Tempting the Laird

by Julia London

  Eula was already looking at Chasity with awe, and little wonder—Chasity was quite fair, which made her look a wee bit like an angel. “Good afternoon, Miss Guinne.”

  “Will you no’ come in?” Eula asked, and swept her arm wide, to indicate the small room. Oh, aye, she’d been rehearsing her debut as hostess.

  She was also eager to demonstrate her tea-serving skills and was just about to begin the business of pouring when Hamlin entered the room. Catriona and Chasity stood at once and curtsied. “Your grace,” Chasity said solemnly.

  Catriona smiled. “Your grace,” she said, a bit impishly.

  “Good afternoon, ladies. How pleased we are to have you for tea.”

  “I’m to pour now,” Eula said, her voice full of warning, as if the duke should stand back.

  “By all means,” he said, gesturing for her to continue.

  She carefully filled four cups of tea, then picked up a china plate where squares of cake had been laid out. “May I offer you cake? Aubin has made it. He’s our cook, and my riding instructor, and he’s from France.”

  “Oh,” Chasity said, and winked at Catriona. “He’s French.” She helped herself to a piece of the cake, as did Catriona. Hamlin waved it off.

  “I like your hair,” Eula said to Chasity before picking up her own teacup.

  Chasity touched her hair. “Thank you. I like yours, too. What a lovely color.”

  “Aye, it’s very pretty,” Eula agreed. “Miss Burns arranged it. She’s my lady’s maid. Miss Mackenzie found her for me.”

  “Yes, I heard of it,” Chasity said, and gave Catriona another look.

  “We canna thank you enough for bringing Miss Burns to our attention,” Hamlin said. “She has been helpful to us both, has she no’, Eula?”

  “Oh, she has. She knows all about hair, and what gowns to wear, and she knows how to sew. She’s from Glasgow,” Eula said.

  “Is she?” Chasity responded.

  A kitten suddenly shot out from beneath the settee, attacked Chasity’s shoe and then darted out of the room, just narrowly missing Stuart as he entered.

  “That was my kitten Perry,” Eula explained. “I have another one, and his name is Walter. But he doesna like to come out.”

  Stuart bent over Hamlin’s shoulder and whispered in his ear. An expression of confusion moved across Hamlin’s face but quickly turned inscrutable. He leaned forward to put his teacup aside. “I beg your pardon, Eula. Ladies, if you will excuse me.” He quit the room, Stuart on his heels.

  Catriona watched him go, curious as to what was happening.

  “Where is Walter?” Chasity asked Eula.

  “Maybe he’s in the garden. He likes the sun.” She looked toward the open doors.

  “I had a cat,” Chasity offered, and began to relate to Eula a tale of Mr. Whiskers. Catriona could not have been less interested in the trials and tribulations of a long-dead cat, and stood up, wandering to the open doors to look out.

  Chasity eventually ended her rambling about the cat, and Eula said, “Aubin said the tea has come all the way from India. He showed me where India is on a map, and it’s verra far from Scotland.”

  “It’s quite good,” Chasity said.

  “Would you like to see my painting?” Eula asked. “It’s in the garden.”

  “Yes, please.”

  Eula appeared at the open door where Catriona was standing and slipped her hand into Catriona’s to pull her along.

  The courtyard was a small square in the midst of the many mazes of corridors of Blackthorn Hall, surrounded by four walls rising three stories high. Most of the windows had been opened to a very fine summer day. In the middle of the garden was an easel, a stool and a canvas.

  “I painted it,” Eula said, pointing to the rose. “Mr. Kenworth taught me. He said it’s verra good.”

  Mr. Kenworth was right—it was actually quite good. It was clearly the work of a child, but Eula’s talent for art was apparent.

  “All you have to do is look at the lines,” Eula was saying, but in the course of her lengthy explanation of how great art was made, a raised voice floated out one of the open windows and seemed to hang over them. A man was talking very loudly, and while it was impossible to know what he was saying, the tone was clearly angry.

  Catriona and Chasity looked at each other. Catriona wondered if Chasity had recognized that the voice belonged to Hamlin.

  “Mr. Kenworth says that one day, my painting will hang in the salon, and I know where, too, for Montrose took my cousin’s portrait down and now there’s an empty spot.”

  “Whose portrait?” Chasity asked.

  “My cousin, Glenna. She was his wife,” Eula explained.

  The voice rose again. It sounded like a curse word.

  “Perhaps we ought to go inside, aye?” Catriona asked.

  “Who is that?” Chasity asked. “Who is shouting?”

  “Montrose,” Eula said. “Sometimes he is cross.”

  Cross? Catriona had never seen any hint of it.

  Chasity put her hand on Catriona’s arm and squeezed, then asked, “Does he shout a lot, Miss Guinne?”

  Eula frowned, as if she were thinking about it, then shook her head. “He never shouts, no’ really. He’s verra quiet.”

  Chasity’s hand dropped. “Oh.”

  “But he shouted at my cousin once,” Eula continued as they stepped into the garden room.

  Catriona’s pulse began to pound. She didn’t want to hear this. She didn’t want to hear a single untoward word said of him. She especially didn’t want Chasity to hear it. “Shall we pour more tea?” she asked. “I should like more of that delicious cake—”

  “I beg your pardon, Miss Guinne, but did you say the duke shouted at your cousin, Lady Montrose?”

  “Aye,” Eula said, as if there were nothing unusual about it.

  “What on earth did he shout about?”

  “I donna know,” the lass said with a shrug. “She was shouting, too. I heard them all the way down the hall, I did.”

  “How about that cake?” Catriona tried, but Chasity shot her a look.

  “I donna think there is more cake,” Eula said, looking around for the plate. “Miss Wilke-Smythe ate it all.”

  “I didna eat it all,” Chasity said. “Miss Guinne, did you ever ask your cousin about the shouting?” Chasity asked.

  “Chasity,” Catriona said low. At what point had she become an inquisitor?

  “No,” Eula said, and sat in a chair. “She was gone the next day. She’s never come back.”

  “She’s never come back!” Chasity said. “Why do you—”

  “Chasity!” Catriona said loudly. “How do you find the tea?”

  “The what?” Chasity asked, startled out of her line of inquiry.

  Eula suddenly gasped. “Look! There’s Walter!” She leapt from her seat and rushed after the elusive kitten.

  Chasity took the opportunity to grab Catriona’s arm again. “Did you hear what the girl said?”

  “Aye, I heard it,” Catriona said, yanking her arm free. “Leave her be, Chasity. She’s a lass.”

  “But has anyone thought to question her as to the whereabouts of her cousin?”

  Catriona didn’t answer, as Eula was suddenly before them again, holding an identical black kitten to the one that had attacked Chasity’s shoe earlier. “This is Walter. He comes out at night, but hardly at all during the day.”

  “Why, he’s beautiful!” Chasity said, and took the cat from Eula’s arms and placed him in her lap. She began to stroke its fur. “Miss Guinne, forgive me, but I have forgotten—where did your cousin go?”

  “Hmm?” Eula asked, and looked up from her fascination with the purring kitten. “I donna know. Montrose says she’s gone, and she’ll no’ come back again.”

  Chasity gasped and
turned a wide-eyed look to Catriona. Fortunately, Eula didn’t seem to notice—she leaned over Chasity to pick up the kitten. But Walter was of a different mind and scratched the lass, and she dropped Walter in turn. The kitten darted into the hall and disappeared.

  “Have you any other paintings you’d like to show us?” Catriona asked brightly before Chasity could begin her line of questioning again.

  “Aye. I finished a painting, and Montrose allowed me to hang it in the dining room. Do you want to see it?”

  “Aye, of course we do,” Catriona said, and stood, took Eula by the hand and started for the door, ending any chance Chasity had of probing deeper.

  They were moving down the hallway when a bell was rung in some distant room. A moment later, Stuart hurried past them.

  “The dining room is here,” Eula said. She went in first. “I’ll find a candle!” she called to them.

  As they stood waiting, they had clear sight of the foyer. A man appeared in the foyer; his coat was rumpled and his hat looking as if he’d dropped it in the road at some point. He carried a satchel that he slung over his shoulder. As Stuart handed him his gloves, Hamlin strode into view. He stood with his legs braced apart, his arms folded, and watched the man depart.

  “Here it is!” Eula said, and light suddenly flared from the dining room.

  “Oh, dear,” Chasity murmured, and slipped into the dining room. But Catriona hesitated. Only for a moment, but long enough for Hamlin to turn his head and see her there. His jaw was clenched, his brows knitted in a thunderous frown. The dark duke. He gave her no acknowledgment but turned on his heel and disappeared to wherever he’d come from.

  Catriona stepped into the dining room and pasted a smile on her face as Eula showed them her best work of art to date—a painting of a teacup and saucer.

  “I like the colors,” Chasity said.

  “Would you like to watch me dance?” Eula asked, and held her arms aloft, as if she meant to dance around the dining table. “I’ve a new dance instructor. He’s danced before the king,” she said, and began to move to music only she could hear.

  Catriona and Chasity watched her twirl around the dining table, but Catriona scarcely saw a thing, as her mind’s eye was filled with Hamlin. Why had he looked so dark?

  When at last Stuart came and informed Eula it was time to dress for supper, Catriona and Chasity said their goodbyes and departed in the Dungotty coach. There was no sign of Hamlin.

  “Well?” Chasity asked once they were alone. “What do you make of it?”

  “Of what?”

  “For heaven’s sake, Catriona, you know very well what,” Chasity said. “I think he did it. I think that girl holds the key to the mystery.”

  Chasity firmly believed it, for she announced it the moment they arrived at Dungotty. They’d arrived just in time for supper, over which she eagerly relayed the entire visit, complete with the shouting, and Eula’s admission that the duke and duchess had quarreled the night before she disappeared.

  “What do you think?” she asked them all when she’d finished her tale.

  “I think he’s done something to her,” Lady Orlov said flatly. “The innkeeper said they’d argued there, too, if you recall.”

  “Why must we always accuse the gentleman?” Vasily said. “Perhaps she has done something to him.”

  “What could she have possibly done to him?” Mr. Wilke-Smythe said with a snort. “He’s still living in a house as big as a castle. He’s still a duke. Women have no power or authority in this world, sir. Had she done something to him, she would be hanging from a tree in the village square.”

  No one disagreed. Catriona wanted to disagree, but to defend him now would only draw speculation about her.

  “I know the girl is speaking the truth,” Lady Orlov said ominously. “As it happens, I have exchanged a few words with a woman who once served the duke.”

  “I should like to know how you would have occasion to speak to a servant of Blackthorn Hall,” Mrs. Wilke-Smythe said accusingly.

  “In Crieff, if you must know,” she said. “Vasily and I met a serving wench who had served the duke’s chambers.” She looked to Vasily to vouch that this was true, and he nodded.

  “She said the fighting could be heard in every hall that night, and afterward, they never saw the lady again. He simply called them together and said Lady Montrose had departed Blackthorn Hall, had her things gathered and sent to Lord knows where. No one knows why she disappeared. Or how.” She gave Catriona a catlike smile and asked, “Do you still believe him innocent, Miss Mackenzie?”

  Catriona bristled. “Aye, I do. He’s been verra kind to me.”

  “Well, well,” Vasily said, leaning back in his chair, his whisky at his fingertips. “Will you all look at Miss Mackenzie! I think she is smitten with the duke.”

  “I’m no’!” Catriona protested, and knew the moment she protested, that she had given herself away. She was always the one to laugh off the largest of insults or innuendo, and when she didn’t, everyone noticed. “I simply find it verra hard to believe that he caused his wife even a wee bit of harm.”

  “There, you see?” Vasily said to the rest of them. “She defends him.”

  “I donna defend him. I offer my opinion,” she tried, but it was too late.

  “You do!” Chasity said, her eyes wide. “You esteem him!”

  Catriona panicked. She looked to Uncle Knox, but he was staring into his cup. “I donna esteem him,” she said, as if that was ridiculous. “How could I? I scarcely know him at all, do I?”

  No one looked convinced.

  Catriona felt a tic of panic in her breast. “Verra well, you’ve guessed my secret. I’m enchanted.”

  Everyone gasped. Even Uncle Knox glanced up.

  Catriona forced a laugh but found her footing. “Do you find fault in it, then?” she asked gaily. “He’s a handsome man, is he no’? I am enchanted by the mere idea of him. But I do no’ esteem him. I scarcely know him at all.”

  “I am very happy you don’t esteem him, my darling, and it’s only a case of enchantment, for I have received word that the Lord Advocate will see us. We are to Edinburgh next week.”

  Catriona’s supper suddenly turned sour in her belly. “We will? That’s wonderful, Uncle Knox!” she said, feigning excitement. But all she could think was that the news signaled the end of her time at Dungotty.

  “Yes, I think it will do you good to see something other than Dungotty and the woods for a change. Perhaps it will rid your mind of this enchantment.”

  “Ah, that,” Catriona said, and picked up a glass of wine. “Consider it rid. I’ve no’ been to Edinburgh in a verra long time, and I can think of nothing more diverting.”

  As talk fell to Edinburgh, Catriona pretended to be held riveted by the conversation, speaking often, asking her uncle so many questions that even her head spun with them.

  But all she could really think was that she needed to see Hamlin again. She wanted to know what had happened, but no matter what else, she needed to see him, to touch him, to see his black eyes shining at her. The thought of not having her wish made the sourness in her belly even worse.

  It was true, then—her enchantment had turned to lovesickness.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  HAMLIN WAS ON the roof of the gardener’s shed hammering shingles. “There is no need,” his carpenter said nervously. “We’ve repaired it, your grace.”

  “I’ll have a look all the same, Mr. Watson, aye?” Hamlin drove another nail into a shingle that was already secure. If he wasn’t careful, he’d drive so many nails that he’d split the shingle in two. When it became apparent to him, even in his disquieted state of mind, that he was doing more harm than good, Hamlin surrendered. He climbed down the ladder, looked around at his men and said, “What else needs repair, then?”

  After some frantic discussion
, Mr. Watson mentioned that a window frame in the orangery needed replacing.

  “Aye, let’s replace it, then.”

  Hamlin’s restlessness had to do with an unfortunate turn of events, culminating with the humiliating need to ask Bain to see that a message was delivered to Catriona.

  Bain had looked at him as if he had never seen him before that moment, had no idea who he was.

  “What is it, then?” Hamlin had snapped. “Is there some reason you are no’ able to do as I ask?”

  “No, your grace,” he’d said, and had taken the hastily penned, carefully folded note. But his gaze had flicked over Hamlin when he did.

  “What?” Hamlin had coldly demanded.

  “We’ve a meeting concerning the banking issue with Lords Perth, Caithness and Mr. MacLaren, aye?”

  “What of it?” Hamlin had asked, although he knew the answer. Bain was concerned about appearances.

  “Given the recent events, I would suggest we prepare for any topic that might arise, aye?”

  “Do we no’ always discuss any topic that might arise?” Hamlin had shot back.

  Bain had looked as if he wanted to say more, and Hamlin could guess that the man wanted to beg him to cease this dangerous affair. But this time, his secretary wisely kept his opinion to himself. “I will see that the message is delivered, your grace,” he’d said curtly, and had gone out.

  Hamlin knew he was being unreasonable, but he didn’t care. It had been two days since his solicitor had come, two days since he’d been forcibly dragged back in his mind to think of Glenna, to recall the worst time of his life at the best time of his life.

  Of course Glenna was not dead, as everyone surmised—she was very much alive and living not so far from him at all, a fact he was rudely forced to recall with the visit from Mr. Dundy. It was humiliating enough that she’d left Blackthorn Hall with her lover. It was mortifying enough that he’d dissolved his so-called marital union at her behest. And now she had risen like a ghost to mortify him again.

  Their marriage had been doomed from the start, although he’d been too blind to see it. His marriage had been arranged, as he knew it would be from the time he was old enough to understand such things. A ducal empire was improved through advantageous marriages. After a handful of suppers and walkabouts with Glenna, who seemed perfectly content in his company, the marriage deal had been struck. His father, God rest him, had been fond of her. “Aye, she’s a jewel, that one, a grand addition to the Graham name, aye?”