Her words seemed to take him aback. “Is she ready?”
“I do not know.” But one could hope. “She seems to think so. M-My uncle and I are ready to leave at a moment’s notice. We will be out of your way quite soon.”
It felt impossibly dangerous, standing there with him so close, close enough to—
He tucked a loose lock of her hair behind her ear and she stepped back before he could do more.
“Miss St—”
“Good day, Lord Broxburn,” she said, quickly turning around and entering her bedroom, closing the door behind her. He would not dare follow.
And yet there was a knock at her door. “Miss Stillwater.”
“Go away, my lord.”
Chapter Eleven
* * *
Duncan had been impossible to awaken, so Ian rode down to Craigmuir Way with Ferguson and Malcolm. Ian was not happy about Duncan’s abdication of his newly-assigned duty, but there was nothing he could do about it now. Besides, Duncan was more likely to muck it all up than he was to do anything productive.
Nor could Ian do anything about Lucy Stillwater. She was determined to avoid him.
Last night, he’d returned to the keep after those unbelievable few moments with her in the tower. He’d wanted nothing more than to follow her up to her bedroom and finish what they’d begun in the tower, but – as he’d told Duncan – Lucy Stillwater was no Edinburgh trollop. He had been so far out of line with her he ought to be whipped.
He had taken advantage of her innocence.
Ian could not regret it, though. Her passionate response to his kiss was enough to fuel his dreams long after she was gone. And she would soon leave. She would be in Edinburgh, no doubt pining for the man she loved.
He met with the manager of the brickworks and discussed plans to expand the business and build another kiln. After an hour, he and Malcolm left it to Ferguson to work out the details, and rode north to the town of Haddington where they stopped at a public house.
They claimed a table near the front window.
“Something is bothering you, Brox,” Malcolm said. “Is it your father?”
Ian looked up. He hadn’t even thought about his father since he’d kissed Lucy Stillwater.
“Uh, no. I just—” He paused. “Malcolm, how do you know you are ready to marry?”
Kindale raised his brows, deferring his reply until after the barman placed drinks on their table and left.
“I cannot tell you with any certainty, Ian,” he said.
“Well, are you ready to marry Miss Douglas?”
Malcolm scrubbed one hand across his mouth and chin, giving Ian a decidedly dismal impression of what his friend’s future would be.
“Of course I am ready,” Malcolm said. But Ian observed his friend’s countenance and knew he was not. He knew there was nothing he could do to dissuade him from marrying his father’s ward – not when he’d made a solemn promise to the old earl to do so.
“What about you and Lady Kathryn?” Malcolm asked. “Are you ready?”
Ian took a swallow of his ale. He had not given a thought to Kathryn Hay since Malcolm had last mentioned her.
“See? It is not the simplest of questions,” Malcolm said.
“No, I suppose not.” He considered Lady Kathryn and could barely remember anything about her, other than her red hair, which – he admitted – was quite fetching. But Lucy Stillwater filled his mind and set his body on fire. The liberties he’d taken last night were inexcusable, and she had quite rightly avoided him this morning. It was obvious she wanted nothing more to do with him.
“How is Lady Kildrum this morning?” Malcolm asked.
“’Tis possible she is ready to travel.”
Malcolm raised a brow.
“At least, that is what Miss Stillwater said,” Ian explained. “They were waiting for the physician when we left the castle.”
Malcolm sat quietly, tapping his fingers on the side of his mug, seeming preoccupied. He finally looked up. “She will be inundated by suitors once she arrives in Edinburgh. Miss Stillwater, I mean.”
“What?” Ian said, frowning. “Oh. I suppose she will.” The thought of it gave him a sharp pang in his belly.
“Her father is one of the wealthiest landowners in Berkshire,” Malcolm continued. “No doubt she will have a handsome dowry. Every beggared Scot near the city will be looking to win her hand.”
“Ach. Erskine,” Ian muttered. And Duncan. And a host of others. Bloody hell.
Malcolm gave a quick nod. “You ought to warn her.”
“Won’t her uncle protect her from fortune hunters?” Ian asked.
“He would, but we both know the earl is preoccupied at the moment.”
What was Malcolm saying? That Ian needed to protect Lucy somehow? “All right, I’ll warn her. But I do not think there is much danger in her being swept off her feet in Edinburgh.”
“Oh?”
“She is in love with some fellow in Berkshire.” And the thought of it rankled.
Malcolm’s ginger brows rose again, in his typical fashion. “I did not realize it was as serious as that. Joshua Parris, I suppose.”
Ian leaned forward. “What? You know the man?”
“Uh, no,” he replied somewhat awkwardly, “but I met one of her sisters at Windermere early in the year, and she spoke at length of her family. She knew I’d met Lucy and mentioned her sister’s affection for Mr. Parris.”
“What else do you know of Miss Stillwater?”
“She has four sisters and two brothers,” Malcolm said. “They are a close-knit family.”
Ian swallowed the last of his ale. He did not want to talk about Lucy Stillwater any more. It seemed she addled his brain, and he had far more pressing things to deal with. His father. His bastardy. His tenants. His brickworks. It was more than enough for any man. “I may come up to Edinburgh in a few weeks,” he said in spite of all that weighed upon him. “Will you be at your house there? Or will you go on to Carriden Hall?”
“I’m going to Edinburgh,” Malcolm said. “I’ll be there for at least a few weeks.”
Ian would like to join him – and perhaps pay a social call to Kildrum and his family – but he had to get his father to reverse the changes in his will and return the documents to the solicitor in Selkirk before he went to Edinburgh. It would be a disaster to give Duncan free reign over the properties bequeathed to him. He’d just run them into the ground.
“Will your father be all right, do you think?” Malcolm asked.
Ian wished he knew. “It all depends on him. Dr. Henderson said he is unlikely to survive another bout of drinking.”
So Ian needed to talk to him soon. He needed his father to see reason, and he wanted to find out the truth about Duncan.
Malcolm nodded. “It can be difficult, though.”
“Aye,” Ian replied. “He lives for it, for the next drink.”
“You’ve made it inaccessible, I assume?”
“I have. But you never know,” Ian said, wondering if it was all for naught. “He could have hidden bottles in places I would never think to look.”
“His valet will know.”
“Or it could be too late. He could be so far gone—”
“Do not borrow trouble, my friend.”
Ian shrugged. “Let’s talk about something else.”
Malcolm glanced around the room. “The serving lass is trying to catch your eye, Brox.”
Ian looked up and saw Nessa MacClure, a comely young woman who’d always let Ian know – one way or another – that she was available for an intimate romp in one of the upstairs rooms.
He had to wonder what she hoped to gain by satisfying his lust. She had to know he would not marry a tavern wench. And that if he got her with child…
Was this how it had been with his own mother? Had she pursued the duke until he’d succumbed to his own needs and desires? Ian knew there were women who could be persistent, if not blatantly dogged in their pursuit of him. Bu
t those were usually the daughters of noblemen who knew they had at least a chance of becoming his wife.
He did not like to think his own mother had been a tart who’d hounded his father until he’d fallen. Nor did he care to believe his father had taken wanton advantage of a virtuous servant. Whatever the truth was, Ian knew it was not going to sit well with him.
* * *
“I will not stay another day,” Aunt Arden said, though her voice was not as strong as usual. Lucy had no doubt she meant it, but she could probably be persuaded to follow Dr. Henderson’s suggestion and remain in bed for the rest of the day.
The physician gave a subtle shake of his head. “You risk your health, madam.”
“I do nothing of the—”
“Arden.” It was Lucy’s uncle, and she had never heard him use such a forceful tone, especially with his wife. He always deferred to her preferences. But apparently, not this time.
Archie sat down on the bed next to his wife and took her hand. “We will not endanger your health by leaving prematurely, pet.”
“Good,” Henderson said before taking his leave. “I will look in on you tomorrow morning.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Archie said.
Lucy followed Henderson from the room. “When do you think my aunt will be able to travel, Doctor?”
“Think about the trip ahead, Miss Stillwater,” he said. “She will be in a stuffy, bouncing carriage. When she can stand it for a few hours without becoming nauseated or developing a headache, then she will be ready. It is up to you and your uncle as much as me.”
“I see,” Lucy replied. “She did become dizzy and a bit nauseated when she sat up.”
Henderson nodded. “She will have a miserable trip home if she leaves here before those symptoms abate.”
The doctor left, and Lucy pressed her hand against the cold stone wall and took a deep breath. If only she could have ridden away this morning before she’d had time to think, to remember…
But no. She’d already had half the day to think about that kiss last night…and the way Broxburn had created a physical connection between them. The last thing Lucy should feel was a burning desire to repeat the experience. But she did.
What was the matter with her? The only man she’d ever cared for was Joshua Parris. He was the one she’d dreamed of. He was the one who…
Actually, she had never dreamed of kissing Joshua. She did not know if Joshua had ever appeared in her dreams. Lucy frowned. It was disturbing to think that she’d dreamed of Lord Broxburn, but not Joshua Parris.
Lucy went to her room where Aileen was making the bed.
“Shall I do something for you, Miss?”
“No, I— Do you know if Lord Broxburn is at home?”
“No, he went down to Craigmuir Way with Lord Kindale and Mr. Ferguson.”
“Oh.” That was a relief. She needed to clear her mind and put everything into perspective. She put on her hat and gloves and told Aileen she was going out. A walk would do her good, and there was no chance of running into Broxburn alone.
“I shall be outside walking, if my aunt asks for me,” she said. “I won’t be long, though.”
“Yes, Miss.”
Lucy left the castle and walked out to the gate. Following the path to the river, she stopped at the vine-covered cottage she’d seen on her last walk.
It was made of stone, with stout wooden doors at the front and the back. Lucy walked around it and noticed there were windows on all four sides. She’d remembered thinking it was dilapidated, but that was not entirely correct. It was in decent repair, although neglected.
She tried one of the doors and it opened on squeaky hinges. The room she stepped into must have served as a kitchen and workroom. There was a long, heavy table at one end, with wooden buckets nested inside each other, and tools on shelves. She saw fishing rods and dusty hunting rifles lined up against the wall next to a large stone fireplace.
It was a rustic, wholly male setting, and Lucy concluded it must have been the huntsman’s cottage. The only other room held a bed with an old straw mattress and an empty set of shelves. She could not help but wonder what had happened to the huntsman, because it was clear no one lived here now.
There were many hunting tools and weapons in the cottage, and Lucy suspected most of them were centuries old, like the artifacts in Lord Broxburn’s tower. She stopped short, unwilling to think about the man unless absolutely necessary. She might not be able to avoid another encounter with him, but she had absolutely no intention of being caught alone with him again.
Because her body would surely betray her. The sensations he’d aroused were not to be denied. If only Joshua had kissed her, she would have something to compare with Broxburn’s. No, if Joshua had kissed her, she would not even be here in Scotland. She’d be safely married and ensconced as the mistress of Long Willow Place.
But Joshua did not love her. Not yet. He’d pined for her friend, Eleanor Easton, for years. Eleanor was married now to the Duke of Beckworth – and Joshua had had more than enough time to get over his feelings for her. Besides, how could he have loved Eleanor when she’d lived in London and Italy for the past several years? Joshua could not possibly have nurtured a love that was so far distant from his home in Berkshire.
Lucy picked up an old, rusted knife from one of the shelves and turned it over in her hand. Then she found a leather-bound journal from a century ago, with fragile pages detailing a hunt in 1739 – a lifetime ago! She loved old places and things; loved imagining the lives of the people who’d lived in bygone times.
She knew she romanticized things, but she was sure that some day Joshua would realize that he loved her, and then he would not be able to stay away from her. He would begin their courtship in earnest, bringing her flowers and pretty trinkets – the same way her sister, Jessamine’s suitors did.
She sighed just thinking about it.
* * *
Malcolm rode up to the castle to collect his things and depart for Edinburgh while Ian returned to Craigmuir Way to see how Ferguson was progressing. All was well on that front, so he headed up the path to the castle. It was time to have that all-important talk with his father, if he had his wits about him.
Or perhaps it would be better to bypass his father on the issue of his will. He could have MacAdams write up an official reversion of the last changes and have the duke sign and seal it. Ian could argue that his father had not been in his right mind when he’d amended his will to make Duncan a major beneficiary. He’d most certainly been drunk.
He rode up the path past his fishing spot, and when he reached the old ghillie’s cottage, he saw that the door was open.
He dismounted, and when he went to investigate, found Lucy Stillwater standing near one of the shelves in the work area. She turned and faced him when he entered and her brilliant smile sucked the air out of his lungs.
“Do you know what this is?” she asked, barely containing her excitement.
He took a deep breath and looked at the book she held in her hands. Bloody hades, she was stunning when she smiled at him that way. Unbidden, the thought of her looking at him like that when he made love to her—
“Yes. I saw it once before,” he said when she held it out to him. “Years ago.”
He walked toward her, forgetting all about the talk he was about to have with his father.
“It is very precious,” she said quietly. “You should put it in your tower for safekeeping.”
“No doubt you are right,” Ian said. He’d touched her earlier and she’d fled. It was the last thing he wanted her to do now.
But he still wanted to touch her.
“This hasn’t been used as a ghillie’s cottage in years,” he said, looking around at the decaying room.
She made a subtle move away from him. “What is a ghillie? A huntsman?”
Ian nodded. “Ours lives up at the castle these days. He hardly ever comes here.”
“Yes, it seems quite neglected.” She seemed to rea
lize he might take that as an insult and tried to remedy that. “Oh! I didn’t mean it’s— I do mean it’s lovely! There are so many precious things here!”
Ian would not dispute that. He laughed. “Perhaps you can show me what other treasures you’ve found.”
Her keen interest intrigued him. He followed her as she went through the cottage pointing out objects that were of interest to her. Of greatest interest to him was the pretty gown she wore that set off her figure to perfection. She’d twisted her hair into a simple knot at her nape, and wore a thin gold chain around her neck, with a pendant nestled between her breasts.
“Look at this,” Lucy said, holding out an old leather boot. “Surely its mate is around here somewhere.”
Ian watched with amusement as she mounted a search for the other boot, oblivious to the thick dust and cobwebs that had overrun the place. She was intrepid – certainly not the stiff Englishwoman he’d met at Glencory.
She bent down to look under a broken-down cabinet when she suddenly straightened up in victory, holding the other boot. “Here it is!” she said, smiling broadly.
Ian touched her cheek with his thumb and rubbed away a smudge of dust. When it was gone, he did not lower his hand, but cupped her cheek and dipped his head, touching his mouth to hers. He felt her soften, so he deepened the kiss, sliding one arm around her waist to pull her close.
Chapter Twelve
* * *
Her mouth parted slightly and he swept in, his tongue meeting hers. Her subtle scent of lilacs surrounded him, and she tasted a bit like sweetened tea. And more. She tasted like desire, full and rich with the promise of paradise.
Her small gasp was the sound of pleasure as much as surprise, and he did not have to guess her mindset when she dropped the boot to the floor and slid her hands up to his shoulders and around to his nape.
When he felt her fingers in his hair, he groaned and feasted on her, like a starving man. She seemed to melt into him even as she leaned back against the wall behind her.
Lucy and Her Scottish Laird Page 10
