no need for me to keep you from your journey.’

Unimpressed by her implied threat, they moved in on her, spreading out, clearly intending to flank her like cowards.

A pistol would impress them, but hers was in its holster on the opposite side of the horse. These were desperate times in the Highlands, and while honour and hospitality ran deep among Highlanders, these Englishmen would have found little welcome. She winced. That probably accounted for their half-starved appearance and hard expressions.

The pistol was her best chance. Hands shaking, she passed the reins behind her back, jerking to make the animal shift side-on as if it was restless. ‘Stupid beast,’ she said. ‘Picked up a stone.’

The animal half turned, tossing its head, favouring its forefoot. Just a little closer … Just an inch or two and she would be able to reach. The horse balked. She took a deep steadying breath. She needed a distraction, a way of taking their minds from what she was doing. But what?

A tuneless but cheerful whistling came from the direction of town behind her. She glanced over her shoulder and her stomach dipped. Another man, his walking stick swinging, his loose-limbed long-legged stride eating the distance between them. Heaven help her, was this another of these rogues? Her heart pounded harder.

The villainous fellow directly in front of her pulled a cudgel from his belt. The other two men followed suit. They were closer now and their expressions were grim, purposeful. She backed up against her horse, swallowing to alleviate the dryness in her mouth, while this new man kept walking towards her, his whistle never faltering. He looked nothing like the footpads circling around her from the front. Plainly dressed, yes, and a square jaw roughened by two days’ growth of dark beard gave him a menacing appearance, but he also had an honest, open look in his expression that gave her hope. As he drew abreast of her she noticed a gleam of anger in his narrowed eyes. ‘Three against one, is it, lads?’ he said grimly, speaking English with a Highland burr.

Friend, she decided, trusting her instincts. But they were still two against three. She needed her pistol.

‘Charlie!’ she cried, throwing one arm about his neck and pressing her lips to his mouth, reaching out with her other hand to fumble for her weapon.

For a second the young man stood frozen, his parted lips shockingly intimate. Tingles raced from her lips to her breasts at the feel of his hot breath on her mouth, accompanied by the scent of wood smoke, heather and man.

So shocking and … and delightful all at once. Her eyelids drifted closed, the better to savour the sensations. The second lengthened to two as his lips melded to hers and a large warm hand cupped her bottom and drew her close. His tongue stroked the seam of her lips. The shock of feeling him, hard-muscled and demanding as he pressed against her, and the velvety warmth against her lips made her gasp. His tongue slipped into her mouth and explored gently and teasingly. Little thrills darted through her body like hot licks of flame. Delicious. Terrifying.

It was only the weight of the pistol as it began to slip from her grasp that brought her back to her senses. A hard tug freed it from the saddle holster. She stepped away, cocking her weapon and pointing it first at him and then the other three, who were staring at them, mouths agape.

The newcomer flashed her a breathtakingly wicked grin and, ignoring her pistol, he squared off to the three men. ‘The odds are about even, I would say.’

‘Bloody hell,’ the smallest of the ruffians said.

She’d been right. The newcomer was not with them. She lined up beside him and levelled her gun.

‘Gentlemen,’ the man she’d kissed said with quiet confidence, ‘you’ll be letting this lady be on her way, now.’ He swept his walking stick in a wide arc. ‘The first one of you to step any closer than this gets his knees broken.’

She waggled her pistol, just in case they hadn’t noticed. ‘And the second one gets a bullet in the heart.’

The young man sent her a sideways glance, but kept his attention focused on their attackers. ‘All right, my fine lads. Who wants to be first?’

The leader of the footpads gave his companions a desperate glare. ‘There’s only two of them.’ His fellows stood frozen, staring at her pistol. She aimed it at their leader’s head. ‘You first, I think.’

He raised his hands from his sides. ‘We need some coin is all,’ he whined. ‘For a bed for the night.’

‘Ye’ll make a bed in the heather like the rest of us,’ the young Scot at her side growled. ‘Oh, come on, man. Let me have at you. I haven’t broken a head in days.’

The smaller of the men looked at his friends. ‘Bugger that. She’s got a pistol.’ He tucked his cudgel back in his belt. The man to his left followed suit. Their leader glared at them. ‘Curse you, you lily-livered sons of bitches.’ He charged.

The Scot lunged for him. Unable to shoot, for fear of hitting her rescuer, Jenna kept her pistol moving back and forth between the leader’s companions. In seconds it was over. The assailant caught a heavy blow on the shoulder. He screamed in pain, his arm dropping limp at his side. Moments later, all three of them were hotfooting it between the rough clumps of gorse and making for a distant line of trees. They were out of sight before Jenna finished counting to three.

She sagged against the side of her mare, who whinnied softly.

‘Such cowards,’ the young man said in disgust. He took her pistol from her slack grip. He stared at it for a moment, released the cock and shoved it back in the holster. ‘You are taking a chance riding out with nothing but that for protection,’ he said in dry disapproving tones. ‘You might have brought one down, if you were lucky. It is no match for three.’

Her back stiffened at his obvious dismissal of her ability to look after herself. ‘I have travelled this road scores of times without the slightest problem.’

‘Alone?’ he questioned, and she felt her face heat.

‘Occasionally.’ She knew she sounded a little too defiant, but who was he to question what she did? In truth, she’d been so anxious for news she’d given no thought to the danger. Not that she’d ever heard of footpads on this road before. Not so near to the castle. ‘I would have been fine if my horse had not picked up a stone in her hoof.’

The look in his green-flecked brown eyes said he didn’t believe it.

Infuriating man. The fact that he was right only made her feel more angry. At herself. She was lucky he had come to her rescue. But it galled her to say so. ‘I thank you, sir, for your help. I do not believe I have seen you in these parts before.’

His frown deepened. ‘Niall Gilvry, at your service.’ He gestured to the horse. ‘Which hoof?’

‘Right front.’

He bent and lifted the horse’s leg. ‘Ah. Do you have a pick?’

She handed him the one still clenched in her fist. ‘It’s stuck fast, poor beastie.’

Gilvry gave a quick twist and the stone flicked out on to the road. He gently probed, looking for more debris. ‘You’ll have to walk, I’m thinking. It will be a while before she heals.’

He really must think her hen-witted if he thought she would ride the poor creature after it had suffered so, but what was the point of trying to disabuse him of the notion. She would likely never see him again. And when she recalled the thrills his kiss had sent racing through her body, it was probably just as well. ‘If you think it best to walk, I shall certainly do so.’

He gathered her mount’s reins. ‘I will walk with you,’ he said, without waiting for her agreement, ‘in case yon fellows change their minds.’

She shuddered at the thought. Although, truth be told, his scowl—black brows drawn down across the bridge of a hawkish nose—was almost as frightening as the ruffians. Some woman might consider such rugged unshaven features handsome, but his height accompanied by his grim expression felt more than a little overpowering. Only his sculpted lips offered any hint of softness. A shiver trickled down her spine as her lips tingled with the memory of the feel of his mouth against her own.

It wasn’t her first kiss. She’d encountered the odd amorous young gentleman who had caught her in a youthful game of blind man’s buff. Awkward mashings of lips against teeth. Nothing so hot and so dark as his mouth had felt. None of them had set her ablaze, or made her forget what she was doing. Not for an instant.

Kissing him had been madness—now she had time to think. The very idea made her turn hot and cold by turns. But it was the only distraction that had come to her mind. Rushing in where angels feared to tread, her father had been wont to call such reckless actions. Embarrassing to boot.

‘Lead on, then,’ she said briskly. She had no wish to tarry because she had been telling the truth when she said a search party might be on its way. The folk at the castle might have missed the horse by now, though it was used so often by all and sundry they might not have, so long as Mrs Preston hadn’t noticed her absence.

And now she would have to think of another excuse to go to the market. As they walked along side by side, she glanced at her rescuer from the corner of her eye. Tall and lean, he towered over her. This one had risked his life to protect her like a perfect Highland gentleman. A poor one, judging by his clothes. Not the sort of man she should be kissing no matter how good it felt.

Heat rose into her face at such wanton thoughts. She prayed he wouldn’t notice.

‘Where is your home?’ he asked.

His voice made her jump guiltily. ‘Carrick Castle. Lord Carrick is my guardian.’

A thunderstruck expression passed over his face. Or perhaps it was horror. She could not be sure, for his face quickly became a blank mask.

‘Is there some problem with where I live?’ she asked stiffly.

‘I wonder at his lordship, then, letting you ride out without a groom.’

So would Lord Carrick.

‘Or kissing strangers,’ he added, and for an instant she thought there was a wicked gleam in the depths of his gaze. A challenge, like the one he had issued to the footpads. It faded too fast to be sure and his expression returned to its forbidding lines.

Had he really been so averse to her kiss? She was sure she had felt his breathing quicken against her skin in those few seconds of contact. ‘I only did it as a distraction to get to my pistol,’ she said, feeling the need to make it clear she was not completely wanton.

‘I wouldn’t advise such a method in future,’ he said drily.

Because she was a poor kisser, no doubt. She really did not have much experience. Warmth suffused her body and crawled up her cheeks and she wished he would just go away so she could suffer her embarrassment alone. ‘I will keep your advice in mind.’

He gave her a look of disapproval.

Drat the man. Who did he think he was to judge her? She gave him a haughty stare. ‘I don’t see how it is any of your business.’

It ought to be someone’s business, Niall thought grimly. He still could not believe that the woman at his side—a lady from her dress, and an extraordinarily lovely one at that—was roaming the roads alone. All right, so his brother’s wife, Lady Selina, hadn’t been any less foolhardy. But she, too, could have been killed.

And that kiss. He still felt hot under the collar and elsewhere since she’d pressed her lips to his. Oh, he’d had better kisses from more experienced ladies, but none sweeter. And none that had left him so instantly mindless that he’d responded with such enthusiasm.

They were lucky he’d been able to turn and face those damned Sassenach criminals after she’d pressed her innocent body against him, because he hadn’t wanted to let her go. And now he learned she was the ward of the man whose employ he was about to enter. A woman so far above him she should be ashamed to be seen in his company if she had even a wee bit of sense.

The sooner he stopped thinking about that kiss the better or he’d be out on his ear before he could turn around. He’d been lucky to get this position. Lucky to find any kind of paid employment here in the Highlands.

As Carrick’s distant relative and a member of a sept that owed him its loyalty, his application had been accepted without question. Which didn’t mean he would get to keep it, if Carrick wasn’t pleased.

It was bad enough that Ian had asked him to secretly seek out information about Carrick’s erstwhile steward Tearny, who had almost killed Ian’s wife and had died by Ian’s hand, without him getting tangled up with his employer’s ward. If he wasn’t careful he’d find himself scuttling back to Dunross with his tail between his legs and no chance for advancement. Or income. Back relying on his brother for his food and lodging.

His shoulders tightened at the thought.

Oh, he’d always made himself useful to Ian and the clan, taken on any task required of him, because it was his duty as brother to the laird. And he’d enjoyed teaching the clan’s children at the tiny school in Dunross village. But if he faced the truth, it was hardly a challenge. And as Molly’s father had been quick to point out when Niall had invited her to walk out with him, a man with no income or property was hardly a good prospect for a husband.

A blow to his pride, to be sure.

Even if his formal schooling had been cut short owing to lack of money after his father died, he had plenty of book learning. It was time to put his brain to work, for his own sake and for the good of his clan. Here at Carrick Castle, he hoped to earn enough to permit him to go to Edinburgh and find a lawyer willing to take him on as a junior.

Meeting this young lady was hardly a propitious start to his new career. Not if she told Carrick about that kiss. He half-wished he had never set eyes on the lass. Not true. He did not like to think of what might have happened to her had he not come along at that moment.

He glanced sideways at her, looking down at the crown of a black hat fashioned like a man’s curly-brimmed beaver with a bit of net tacked on. He couldn’t quite believe how tiny she was. Her spirit facing those footpads had made him think her much taller, but in reality her head barely came up to his shoulder. How she had managed to kiss him he wasn’t quite sure.

Oh, but he must have lent his aid to accomplish that bit of stupidity. Indeed, if he thought about it, his arm had gone around her to bring her closer. Instinct. Natural reflex.

The girl was, after all, devilishly attractive in a pixyish sort of way.

Her eyes were as green as mossy banks, changing to the mysterious green of winter forests with her mood. A bewitching face with creamy skin framed by unruly tendrils of auburn curls.

No one would call her pretty, but he found her fascinating. She reminded him of drawings of wee fairies in children’s books. A haughty wee fairy. One that would turn you into a toad on a whim.

And she’d faced those ruffians without flinching. Extraordinary and worrisome. It spoke of a recklessness he had learned to abhor.

As they walked side by side, he tried not to notice the way her habit clung to the sweet soft curves of her slender figure. Curves that had plastered themselves against his body minutes before. A body that had responded with a will to her soft swells and gentle valleys.

His blood warmed again. He had the urge to float his hands over those curves, to savour again the taste of her full bottom lip …

No. This was his employer’s ward. A lady to be treated with respect despite her surprising behaviour.

‘And where are you going, Mr Gilvry?’ she asked in her clear soft voice.

He had the feeling she wasn’t going to like his answer. ‘Carrick Castle. I am to start my employment there.’

‘Not Mr McDougall’s new under-secretary?’ she said in a sort of wail.

He’d been right. She didn’t like it one bit. ‘Indeed.’

‘I expected someone older. More—’

More what? Better dressed? He’d worn comfortable clothes for travelling first by boat and then on foot. He could imagine the sort of dandified gentlemen she was used to. ‘I am sorry if I disappoint.’

She gave him a look askance that he could not interpret. Annoyance, probably, because he did not have a silver tongue like his brothers. He always said what came into his head.

He kicked at a pebble. By all accounts, where females were concerned, honesty was not the best policy.

The silence had been going on for some time now, he realised. She was looking at him expectantly. No doubt waiting for him to say something witty or charming.

It wasn’t his style. He’d always felt completely left-footed with teasing and quick repartee. Too much theory and not enough practice, Logan, his youngest brother, always jibed.

The only time he’d ever tried anything of the sort had been at school in Inverness when he’d fallen hard for the headmaster’s daughter. She’d been horrified at the temerity of a lowly third son even daring an approach. He’d never again wanted to go through such a mortifying experience.

Hence his rather cold-blooded courting of Molly. He’d been surprised at the relief he’d felt when her father suggested he look elsewhere.

The woman at his side was still looking at him, waiting for him to say something.

‘It is a fine day for a ride,’ he said finally.

‘Except for the brigands,’ she said, tilting her head and affording him a full view of her face and the teasing curve to her lips.

A smile he answered with one of his own. ‘And the fact that your horse went lame.’

‘And the chill in the wind from the north,’ she added, her smile broadening.

‘And the dust.’

‘In fact, not a good day for riding at all,’ she finished.

He bowed slightly. ‘I stand corrected.’

She chuckled, a sweet soft sound that made his heart lurch as if it had stopped to listen. Inwardly, he shook his head at his odd imaginings. They were most unlike him.

They rounded a bend in the road, the castle, its towers and turrets, reflected in the loch at the foot of its walls. Damn. He’d forgotten just how tall those towers were. He hoped to God his duties didn’t take him to the top.

‘Carrick Castle,’ she announced.

‘I see it.’ Of course he saw it. It was huge. ‘I have been here before.’

Another of those quick glances up at his face and he noticed that her dark lashes were tipped with gold.

‘Not since I arrived last winter,’ she said. ‘I would have remembered.’

Now what did she mean by that? ‘I was last here more than a year ago.’

She stopped and faced him.

As he stared into those clear green eyes fringed with sooty lashes, his chest tightened with painful longing. The kind he’d experienced as a lad when he realised he would never be like his brothers—dashing like Drew, or devil-may-care like Logan. Always analytical, he was the kind to look before he leaped into danger. To weigh the odds, while Logan scoffed at his words of caution. Ian simply made use of his knowledge as it suited him.

And now he wanted what? To cut a daring figure to this lovely young woman? Wouldn’t that be hypocritical?

‘I’d be obliged if you would not say anything to Lord Carrick about what happened today,’ she said.

About the kiss. And a delicious kiss it had been, too. One he would not mind repeating, if she hadn’t been under his employer’s care. ‘I’d be a fool to talk about it, now, wouldn’t I?’

She gave him a blank look, then coloured. She caught her full bottom lip with perfect, tiny white teeth and he almost groaned out loud as his body tightened. A completely unacceptable reaction. He shuttered his expression.

‘I meant the footpads,’ she explained.

Oh, now he saw the trap. She planned to involve him in some web of deceit. ‘I see,’ he said, feeling unaccountably disappointed.

It must have shown in his face because she rushed on. ‘You were right. I should not have gone without a groom. Naturally, I will not do so again.’

That did not explain why she had done it this time. What in the devil’s name was she up to? Was she carrying on some sort of clandestine relationship? He would not put it past a female who would hold three men at bay with a pistol. This was not water he wanted to swim in. He started to shake his head.

She put a light hand on his arm. Her touch seemed to sear right through the wool of his coat to his skin. ‘Please.’

Once more he stared into those green eyes and had the feeling he might drown in their depths. His gaze dropped to her mouth. His body tightened with the anticipation of kissing her again.

‘Promise me, Mr Gilvry,’ she said, tightening her grip on his sleeve. ‘Please. It was a mistake I won’t repeat.’

The touch burned, but it was the pleading in her eyes that made him feel weak. And then there was that kiss. Something he should not have allowed. Something she could have easily held over his head, yet had not. ‘Verra well,’ he said gruffly. ‘I’ll say nothing, provided you keep your promise.’ Damn it all, he sounded like a stuffy older brother. Or a schoolteacher. Which he was, but not hers, for which he should be very thankful.

‘And there is no need to mention I was on my way to town when we met.’

He huffed out a breath and nodded. In for a penny, in for a pound, as it were. ‘All right.’

Her face lit with a smile that left him breathless. ‘Thank you. For everything.’ She danced away.

The girl was a witch. There was no other word for a woman who could twist him around her finger with such ease. He would not let it happen again. His future here was at stake.

He followed her under a stone arch ruptured by the teeth of an ancient portcullis overhead and into the courtyard. He looked about him. The castle wasn’t large by Edinburgh or Inverness standards, but it had served its owners well over the centuries. Its granite tower looked out over the harbour and the town it guarded. A curtain wall encompassed several outbuildings added over the years.

A stable lad took the horse’s reins from his hand.

‘Careful,’ she said looking over her shoulder. ‘He’s quite lame.’

The lad touched his forelock. ‘Yes, my lady.’ He looked enquiringly at Niall.

‘Niall Gilvry,’ he said.

‘You are expected,’ the boy said. ‘You’ll find Mr McDougall in there.’ He jerked a thumb at one of the buildings on the far side the courtyard and walked off, leaving him to find his own way.

Niall turned to bid the Lady Jenna farewell, but she was already mounting the steps to the main entrance on the first floor. She didn’t spare him a backwards glance. She’d extracted a promise and now he didn’t exist. Good thing, too. So why this sense of loss when she was the most irritatingly reckless and undoubtedly manipulative female he’d ever met?

Cursing himself for a fool, he went in search of McDougall.

His assigned room was at the base of the tower, for which he was heartily grateful, and while it had no window, it was near the side door into the courtyard where his office was located. There was little he could do to settle in, since his baggage would come up from the town by cart, so he was glad when he was summoned to meet with Lord Carrick. He headed up one flight of stairs to his new employer’s study and knocked on the ancient arched door bound in iron.

‘Enter.’

A man of around fifty-five, Carrick was still in his prime apart from a little extra fat under his chin and on his belly. The man had a pleasant hail-fellow-well-met look about him, until you looked into his pewter-coloured eyes. They had the power to strip a weaker man’s inner thoughts bare.

Niall met his gaze steadily. ‘You sent for me, Lord Carrick.’

His lordship lowered his brow. ‘Ah, Gilvry. Niall, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, sir.’ Niall kept his expression neutrally respectful.

‘Sit down.’ The older man leaned forwards in his chair. ‘I understand you met my ward on the road today?’

So much for keeping it a secret. He’d known it wouldn’t work. ‘Yes, sir, I did.’

‘And dealt handily with a pack of ruffians, too. You have my thanks.’

How did he know all this? ‘The roads can be dangerous, sir, but Lady Jenna swore she would not go out again without an escort.’ Now why was he trying to defend her?

Carrick sat up, his eyes sharpening with interest. ‘Did she now? And how did you extract that promise?’

By making one of his own, which was clearly futile. He winced. ‘I pointed out the error of her ways.’

Damnation, that sounded pompous, even if true.

‘And here I’ve been thinking a good switching would do her some good.’

Niall’s shoulders tightened at the thought of anyone laying a hand on the girl. He concentrated on not clenching his fists.

‘Is that how you keep order with your students?’ Carrick continued. ‘Appealing to their reason?’

‘In part, my lord. Occasionally I resort to the removal of privileges.’

Carrick’s face brightened. ‘An interesting idea.’ He drummed the fingers of one hand on the desk, his face in a frown as if pondering a difficult decision.

Niall waited, holding his impatience in check.

The drumming stopped and the hand clasped the one beside it. ‘I’m called away to London on urgent business.’

Niall’s stomach dipped. Would he then have no need of extra help? He stood silent, waiting for the axe to fall, wondering where he would go next. He certainly would not return to Dunross. Perhaps he’d find work in Edinburgh while he looked for a lawyer willing to take him on.

‘I need someone to stand in my place during my absence. You seem like the man for the job.’

Niall felt his jaw drop. Carrick was jesting. Had to be. ‘My lord—’

Carrick put up a hand. ‘With Lady Jenna. She needs a firm hand. Someone to keep a close eye on her.’

‘I don’t think—’

‘With my wife at my daughter’s lying-in, there is no one else I can ask.’

He swallowed. ‘I’m not sure I have the right qualifications for such a role, my lord. Lady Jenna is no schoolgirl.’

Carrick raised a hand. ‘No, she’s not. But as my closest relative presently on hand, you will do as well as anyone.’ His last words stung. It was the same thing Ian had said about him being the teacher at the school.

‘Relative is too strong a word, my lord.’

‘Then you will do it because your chief commands it.’

And that was that. ‘As you wish.’ He winced at how grudging he sounded, but he had a strong feeling that Lady Jenna was not going to like this any better than he did.

Carrick rose and went for the bell. A footman appeared within moments. ‘Fetch Lady Jenna,’ Carrick said.

The footman disappeared.

‘I’ll grant you it is not ideal,’ Carrick said, looking at Niall from under his brows. ‘But her companion, Mrs Preston, is as useful as a knife with no blade. Gilvry, if you managed to get the Lady Jenna to agree to anything, you have my undying admiration. She is a determined young lady, as you will discover.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘And you’ll not let me down or your brother can go hang next time he needs cargo space in one of my ships.’

Niall stiffened at the threat, but kept his face impassive. Carrick didn’t really know him. But as Ian would attest, having taken on a task, he saw it through to the end. Which was part of why he’d stayed so long as teacher at the school.

The door opened. ‘Cousin. You asked for me?’

Lady Jenna. Niall rose to his feet, turning to face her. His heart stilled. She looked more ethereal than she had on the road. Or was it the way the sunlight drifted through the window and set flames dancing in her hair that stole his breath? Or the way the emerald gown clung to her figure and skimmed the tops of her breasts? Or simply a case of unrequited lust? Ah, definitely not a thought he should be having when he was about to stand in loco parentis to the young woman. That really would betray Carrick’s trust.

Her eyes widened as she took him in. She swallowed and looked at Lord Carrick, who had half risen and then sunk back down into his seat. ‘I apologise. I did not realise you had company.’

‘Lady Jenna,’ Carrick said heartily—too heartily. ‘I know you had the good fortune to meet Mr Gilvry on the road today. A fortunate occurrence for you, I understand. Since I must travel on business, he will stand in my place as your guardian during my absence. You will defer to his decisions as you would to mine.’

‘What?’ She stared at Niall in surprise before turning her gaze to Carrick. ‘How can this be?’

Carrick frowned. ‘He is a cousin on my mother’s side. There is no one else.’

Her expression shuttered. She lifted her chin with a smile that chilled. ‘I see you have made yourself indispensable already, Mr Gilvry. You are to be congratulated.’

The words had the ring of a compliment, but in truth he knew them to be an accusation. She assumed he had broken his promise to further his own ends. Anything he might say would likely only make things worse. So he did the only thing possible. He bowed as if he took her words at face value and had the doubtful pleasure of seeing hauteur in her expression and a healthy dose of dislike.

As if dismissing him from her thoughts, she turned to Carrick with a bright smile. ‘I had no idea you were planning a journey, Cousin.’

Carrick raised a brow as if to ask why she should be privy to his plans. ‘Since Mrs Preston is apparently indisposed at the moment, would you please make the necessary arrangements for Mr Gilvry to join us at dinner?’ He glanced at Niall. ‘The family dines at five. It will be an opportunity for us to become better acquainted before I leave. That will be all, Jenna.’

She stiffened at the dismissal, then dipped a curtsy. ‘As you wish, my lord.’ But the glance she shot at Niall from beneath her lowered lashes before she left in a soft swirl of fabric and light pattering steps was a far cry from the friendly glances she’d given him earlier. He felt the loss as the soft scent of something spicy lingered in the air. Complex, like her. All bright sharp edges underpinned by subtle femininity.

He didn’t want the job of guardian. It was not what he had been offered. He had been hoping to learn things that would stand him and his family in good stead for the future. Matters of business. And perhaps even of the law. Things that might set his feet on the path to a better future.

‘How did you hear of my meeting with Lady Jenna?’ he asked.

‘One of the lasses hired in from the town was on her way home when she saw a fight on the road and raised the alarm. By the time the message reached me, the pair of you were at the gate.’ He gestured to the window. ‘I watched ye come through.’

The muscles in his shoulders tightened. He eyed his chief warily. What else had the girl seen? Not their kiss, apparently, or Carrick would not be looking so calm. At least that he would keep to himself for both their sakes. ‘What happens with regard to the position of under-secretary? Does Mr McDougall not require my services?’

It was McDougall, Carrick’s secretary, he’d originally been employed to assist.

Carrick rubbed his hands together. ‘I am sure Lady Jenna will take little time away from your other duties.’

Niall wasn’t so sure about that, but he could see he’d been well and truly snared. Two duties for the price of one, when nursemaid to a wilful lass ought to be paid double. Rumour did not lie. Carrick was known to be a man who would not spend a shilling where he could make a bargain for a sixpence. He bowed his assent, as if he had a choice.

Carrick dismissed him with a flick of his fingers. ‘I will see you at dinner, then. That is all.’




Chapter Two


Jenna raked the comb through her tangled curls, her eyes watering with the pain. ‘He gave his word and he broke it. Why?’

‘My lady.’ Mary McDougall, her maid, grabbed unsuccessfully for the comb. ‘I dinna ken who you are talking about.’

‘That mealy-mouthed Scot who came to work with your father. He told Lord Carrick about the footpads when he swore he would not. Currying favour.’ And now Lord Carrick would think her still the hoyden she had been when she first came under his care when her father died, instead of a responsible woman, ready to take up the reins of her own life.

‘It seems to have worked, too. He is to dine with us tonight.’ And replace Carrick as her guardian in his absence. How could he leave now, when he had promised to take her to Edinburgh?

It was as if he was deliberately dragging his feet on the issue of her finding a husband. He had agreed it was the right next step and had promised her a Season. Her estates, her people, had been left without a caring hand for far too long.

Braemuir. Her home. How she longed to see it again. To feel the comfort of knowing she was safe within its walls. She only had to close her eyes to see every inch of it. The grand staircase with the honours of her family going back for centuries. Her room at the back of the house overlooking the park and the hills beyond. The people in their little crofts. The gypsies who had come every year to help with the hay. And she had promised her father to do everything in her power to care for it the way he would have, had he lived.

Only she couldn’t. Not without a husband. Carrick insisted she wed before he would give up his trusteeship. Females did not manage their own estates. Worse yet, there were debts incurred by her father to be paid. And no money to pay them. Leasing the estate these many years had not been enough to pay them off.

She handed the comb to the insistent Mary and stared unseeing at her reflection. Surely it wouldn’t be too difficult to find a husband. She was no beauty, she knew that, but it wasn’t a one-sided bargain. In exchange for paying off the debts, her bridegroom would gain the title of Baron Aleyne, which by ancient charter passed through either the male or the female line. Not to mention the ancient house and surrounding lands.

A fine house for children to grow up in.

She had promised her father she would not let the family name die. Yet here she was, two years beyond her age of majority and still unwed. Not that she regretted these past two years caring for her father’s widowed sister during her illness. The woman had been the mother she had never known. She had taught her how to be the lady of a house instead of a hoyden who liked to ride and fish and all of the other things she’d learned from her father. Jenna had managed Mrs Blackstone’s house almost entirely alone these past few years and it galled her to be treated by Carrick as if she did not have a brain in her head.

‘It is Mr Gilvry you are meaning?’ Mary asked, pinning a stray lock of hair in place. ‘A handsome young man by all accounts.’

Ruggedly attractive and traitorous. The feeling of betrayal writhed in her stomach anew. ‘He’s only out for himself.’

‘Is that right, then? You know so much about him already?’

She knew more than she ought. The velvet feel of his lips on hers. The hard strength of his body inside his clothes. A tremor ran through her. She pushed the sensations away.

‘He is not worth discussing, though I am sure the lasses below stairs will find him charming enough.’ Oh, my word, didn’t she sound spiteful? Most unlike herself. She took a deep breath. ‘That looks lovely, Mary. Thank you.’

The maid smiled. She picked up the dress from the end of the bed. ‘May I put this on you, now? We should probably hurry, or you will be late.’

Lord Carrick hated tardiness and ruled his castle with a rod of iron.

The dress slipped over her head with a whisper of silk. The silver thread in the lace edge of the sleeves scratched up the length of her arms. Why was she doing this? Why had she asked Mary to put out her best evening gown instead of one of those she would normally wear for dinner en famille? Not for Mr high-and-mighty-you-shouldn’t-be-riding-out-without-a-groom Gilvry, that was certain. Tonight her mission was to remind her cousin of his promise to take her to Edinburgh. She really could not afford another Season to pass her by.

Not after receiving a plea six months ago from Mr Hughes, the vicar at Braemuir. He had begged her to return home and take up her duties, before there was no one left on the land.

When she had told Carrick about Mr Hughes’s concerns, he’d been insulted by her lack of trust in his administration. Times were changing, he’d told her. He’d also forbidden any further communication with the old vicar. However, when she pressed the issue, he had grudgingly agreed it was high time she found a husband to look after her affairs. Six months had passed and she seemed no closer to the married state.

She pressed her lips together and smoothed her gloves up her arms. She was determined to wait no longer. Especially in the light of what she assumed was another message from Mr Hughes waiting unread with the tinker in the market because of those wretched footpads.

If Mr Hughes’s pleas had been urgent before, she could only imagine what they would be six months later.

Despite the urge to move, to pace, she remained still as Mary pinned her brooch on her gown—the pearls and diamonds her father had given her mother on their wedding day, with the family motto inscribed in the silver surround: Family Before All. Family meant the people on her estate. People she hadn’t seen for years. It was a promise instilled into her from birth. A promise she had so far failed to keep.

Mary handed her a shawl. ‘Will there be anything else, my lady?’

Jenna gazed at herself in the glass. Was she ready? Was she suitably armed for battle with her cousin and the traitorous Mr Gilvry? ‘Quite ready.’

Two flights down and a draughty corridor brought her to the second-floor drawing room, in the suite of rooms set aside for the lord of the castle and his retinue. Such old-fashioned formality. Outside the great wooden door studded with iron, she squared her shoulders, pinned a smile to her lips and drew on the mantle of a woman aiming to please. The waiting footman opened the door and stepped back to his place like a man who did not exist.

Her cousin and Mr Gilvry were engaged in conversation beside the hearth. They turned at her entry. Once more, Jenna could not but be startled by Mr Gilvry’s towering height, the lean length of him encased in well-fitting evening clothes, his youth and manly figure more apparent beside her portly cousin.

Freshly shaven, his face was all hard planes and sharp angles. He looked sterner than earlier in the day, more remote, as if he had donned armour to keep the world at bay. The face, undeniably handsome in a rugged kind of way, did not seek to set her at ease. And those broad shoulders were just too intimidatingly wide.

She blinked as she got a good look at his waistcoat. Instead of the usual discreet cream or other pastel shade worn by men these days, it was pale green, embroidered with delicate sprigs of heather. It demanded attention. On another man it might have looked effeminate. On him, it only served to emphasise his stark masculinity. Her stomach gave the same odd little jolt it had given when she first saw him on the road. Surprise. It could not be anything else.

The man clearly knew nothing of fashion.

She dipped a small curtsy, acknowledging their greeting.

Mrs Preston, on the other side of the hearth, looked up with a pained smile. She had an unnatural pallor. A peptic stomach again, no doubt. The widow held out a hand. ‘Come, sit beside me, child.’

Dutifully, she did as requested.

The woman lived in fear of her cousin’s opinion. Fear she would be turned off to fend for herself on the meagre funds left her by her husband if she did not appease Lord Carrick’s every wish, though never by word or deed had he indicated he entertained any such thoughts.

‘It is good to see you up and about again, ma’am,’ Jenna said.

The lady shot a nervous glance at Carrick. ‘How could I not, when we have a guest for dinner?’

‘A member of the household and a relative, too,’ Jenna said, giving Mr Gilvry a cool smile. Playing the great lady was a skill she had learned from Mrs Blackstone, and it would be as well to keep this young man at a distance. Put them back on a proper footing.

Mr Gilvry acknowledged her words with a slight incline of his head.

‘Ratafia?’ Carrick asked.

She nodded. ‘Thank you.’

Her cousin served her with a glass of the icky stuff. She sipped at it, keeping her grimace of revulsion hidden. Oh, for a nice dram of whisky. But ladies did not drink whisky in public.

‘Fine weather we are having for this time of year,’ Mrs Preston said, filling the silence.

Gilvry raised a brow. Carrick sighed.

‘Surprisingly fair,’ Jenna said, trying not to smile at how the words echoed those she had exchanged with Mr Gilvry on the road. Better to recall nothing of their meeting.

‘And are your rooms in the castle to your satisfaction, Mr Gilvry?’ Jenna asked.

‘Yes, thank you, my lady.’

‘Oh, don’t thank me. Mrs Preston organises all on behalf of Lord Carrick.’

His quizzical look said he was wondering if she’d had the ordering of it, she would have left a basket full of snakes in his room. Clearly the man had a sense of humour, even if he was a tattletale.

He bowed to Mrs Preston. ‘Then I thank you, ma’am, for the excellent accommodations. To be truthful, I did not expect such lavish quarters.’

Too charming to be true. But it was working on Mrs Preston, who fluttered her fan and looked pleased. ‘You are welcome, Mr Gilvry, though nothing was undertaken without his lordship’s instructions, I can assure you.’

Carrick waved off the compliment. ‘How are things at Dunross, Gilvry? I understand your brother is making improvements to his lands. And how is dear Lady Selina? I really must find the time to visit.’

‘My brother is well, my lord. As is his wife. I am sure they would be honoured by your company and that of the ladies, too, should they wish to accompany you.’

‘I really would prefer to go to Edinburgh, as soon as it can be arranged,’ Jenna said, giving her cousin a bright smile. ‘As we discussed.’

Inwardly she winced as Carrick stiffened. Perhaps she should not have been quite so pointed. Carrick wouldn’t like the insinuation he had not kept his word. Or it might make him stir his stumps. If he did not make it so difficult for her to have this conversation in private, she wouldn’t be forced into this tactic.

A look of disgust flickered in Gilvry’s eyes. His lip curled slightly. He was judging her again. Assuming her to be a woman with nothing but frippery pleasures on her mind. Well, she didn’t give a hoot what he thought. Not about something so important. This was between her and Carrick.

Her cousin tugged at his collar. ‘I have been meaning to talk to you about that, Jenna.’ He slid a look at Gilvry. Had they been discussing her behind her back? Heat flared through her, anger at the assumption that they, having her interests at heart, knew what was best.

‘I am sorry to disappoint you, my dear, but I do not think it is going to be possible this year.’

Jenna’s chest emptied of every gasp of air. This she had not expected. How was she to find a suitable husband if she never met anyone? ‘But you promised.’

Carrick’s face froze. Blast. She really had gone too far.

‘Dinner is served, my lord,’ the butler said from the doorway.

‘We will discuss this later,’ Carrick said smoothly.

Oh, no. He thought he was going to put her off yet again. She would not allow it. She had been the very soul of patience these past few months, but she wanted to go home. Surely Carrick could see how necessary it was? She’d told him often enough. Or perhaps that was the trouble. The more she pressed him, the more he resisted.

Naturally, while Carrick took Mrs Preston’s arm, Mr Gilvry came forwards to escort her into dinner. As she placed her hand on his sleeve, she felt the heat of his body down her side and sensed the raw power of his arm beneath her fingers. Tingles shivered up her arm in reaction to that leashed strength. She recalled how casually he had faced those villains on the road and how safe he’d made her feel.

A foolish impression. The man was ruthless in pursuing his own ends. A tremble shuddered deep in her bones. If it was fear, it came all tangled up in an excitement she did not understand.

She lifted her chin and walked beside him steadily, outwardly calm, while inside her unruly blood ran hot. She was glad when he released her to pull back her chair so she could be seated. The relief, when he moved to the opposite side of the table, was tainted by a confusing feeling of loss.

As they talked of political matters of interest to Carrick and the court gossip that so entertained Mrs Preston, Jenna glanced at Mr Gilvry from beneath her lashes. What about him set her in such disarray? His darkness? His reserve, except for the odd flash of interest when he glanced her way? Every time he did that, she felt a surge of blood in her veins. And all the time her heart felt too high in her throat.

No. It wasn’t he who had her feeling at sixes and sevens, it was Carrick’s about-face on the visit to Edinburgh, and the strain of saying nothing of importance until the moment was right.

Somehow, she managed to chatter on about inanities, all the while aware of Gilvry’s speculative glances.

What had Carrick said about her? Had he been told she’d been brought up a hoyden by an indulgent father and spoiled by her lonely widowed aunt? It wasn’t entirely true. Yes, she was determined to have her way, but she had to be. She had responsibilities. She’d learned what she needed to know about being the mistress of a house and it was time to put that learning into practice.

The servants brought in the last course: platters of sweetmeats and fruit. Now that the man had a full stomach, perhaps he’d be willing to listen to reason. She glanced at Mr Gilvry, who was gazing at her intently, with a look that made her toes want to curl inside her slippers.

She did not dare think about what that look meant. She plunged ahead with her question. ‘Well, Cousin, will you explain why it is you’re breaking your promise about taking me to Edinburgh?’ she asked casually while peeling an apple.

Carrick reared back in his seat.

Mrs Preston shot him a worried glance. ‘I really don’t think this is the time or the place to discuss family business, dearest Jenna.’

‘Why ever not?’ she said, widening her eyes in innocent surprise. ‘Mr Gilvry is family, is he not? At least as close to Lord Carrick as I am. Isn’t that right, my lord?’

Carrick cast her a look of displeasure, but seemed to wrestle his emotions under control because his voice when he spoke was surprisingly mild. ‘One can hardly refuse a request for a meeting when it comes from Lord Gordon.’

Mr Gilvry’s eyes widened. He lowered his gaze to his plate as if he was trying to hide his reaction. But there was no mistaking it. He had been surprised by this announcement. If one of the most influential Scottish Dukes had called for a meeting, would the under-secretary not know about it?

‘When?’ she asked, unable to prevent the question from tripping from her tongue and trying to soften it into a more civil enquiry by adding, ‘When do you leave?’

Carrick waved his fork. ‘Tomorrow. By ship for Edinburgh and then on to London.’

London? The largest marriage mart in the world. An abundance of wealthy gentlemen ripe for the plucking like low-hanging fruit. Surely one of them would be suitable? He didn’t have to be clever or handsome. He just had to be willing to spend his blunt on Braemuir in exchange for a title. ‘Why don’t Mrs Preston and I come with you?’

‘Not possible, I am afraid,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘This is business. I will have no time for assemblies and balls. I plan to return home as quickly as I may, I assure you.’

Her hand clenched around her knife as she fought to control her disappointment. ‘You agreed that it was necessary that I have a Season this year.’

The pained look on Carrick’s face said she’d disturbed his digestion. He put down the grape he had been about to eat. ‘I promised you would have an opportunity to find a husband. And so you shall.’ His jaw thrust forwards and Mrs Preston sent Jenna a look of alarm. Mr Gilvry looked as if he wished the floor would open and swallow him up. Clearly she was pushing too hard.

She took a deep breath. Forced her rising anger down. ‘Oh,’ she said lightly. ‘You are postponing. Now I understand. We will go to Edinburgh for the end of the Season, upon your return.’

It wasn’t exactly what he had said, but it might be one way to pin him down. He twisted and turned like an eel in a net whenever she tried to get a straight answer.

Having sent her shot across his bow, now might be the wise time to retreat. ‘Are you finished, Mrs Preston? If so, then perhaps we should leave the gentlemen to their port and adjourn to the drawing room for tea, where I hope we shall see them in a short while?’ She cast both men an inviting smile.

Mrs Preston fussed with her shawl. ‘Indeed. Indeed.’

Carrick grunted and half-rose to his feet.

Mr Gilvry stood and helped Mrs Preston from her chair. More pouring on the charm. Trying to impress his lordship, she presumed.

She dipped a curtsy and departed feeling as if she might have won a minor skirmish.

‘Did you know about this meeting with Gordon?’ she asked Mrs Preston as they walked the corridor to the drawing room.

The older woman shook her head. ‘I wish you would be less forthright with your cousin, dearest girl. More is accomplished with honey than with vinegar, you know.’

Was it? She’d tried both ways now. Being patient. Hurrying him. Nothing moved him. If his younger sons had been single gentlemen, she might have suspected him of wanting her lands and title for them. But they were married. And very advantageously, too. Was there more to these delays than the lack of time he always claimed? Ought she to be more suspicious? Certainly her estates were of no great import to him. He’d seemed barely aware of her existence while she was living with her aunt. If that dear lady hadn’t died, he might never have remembered he had a ward.

In the oak-panelled drawing room, the tea tray was already set out on the table in front of the hearth. It only wanted the delivery of hot water. Not that water was ever very hot by the time it made its way up from the kitchen in its separate building in the bailey.

One of the joys of having a history to maintain.

She had her own history to worry about. A Baron Aleyne had lived at Braemuir since the Dark Ages—until her father died. It was her duty to rectify the lack. Daily, the responsibility felt heavier.

And yet there was comfort in it, too. The thought of returning to the home she loved. All she needed was a wedding and a child or two, boy or girl, to know she had done her duty, honoured her promise.

‘Do sit down,’ Mrs Preston said. ‘All that pacing makes me feel quite bilious.’

She hadn’t realised she was pacing. She stopped short, staring at Mrs Preston.

‘What a charming young man Mr Gilvry is,’ Mrs Preston said, picking up her embroidery. ‘I had heard all the Gilvry men are as handsome as sin itself. Having seen this one, I can well believe it. Sadly, quite poverty-stricken, I understand.’

The kind of man she couldn’t possibly conceive of marrying, even if he was the closest thing to an eligible bachelor she had met in months.

Surely Carrick wasn’t thinking she would marry his poor relation? Without doubt, Mr Gilvry was young and attractive. Her heart gave a painful little hop. A reminder that it didn’t do to become too attached to anyone. It was too hurtful when they left one alone.

No, she would need to be careful around Mr Gilvry. He stirred up uncomfortable emotions she couldn’t control. And Braemuir required a woman of sense if it was to prosper.

If only she could bring Carrick to see the urgency of the matter. But how?

The butler arrived with the hot water and set it on the tray. ‘Will that be all, madam?’

‘Yes, thank you,’ the widow replied.

Jenna sat down opposite Mrs Preston and focused on the important issue of preparing tea. Or rather the important issue of how to ensure she would soon be pouring tea in her own drawing room at Braemuir.

Niall sipped at his port, though he would have preferred the traditional dram of whisky.

‘Lady Jenna is a determined young woman,’ Carrick muttered.

‘She seems set on this trip to Edinburgh,’ Niall responded in what he hoped were neutral tones. After all, this really was not his concern.

‘Aye, and if my wife wasn’t busy with my daughter, she would be there right at this moment. I certainly don’t have the time.’ Carrick stared into his wine as if it could provide answers.

Niall shrugged non-committally. The man just wanted to voice his frustration.

‘No doubt about it. She needs a husband,’ Carrick said moodily. ‘A man worthy of her title.’ He tossed off his glass and poured another. He grimaced. ‘I’ve already had one dubious offer. A lowlander and a shopkeeper to boot.’ He frowned. ‘Now what was his name? Davidson? Drummond? I think that was it. Verra unpleasant. Not the sort of family her father would want inheriting his title.’ He pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger as if suffering a headache. ‘And who knows what sort of man she’d end up with if I let Katy Preston take her to Edinburgh.’

Did he really want to discuss bridegrooms for the lady? Yet he couldn’t help himself. ‘You don’t trust Lady Jenna to choose wisely for herself?’ It was as close as he could get to an objection of his employer’s high-handed dealings with the lass.

‘I promised her father I would see her well settled before I had any idea of the weight of debt his father had left him. If he’d had more time, he might have managed to see himself clear, I suppose.’ He shook his head and took another swallow of his drink. ‘I gave him my word I would do my best by the lass and make sure the family fortunes were improved. And I will. I just wish he hadn’t brought her up more like a son than a daughter. My wife could handle her, no doubt, but Mrs Preston …’ He subsided into silence. ‘She’ll need a strong hand on the reins, I’m thinking.’

‘She reminds me a bit of my youngest brother, Logan. The more you tell him “no”, the more he insists on his own way.’

Carrick puffed out his cheeks. ‘Wildness is a Gilvry family trait.’ He gave Niall a sharp look. ‘Except for you.’

As a child, Niall had sometimes wondered if the faeries had taken the real Gilvry son at birth and left him in its stead. A changeling. Pure nonsense, of course. His childish way of explaining why he never quite felt as if he belonged, why he preferred to read when his brothers wanted to rampage out of doors. ‘I’ve had my moments,’ he said, refusing to be thought any different to his brothers. And besides, while he might counsel caution, he always stood shoulder to shoulder beside them even if they did laugh at his occasional bouts of cowardice.

‘Drew was the worst of ye,’ Carrick said.

Niall stiffened. ‘Drew is dead.’

‘Let me down badly, too. He had letters of instruction for my agent in Boston. A position waiting for him. Instead he took off on some wild adventure.’

Niall frowned. This was the first he had heard about letters. ‘Drew might have been a bit reckless, but he usually kept his word.’

‘Not this time. He sloughed my task off to another, I know that. The letters arrived far too late to be of any use and cost me a great deal of money.’

Niall flushed at his sour tone. Carrick was famous for turning all his ventures into gain. He did not like to lose a groat, but he was right—Drew had been reckless and in this instance clearly careless. ‘I’m sorry to hear it.’ Though there was little he could do to rectify something that had occurred so long ago. He had the feeling this was something Carrick would always hold against the rest of the Gilvry clan. Particularly Ian.

Carrick gave Niall a glance sharp enough to skewer him to his chair. ‘You will not be following your brother’s example and letting me down, now will you?’

Niall returned the stare steadily. ‘Not if I can help it.’

Carrick chuckled. ‘Aye, I know. Lady Jenna willing.’ He lifted his glass in a toast and swallowed deep. ‘I can see you’ve a head on your shoulders, young Niall.’ He leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowed, his lips pursed. ‘What I don’t understand is why you are willing to undertake the lowly position of under-secretary. I’ve been giving it some thought since you arrived. Was it Ian’s idea?’

‘No.’ He hoped he didn’t sound too defensive as he recalled Ian’s request for information. ‘I have my own plans.’

‘What are they, then?’

‘Once I earn enough money, I am going to Edinburgh to study law. A man can make a good living as a lawyer. And it would help the clan.’

‘Aye, help keep them out of gaol.’

Niall bristled. All right, so it might have been one of the things at the back of his mind, but that didn’t mean he would admit it.

Carrick leaned forwards, twisting the glass in his hand between finger and thumb, sending ruby rainbows dancing across the table as the port reflected the light from the chandelier. ‘My journey to London could not have come at a worse time.’ He watched the port continue to swirl above his now-still fingers. ‘I am relying on you to keep a close eye on the Lady Jenna. Her encounter with those footpads on the road has me worried. Why was she out of the castle without her groom?’ He looked up. ‘Did she say?’

Niall shook his head. ‘I did not think it my place to ask.’

He gave Niall a sharp stare. ‘I am making it your place. I want to know what mischief she is plotting. Who she is meeting. I want you to call a halt to any nonsense before she comes to harm. Do that for me and I’ll consider myself in your debt.’

‘I can only do my best, my lord.’

‘Do it well and I’ll see about recommending you to a solicitor of some standing in Edinburgh. My own.’

Niall’s mouth dried. It was something he would never have expected, not given the strained relations between Carrick and the Gilvrys. The offer of the position of under-secretary had been a surprise as it was. ‘Thank you, my lord. I will, of course, do everything I can—’

Carrick held up a hand to stop him with a nod of satisfaction. ‘I’ll tell you this, then. I’ve an idea in my head of a way to satisfy Lady Jenna without any of us traipsing off to Edinburgh.’

Niall raised a brow.

Carrick grinned. ‘I don’t want to say too much in case I cannot match deed to thought.’ He hesitated, then leaned closer, touching a finger to the side of his nose. ‘She will insist on a choice, but I’ve in mind a way to limit that choice to a few good prospects. I’ll write to you with the details when I know I have the matter in hand. And I’ll trust you to ensure all goes off without a hitch. In the meantime, you will make sure she does nothing to ruin her chances.’

Did he have to be so damned mysterious? Perhaps he feared he would tell Lady Jenna what was in store. ‘You can trust me to do my duty.’ The words sounded as stiff at he felt, but if the man thought he wasn’t to be trusted, it was no wonder.

Carrick nodded and raised his glass towards Niall. ‘To the women who plague us.’

Niall accepted the toast and swallowed what was left in his glass in one go. It was always better to down bad-tasting medicine in one go. He wasn’t sure which tasted worse. The port. Or his bargain with respect to keeping an eye on the Lady Jenna.

Still, he’d be foolish to turn down such an opportunity to further his prospects and be of use to his clan. And no one ever called him a fool. His task didn’t have to be difficult. Provided he made sure she didn’t meet anyone beyond the castle walls, he would have nothing to report. But God help him, unless he managed to keep her within doors, it seemed he would be spending a great deal more time in her company.

Something inside him didn’t exactly regret it.

And therein lay the danger.




Chapter Three


‘Begging your pardon, Mr Gilvry, but the Lady Jenna sends her compliments and wonders if you have forgotten your appointment to ride out with her?’

Niall lifted his head and glanced at the clock on the shelf on the opposite wall and groaned. Damn. He hadn’t realised how the time was passing.

The blotches of red on the young stable-lad’s cheeks darkened the hundreds of freckles on his milk-white skin. ‘She says if ye are no ready to go in ten minutes, she is leaving.’ He ducked his head.

‘Did she, now,’ Niall said calmly. ‘You can tell Lady Jenna she will not set a hoof outside of the castle without me. Then take a message to have the gate closed and not to be opened without my word.’

The boy fled.

Niall put down his pen and stuck his head through into McDougall’s office-cum-bedroom next door. The secretary was so fat he had had a bed installed against the wall in his office to save himself the effort of walking to his assigned chamber. He must have heard the conversation because he shrugged resignedly, making his multiple chins wobble like a dish of blancmange. ‘You have your orders.’

Niall met McDougall’s small twinkling eyes with a rueful smile. ‘I’ll finish off entering the receipts when I get back.’

McDougall waved a pudgy hand in dismissal.

Niall shrugged into his jacket and strode out. To his chagrin, he’d anticipated riding out with Lady Jenna with far more pleasure than was seemly. And then he’d let the time slip away and given her the chance to take him to task.

He shook his head at himself for being eager to spend time with her. She was his charge. His burden. And his ticket to a new and brighter future. So long as he kept her under control.

He paused in the threshold of the outer door and glanced up at the sky. High clouds like brushstrokes of white across pale blue suggested the day ahead would be fine. At scarcely nine in the morning, the sun wasn’t high enough to chase the shadows from the high-walled courtyard. The upper windows in the towers glinted gold amid grey stone walls.

Towers. He shuddered and thanked God he’d not been located in one of those upper rooms. The sound of metal striking stone brought his attention to Lady Jenna already mounted. Not the horse of the day he’d met her on the road. A high-spirited strawberry roan circled around and around as she waited to be off. She sat gracefully in the saddle in the middle of the hustle and bustle of servants about their business, controlling her skittish beast without apparent effort.

She had no need of sunlight to dazzle the beholder. Auburn curls peeking from beneath a blue and gold hat styled to look like a shako were flame-bright. The military-styled riding habit, also blue with gold trim, fitted her slender body so closely he could see the swell of her breasts and the deep curve of her waist—not something he should be noticing. Fortunately for him, her legs were well covered by her skirts.

Another horse was being led into the yard, saddled and ready to go. A magnificent black gelding, but from the way it rolled its eyes and snorted, it looked only half-broken. He glanced over at the gates and saw to his satisfaction that they were closed.

He sauntered across the cobbles to the stable-hand struggling to hold the animal beside the mounting block. ‘This horse is for me?’

‘He’s a bit fresh, sir.’ The young man grunted with the effort of holding the creature. ‘Hasna’ been out of the stall in a week. Normally he’s no so wild.’

The black-haired blue-eyed Peter Campbell, Carrick’s head groom and Niall’s friend from school, emerged from the stables behind the lad. He hurried over. ‘I’m sorry, Niall. I told her to have one of the others saddled, but she insisted on Midnight. She said if you were going to stand in Carrick’s place, you might as well ride his horse.’ Peter sent him a quizzical look that Niall pretended not to notice.

He sighed. So that was how it was to be. He glanced over at the Lady Jenna, who had dismounted and was now talking to one of the maids from the kitchens. Both women glanced his way and the Lady Jenna’s laugh reached him. If she thought those kinds of feminine games could put a man who had taught schoolgirls out of countenance, she would be disappointed.

The horse was another matter. ‘How is Midnight when he’s not so fresh?’ he asked Peter. They’d remained correspondents over the years, but until now their paths hadn’t crossed.

Peter winced. ‘He needs a strong hand. It’s why he doesn’t get out much. None of the lads can ride him when he’s fresh and I rarely have the time. I get him out on the leading rein when I can.’

Niall studied the gelding. A beautiful specimen. Glossy black coat. Heavily muscled. He ran a hand down its nose and patted its neck. The animal didn’t flinch or start and nor were there any signs of malice, just high spirits. Fortunately, while Ian was the only one of the Gilvrys who owned a horse, he’d been generous in sharing Beau as needed.

Niall took advantage of the mounting block and eased into the saddle. The feel of the animal beneath him and through his gloves, the trembling eagerness, warned him to be ready for anything. No doubt the Lady Jenna had hoped he would be thrown so she could look down her haughty wee nose at him.

‘Let him go,’ he said to the groom.

Midnight sprang forwards. Niall held the horse under tight control, guiding him to the gates. He signalled to the gatekeeper to open them. As they slid up, the animal tossed its head and fought him. Then finally they were passing under the arch and out beyond the bailey. The road wasn’t empty, but there was room. He urged the animal into a controlled trot then a slow canter, feeling his gait, the way he responded to commands, the strength and the power. The animal was truly magnificent. Lady Jenna should never have ordered up such a fine beast as this without knowing his skill level. Not unless she wanted him to fall.

He was surprised she would be so petty. Still angry with him about Carrick hearing about the footpads, no doubt.

He let the animal have its head, let him run for a good few minutes in the direction of town, then brought him to a halt and glanced around. The countryside was spectacular. He never ceased to feel awed by this country of his. The green hills. The mountains, faint smudges on the horizon. The streamers of mist rising up from the dense trees, sucked up by the sun. He frowned. One of those curling, twisting ribbons looked darker, more like … smoke from a fire.

The hairs on his nape rose to attention. He scanned the road behind him for his charge. She was coming towards him at a ladylike trot. She halted as he drew close and wheeled his horse to stand beside hers.

She slanted a glance at him from beneath the jaunty hat. ‘I’m glad you finally managed to get him in hand.’

Unfair criticism. But three brothers made him immune to such jibes. ‘Forgive me, my lady, but you will not be riding out today.’

Her eyes widened in surprise ‘Why ever not?’

‘I have changed my mind.’

She frowned at him. ‘But I had an appointment.’

‘You mentioned nothing of an appointment to me, my lady. Where is this appointment? With whom?’

She hesitated a fraction too long. ‘With the seamstress. I have a riding habit on order.’

It was his turn to be surprised. And annoyed. ‘What were you thinking? An unmarried woman of quality cannot go to a seamstress with a gentleman. Not if she values her reputation.’

He had visions of sitting in the dressmaker’s front parlour while the Lady Jenna removed her clothing in a nearby changing room. He envisaged the seamstress taking her measurements, exposing her delectable curves, passing strings around her waist and breast and a plump little bottom he’d very recently cupped in his palm.

His blood thickened and heated and headed south. He shifted in the saddle to ease the discomfort. He caught a quirk of her mouth, a small secretive smile that had him wondering if she’d read his mind.

She cast him an arch look from beneath her lashes. ‘I had not planned that you would accompany me inside. You were to wait for me.’

‘On the pavement, like a lackey.’ He couldn’t think why the idea annoyed him so much, but it did. ‘I am no a fool, my lady. You should have invited your chaperon to go along.’

‘Mrs Preston isn’t well this morning.’

‘Well, then, you cannot go.’

‘Oh, but—’

‘No buts, Lady Jenna.’ To make sure she understood, he grabbed her horse’s reins and turned it around, heading back for the castle. He scanned the surrounding moors and the distant trees, but saw no reason for concern, so released her bridle and gestured for her to go ahead of him.

‘Mr Gilvry, the seamstress is expecting me. I must have the final fitting today.’

How many riding habits did a woman need? The one she was wearing looked perfectly adequate to him. More than adequate. It fit her luscious figure like a second skin, hinting at the curves that he knew lay beneath it. He glanced at her face as she leaned towards him and saw genuine concern in her eyes. ‘Please, Mr Gilvry.’

And he couldn’t believe his urge to make her worry disappear. He gritted his teeth. Her safety was more important than making her happy.

As soon as they were back inside the castle walls, Niall leaped down and signalled to a lad to take his now-calm horse. A groom came forwards to help Lady Jenna down.

Peter left the young plump pretty girl he’d been chatting with and strode across the cobbles to join Niall. ‘Is aught amiss?’

Niall glanced across at Lady Jenna descending from her mount and an idea flashed into his mind as if from nowhere. ‘Is the carriage available? Lady Jenna has a mind to go shopping.’ He lowered his voice. ‘There are some ugly customers hanging about the road. It will be an opportunity for me to report them to the local authorities. I’ll need a weapon and a man who can handle the ribbons.’

Peter gave him a hard look. ‘I’ll drive. I’ve some bridles at the saddlemaker’s for repair. They should be ready by now. I’ll fetch the carriage.’ He hurried off.

Niall caught Lady Jenna as she was about to go up the stairs into the keep. ‘I have had an idea of how we can both accomplish our errands this morning.’

She looked up at him, surprise and curiosity reflected in her green, catlike eyes. ‘And what is that, Mr Gilvry?’

‘We will go to Wick in the carriage and take your maid.’

He gestured closer the young woman Peter had been talking to. ‘It is Mary McDougall, isn’t it?’

She nodded.

‘Are you willing to accompany your mistress to the seamstress in the carriage, Miss Mary, since Mrs Preston is indisposed?’

Mary looked thrilled. ‘Yes, sir.’

Lady Jenna tilted her head as if trying to decide whether she would accept this as a peace offering or not. ‘I didn’t think you were the sort to change your mind, Mr Gilvry.’

‘I am when it suits my purpose,’ he said drily. ‘I also have urgent business in Wick. This solution suits us both, I believe.’

For a moment he thought she might refuse. It would be typical of a spoiled young miss to cut off her nose to spite her face. But even as he had the thought, she smiled at him prettily. ‘Very well. Thank you.’

That seemed too easy. But since he could see nothing in her face beyond delight, he pushed the suspicion aside. ‘Very good, then. The carriage should be ready at any moment.’ He would not tell her about his suspicions with regard to the footpads. There was no need. She would be safe enough with him and Peter and it would only worry her. In his experience, worried females were inclined to be difficult.

As he expected, Peter had the carriage put to with quick efficiency and, with the two women safely shut up inside, Niall leaped up beside Peter on the box. The head groom accomplished the delicate manoeuvre through the gate with skill that spoke of long practice.

‘What makes you think these men are out there?’ Peter asked, once the carriage was on the road to town.

‘I saw smoke from a campfire. It might have been nothing. A traveller. But the men I encountered a day or so ago were a dangerous lot.’

‘No honest Scot would spend the night in the open with the hospitality of the castle so close. It wouldn’t make sense.’

‘My thoughts exactly. To make matters worse, the men were Sassenachs. Lady Jenna is not to take her horse out without my permission until we either have them under lock and key, or they have left the area.’ At Peter’s quizzical expression, he grinned. ‘And it is me who will decide if they are gone.’

‘I’ll tell my men.’

Niall narrowed his eyes against the sun’s glare and scanned the trees on the hillside.

Peter followed the direction of his gaze. ‘Is the smoke still there?’

Niall shook his head. The faint blue haze he had noticed rising into the sky was no longer visible. But the sun was higher now and a light breeze had picked up. ‘I plan to report them to the local militia. There is a company in town, is there not?’

‘Aye. Under the command of a Lieutenant Dunstan.’

Niall groaned. Lieutenant Dunstan wasn’t exactly a friend to the Gilvrys, although Niall had no reason to doubt that he would do his job and do it well. ‘He is in charge?’

‘Aye. Watching the coast for smugglers.’

‘He is looking the wrong way, then.’ Almost all the illicit whisky went overland.

Peter chuckled. ‘Thank God.’

It took barely a half hour to reach the outskirts of town and Niall acknowledged to himself that he was glad to arrive at the first of the stone cottages lining the road without incident. Perhaps he was being overcautious. They passed the White Rose Inn and, with the addition of two small buds on its stem barely discernible, Niall knew the picture on its sign for what it was—a Jacobite’s nod of allegiance to the King across the water, and nothing to do with the white rose of the House of York.

‘You’ll find Lieutenant Dunstan there,’ Peter said. ‘He’s been trying to recruit some of the local lads.’

‘Has he had any success?’

‘One or two have taken the King’s shilling.

They’ll pass on his troop’s movements to family members engaged in the trade.’

‘You would think the Sassenachs would have figured it out by now.’

Peter grinned and pulled up in front of a small bow-windowed shop in the centre of town. ‘The seamstress. I’ll drop you here and continue on to the livery.’

Niall jumped down.

Peter waved his whip in acknowledgement and Niall could not help noticing how his friend’s gaze sought out Mary as she stepped down and turned to help her mistress. Oh, yes, the poor sod had it bad. Niall promised himself he would try to help his cause with McDougall.

Lady Jenna swept by him regally with a small incline of her head. He hoped that meant they had achieved a truce. He followed the two women into the shop.

A woman of about fifty, modestly gowned and with a cap over her greying brown hair, hurried to greet them. ‘Your ladyship!’

Was it his imagination, or did the woman sound surprised? He looked at the Lady Jenna, who was stripping off her gloves. ‘I’m here about the riding habit we spoke of last time.’

The woman’s face wreathed in smiles. ‘But of course. Please. Take a seat while I prepare the dressing room.’ She glanced doubtfully at Niall. ‘Can I offer you refreshment, sir? Tea? Whisky?’

Hell, did she think he was some sort of cicisbeo? ‘I’ll no be staying. Her ladyship’s maid will keep her company.’ He looked at Jenna. ‘How long do you think this will take?’

‘No more than an hour, I shouldn’t think.’

The seamstress nodded a confirmation.

‘I will be coming back before the hour is up, then.’

‘And where will you be going, Mr Gilvry?’ Lady Jenna asked with deceptive sweetness.

‘To the White Rose.’

‘I should have guessed.’

‘Yes, you should.’ He bowed. ‘In one hour, Lady Jenna. Do not leave here without me.’

‘I will be waiting. Please do not imbibe so much that you lose track of the time.’

A jibe at his earlier tardiness, no doubt. His ire rose. He forced himself to ignore the slur on his character and departed before he said something he would regret.

‘What a handsome young gentleman he is, to be sure,’ the seamstress said to Lady Jenna, taking her coat and hat.

If you liked arrogant men who ordered everything to suit them. Jenna sniffed.

The seamstress gestured for them to sit down. ‘Give me a moment to prepare. My last customer left only a few moments ago and I wasn’t expecting you.’

‘I know. I am sorry for that.’ She gave the woman a confident smile. ‘While you are getting ready, I will run an errand.’

Mary stared at her. ‘But Mr Gilvry said we were to stay here.’

Jenna gave her a reproving stare. ‘And I said I would be here waiting for him when he got back.’

She turned to the seamstress. ‘I am just popping down to the market. Is it all right if I use your back door for a shortcut?’

The woman looked a little startled. ‘If that is your wish.’

‘It is. Thank you. And, Mary, if Mr Gilvry should return before me, do keep him busy out here.’ She gave the seamstress a bright smile. ‘Please make sure the rear door remains unlocked.’

Not waiting for a reply, or for the argument clearly forming on Mary’s tongue, she made her way to the back of the shop and slipped out into the filthy back alley, the kennels running with night slops and other matter. It would all find its way down to the sea eventually, but on a fine day like today it stank. Jenna tried to breathe as little as possible until she found herself out in the open and a few yards from the market square.

Having very little time to spare, she ignored the hawkers and farmers and kept a lookout for a tinker’s stall. Ah, there, a colourful awning hung with pots and pans and a trestle piled with goods of every description. The stall owner’s gypsy heritage showed in his olive skin and dark flashing eyes. A gold earring glinted in one ear. He’d been the one who had brought Mr Hughes’s message to her before she left Mrs Blackstone’s house. He came out from behind his counter to greet her with a quick sly smile and a flourishing bow. ‘Lady Jenna. An honour to meet you again. What can I do for you today? A paper of pins, perhaps? A pot of rouge? Not that your pretty lips need enhancement.’

His point was obvious. No sale, no message. And good for him, too. ‘I’ll take some ribbons, if you please.’ The gift would settle Mary’s feathers, hopefully.

‘How about a gift for a young man with hazel eyes?’

Her heart stilled as she pictured Niall as if the gypsy had conjured him up. His strong jaw. The firm lips that had lingered on hers with such warmth and tenderness. And the determined set to his chin when he’d refused to take her riding this morning. She jerked back from the image.

How could he know about Niall? And she certainly wasn’t buying him a gift. She shook her head. ‘Just the ribbons and the message.’

He put a hand to his heart. ‘And there I was thinking you came for the pleasure of my company.’ His eyes darkened. ‘You are not the only one interested in people from Braemuir.’

A suspicion crossed her mind. She looked around her, but saw no sign of a tall handsome Scot. ‘Who are you talking about?’

He shrugged

‘A young man? Handsome in a rough kind of way.’

He raised a black brow. ‘I can’t say I noticed his looks. Indeed, I hardly noticed him at all. I was busy with a customer at the time.’

Why didn’t she believe him? But it couldn’t be Niall. He knew nothing of the message she had come to collect. And glad she was of that, or he would no doubt have told Lord Carrick about this, too.

She pulled out a small pouch of coins. ‘How much for the ribbons and your services?’

‘A shilling, if you please, my lady.’

No doubt Mr Hughes had also crossed his palm with silver, but she didn’t argue. The man needed to make a living. She dug out the requested coin and held it out. He slipped a folded piece of paper into her hand. ‘You have been sorely missed, Lady Jenna.’

A pang twisted her heart. She should have returned home long before this, but Mrs Blackstone had been so kind to her, she’d felt obliged to see her through her long illness. She would never regret that decision, but she could only hope it was not too late for Braemuir. It could not be. She would not allow it. ‘I will be there very soon.’

‘Mr Hughes will be pleased.’

She turned to leave and almost bumped her nose on the chest of a man standing right behind her.

She stepped back. Looking up, she instantly recognised his face and gasped. It was one of the brutes who had accosted her on the road. To her right, a knife appeared as if by magic in the gipsy’s clever fingers. Oh, no. Was he in league with this thief?

Wildly, she glanced around for help. The gypsy backed away, his gaze fixed not on the footpad or on her, but on something behind her. Weak at the knees, she glanced over her shoulder to see another large figure looming towards her. Her breath left her chest in a rush of relief. ‘Mr Gilvry.’

‘Lady Jenna,’ he said in disapproving tones. ‘What the blazes are you doing here?’

Despite the anger in his tone, Jenna edged closer to his bulk, unconsciously seeking protection, while his gaze raked the footpad and a grim smile curved his lips. ‘So. We meet again. There is someone here who would like a word with you.’

The man backed up a few steps, then turned and fled. The gypsy’s knife disappeared as if by magic.

‘Is this the man?’ An officer in scarlet stepped up smartly, glaring at the gypsy who immediately melted into the crowds.

‘Not him,’ Niall said. ‘Him.’ He pointed to the retreating ruffian’s back. ‘Quick, man, he is getting away.’

The lieutenant gave Jenna a quick bow and hurried after his quarry.

Niall took hold of her arm and swung her around to face him. ‘What is going on, Lady Jenna? Why are you not at the dressmaker’s as you promised?’

A very real desire to have him put his arm around her and hold her close until her body stopped its cowardly tremble, took her by surprise. With difficulty, she forced herself to stand her ground and look him in the eye. ‘I did not promise to stay there. I promised to be there when you got back.’

‘Hair splitting.’ He glanced around, frowning. ‘Why were you meeting that criminal?’

Shocked, still shaking inside, she stared at him open-mouthed. ‘I wasn’t. He must have seen me and decided to finish off what he started.’

His eyes widened. He didn’t believe her. She could see it in his tight expression. His mistrust hurt. Not that she cared about his opinion, one way or the other. She didn’t dare. It would make her too vulnerable when she needed to be strong.

‘An odd coincidence that you should both be here at the same time.’

He really didn’t trust her. She felt miserable and angry all at once. ‘Wick is a small place. Many people come to the market.’ Somehow, though, she didn’t feel as if this second meeting was by chance. Yet how could it be otherwise?

His gaze was fixed on the note still clutched in her hand, suspicion rampant in his expression. ‘Then why are you here? And to whom are you writing?’ he asked.

Dash it all, was she to have no privacy? ‘It is none of your business. You are not my guardian or my gaoler.’

His mouth tightened. Disappointment filled his expression, as if he expected her to trust him when he did not trust her. ‘Unfortunately I am, until Lord Carrick returns.’ He stared at the letter and held out his hand.

Unfortunately. What did he mean, unfortunately? That really hurt. ‘This is a private letter, addressed to me from a friend of my father’s. It came via the tinker at this stall.’

Mr Gilvry’s lips thinned. ‘If it is all so innocent, why not simply send it by way of the post office?’

Why was he being so starchy? Surely he wasn’t jealous of her letter from home? Not possible. He was simply doing his duty. So he thought. She drew herself up to her full height. Not very impressive beside him, but necessary to make her point. ‘Again, it is none of your business.’

‘It is, if the getting of it puts you in danger.’

Did that mean he really was worried about her? Her heart gave a cheerful little skip. ‘How could I have guessed the man would be here and would risk an approach among so many people? Besides, I thought they must be far away by now, fearing the hue and cry.’

An odd look crossed his face: guilt. She frowned. ‘Did you know they were still in the area?’

‘I suspected it. I should have warned you.’

So it was guilt. ‘Yes, you should have.’

He huffed out a breath. ‘It would not have been necessary had you stayed where I left you.’

Now she felt guilty. ‘Well, I am certainly glad you came along at the right time.’

He glanced around. ‘Where is the tinker you came here to meet?’

She shook her head. ‘I have no idea. He ran off when he saw you.’

Should she mention the gypsy’s knife? She hesitated a moment too long and Mr Gilvry’s face hardened as if he guessed she was holding something back. ‘It is back to the dressmaker’s with you, Lady Jenna. And then home to Carrick Castle.’

‘Carrick is not my home.’ She belonged to Braemuir. Heart and soul, though no one else seemed to understand her devotion.

He marched her though the crowds as if she was the criminal, not the man who had accosted her. And yet she did not mind the feel of his hand in the small of her back, the warmth of his large body, and the protection it offered. Should she say something about her suspicion that the man had sought her out? He had probably figured that out for himself.

As he hurried her along, she caught a glimpse of the gypsy. He was watching them with dark unfathomable eyes. She wondered if she should point him out to Mr Gilvry, but before she could do so, the man faded from sight. Besides, if Mr Hughes trusted him, she should too. The person she must not trust was Niall Gilvry.

When they got back to the seamstress’s, Campbell already had the carriage waiting outside. He and Mary were deep in conversation at the horse’s heads.

‘Are you finished here?’ Mr Gilvry asked Jenna, nodding towards the shop.

She mentally winced. ‘Not quite.’

He sighed. ‘Verra well, let us go in. Miss Mary, your presence is required.’ He opened the door.

‘You don’t need to come with me.’

He gave her a look that spoke volumes. Anger. Frustration. And something hotter than either, though he was doing his best to damp it down.

An answering glow sparked in her own veins. Like a child playing near the fire, the closer she got to him, the more likely she was to burn. But there was something about him that made him hard to resist. And that made him dangerous.

With a shiver, she let him take her arm and escort her into the shop.




Chapter Four


Jenna couldn’t sleep. After an hour or so of tossing and turning, she’d given up and had moved to the window seat to gaze out into the night. Was it simply by chance that ruffian had been there in the market place? One of them had said something on the road, and it only just now had returned to her. You are sure this is the one? The one what?

It wasn’t only the ruffian intruding on her rest. She kept seeing Mr Gilvry, at first furious at her trickery, but then reaching for her, pulling her close, kissing her. Not a quick touch of his mouth, but something far more erotic, a melding that made her body burn with longing. The vision had sent her fleeing from her bed.

She glanced over at the tumbled bedcovers. Her mind was going around and around far too quickly for her ever to fall asleep.

She picked up the book she’d finished earlier. She could read it again. Or she could go to the library and choose another one. It might help her sleep. Something boring, like a treatise on sheep-raising. Or something a little more risqué, like a book of Gillray’s cartoons. Except that would make her laugh and keep her awake.

No, something deadly dull was in order. She pulled on her robe, shoved her feet in her slippers, lit a new candle from the stub in the candlestick on her bedside table, and headed for the library.

She was surprised to see a glimmer of light spilling out into the hallway from the slightly open door. She frowned. Surely the butler would not have left candles alight before retiring for the night. It would be the height of folly indeed. But it must be so, because she was the only one who ever used the library in the evenings. Her cousin never had time for reading and Mrs Preston preferred the drawing room, where the light was better for her needlework.

Still, she could not help feeling that someone was there. Cautiously, she pushed the door wide.

At one of the tables, a man sat in his shirtsleeves. The light from the candle fell on the book he was reading and cast half his face in shadow. She had no trouble recognising his broad shoulders, the large hand that turned the page, or the studious and handsome profile cast into planes and shadows. Mr Gilvry. An inner gladness bubbled in her veins. A glow of joy at the sight of him. A feeling like nothing she had ever experienced.

As if she actually liked the man.

How was this? Her breath stilled. Her heart sounded loud in her ears. It was as if she’d made some monumental discovery, but did not yet understand its import. But in her heart she knew what it was. Recognised the danger. A growing attachment. Something she could not afford. She owed it to her position to think with her head and not let her heart get in the way. To think logically, as a man would. She must stand on logic or fail those for whom she was responsible.

It left an empty space in her chest. A dark, cold fissure.

Resentment flowed in to fill it. At him, because he was here in a place she’d thought of as her own, surely, for no other reason. Was there nowhere she could go and not stumble over him? He might have saved her life—twice—but it did not give him the right to invade every corner of it. She turned to leave.

He must have heard the movement, because he looked up, then shot to his feet. ‘My lady.’

Blast. Now she had no way to escape without acknowledging his presence. ‘Mr Gilvry.’ If she sounded stiff and haughty, it was because it was either that or sound breathless.

‘Can I help you?’ He sounded at a loss and his eyes widened as he took in her state of undress.

She clutched a hand to the silky fabric of the robe, drawing it tighter about her throat. ‘What are you doing here, Mr Gilvry?’

‘Lord Carrick bade me make free with his library before he left.’ His glance travelled from her face down her body. It was a lingering glance that almost felt like a physical caress. Her nipples hardened. She glanced down and saw them jutting against the gown’s light fabric. Heat rushed to her face.

It is the cold, she wanted to shout. She clung to what little of her dignity remained. ‘I doubt that he expected you to come here in the middle of the night.’

Nor should she have come, wearing next to nothing. Yet she had come here so often when she couldn’t sleep it had felt like a refuge. Not any longer, clearly.

‘He suggested I come in the evening. After my duties.’ He picked up his candle and the light of it threw his face into sharp relief. The smooth lean plane of his cheek, the hard uncompromising line of his jaw. The jut of a blade of a nose. He had a strong face. There was nothing soft about it at all, but it appealed to her sense of what a man ought to be. Strong. Unyielding.

A child’s view of the world, her father would have said. Looks meant nothing. Liking meant nothing. It was power and wealth that counted if she wanted to do her duty.

‘It did not occur to me that anyone else would have the same idea,’ he continued, looking uncomfortable. ‘It is the first opportunity I have had to take advantage of his offer.’

‘Then I should not disturb you.’ With a brief smile, she turned away.

He reached the door before her, blocking her exit. As solid a barrier as the mahogany door itself. He stood staring down at her with such intensity, she could not hold his gaze.

‘Do not let my presence stand in the way of you finding a book.’

His virile body exuded heat and power. And the scent of bay and lemon. Physical. Overwhelming. She could hardly breathe as she noticed the dark crisp curly hair at the base of his throat where he had removed his cravat. He wore another of those bold-patterned waistcoats he favoured. Strawberries, this time, amid dark-green leaves on a cream background. She dragged her gaze from that impressively broad chest and the beat of his pulse at the base of his bared throat and let her eyes wander upwards. Up past the uncompromising chin to gaze in awe at his firmly carved mouth.

The burst of memory of those lips on hers caused a slow burn low in her abdomen. And when finally their eyes met, his eyelids drooped as if he knew exactly the direction of her thoughts. The air in the room became heavy, thick, unbreatheable.

She moistened her dry lips. ‘I couldn’t sleep.’ Her voice was husky from the dryness in her throat and the rushed beating of her heart.

‘I imagine not, after what almost happened today,’ he murmured.

Not only that, but how could she admit that she couldn’t sleep because of the way he intruded on her thoughts? The way she kept remembering the taste of him, the scent of the wild outdoors that clung to him. She couldn’t, so she merely nodded.

He closed his eyes briefly. ‘I felt sure the man in the market was going to carry you away. It makes me go cold every time I think of it.’

‘Your arrival was timely,’ she whispered, gazing up into his eyes, mesmerised by the heat she saw in their depths.

Slowly, his hand lifted to her shoulder, a light touch, but searing, and she welcomed the contact, the feeling of not being quite so alone as she had been since her father died. Though why his touch should have that effect, she didn’t know. Perhaps because he’d stood alongside her in her hour of need.

His other hand cradled her cheek. Warm. Callused. Yet infinitely gentle. She held her breath, fearful and wanting. Revelling in his touch, when she knew she should push him away. And knowing she did not want to.

And then his head dipped and his mouth, velvet, warm, brushed her lips. A sweet gentle pressure, softly demanding.

Nothing like the awkward affair she’d initiated on the road, his lips melded with hers, moving, wooing, a finely honed assault. Little chills darted down her back. Her breathing became uneven, her heart an out-of-control thud against her ribs.

The even deep rise and fall of his chest brushed against her breasts in a tantalising caress. His tongue darted against the seam of her mouth, tiny thrilling little flicks telling her what he wanted, yet not demanding. Encouraging.

Inside, she shook with the rise of desire, pressing closer to the wonderful lean length of him, parting her lips and gasping in pleasurable shock as his tongue languorously swept her mouth, sliding against her tongue, tasting her as if she was some sort of honeyed treat.

Heat curled through her veins like smoke filling every corner of her being. Delicious heat. Bone-melting heat.

Her arms went up around his neck. Naturally they would, there being no other way to prevent a slow slide to the floor. His hands encircled her back, pulled her close between his strong thighs, then roamed down her hips and her bottom.

Now she could feel his heartbeat against her chest, a strong steady rhythm, if a little fast. His breathing rasped in the silence, and felt warm on her ear. She could not suppress a small moan of pleasure at the delicious sensations rippling through her body.

He made a soft sound like a choked-off groan, and his tongue withdrew, his kisses dancing like butterflies over her mouth. Slowly he drew back, his eyes dark, his expression dazed.

And as he looked at her, she saw the moment he came to his senses. Saw the shock and the regret.

He stood there staring at her, looking so stiff and awkward as if he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands, which a moment before had been roaming her body in a most intimate way. A strange urge to giggle pressed at her throat. She covered her lips with her fingers to hold it inside. To not let him see how foolish he made her feel inside. How foolishly, femininely weak. A fatal flaw.





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