Until she lost her mind recently.
Lizzie stuffed down the madness and put the pen to paper. She was not in the habit of writing letters to gentlemen, and was uncertain how to proceed.
“Appeal to his vanity,” Charlotte had counseled. “Men are most susceptible to praise, whether it has been earned or not.”
Lizzie rather assumed Charlotte would know, as there had been a time before the accident when she’d been quite sought after by the gentlemen in the glen.
Dear Mr. Gordon, she wrote, and stared at that a moment. “Dear Gavin,” she muttered. “Mr. Gordon, sir. Dear sir.”
She stuck with Mr. Gordon.
I hope this letter finds you well. Charlotte and I are quite well, but the weather is most disagreeable. It seems inordinately cold, even for January. I pray you have found your accommodations in Crieff to your liking.
“Diah, how very tiresome!” she muttered. He’d not give a fig about the weather, given what he may or may not have heard about her. Papa always said it was best to be straightforward in matters of business. This was a matter of business, at least in part. Lizzie scratched over what she’d written—even foolscap was too expensive to waste—and began again.
My dear sir, I fear you have heard rumblings of a most egregious event in Glenalmond in your absence. I pray that you trust my good character and know that whatever you might have heard, I have held my head high and maintained my virtue and my good name. Indeed, it is true that my uncle has shown himself to be a vile man who will stop at nothing to see the happiness of his niece derailed. But I can assure you without equivocation that I did not participate in his wretched scheme.
Nevertheless, I implore you, Mr. Gordon, to please come to Thorntree at your earliest convenience, as I have desperate need of your wise counsel.
She paused to consider her wording. Was it praise enough? Did it appeal to his vanity?
I am convinced no one but you can possibly help me. Please do come straightaway if you are at all able.
Honestly, she didn’t believe for a moment that Mr. Gordon could help her now. No one could help her. She and Charlotte were beyond hope.
My sister and I look forward to receiving you at Thorntree.
She studied the letter again, determined there was really nothing she could say that would soften it or improve the truth in any manner. She signed it and sealed it. And then she stuffed it into the pocket of her gown and went in search of Mr. Kincade so that he might find someone to deliver her letter posthaste.
Chapter Fifteen
The sitting room felt as if it were encased in ice. The bit of heat that had filtered through the small crack Lizzie had allowed him had dissipated in the middle of the night. Cold, damp air had seeped in through the floorboards and now it was so cold one could store meat.
As a result, Jack slept poorly and rose early in ill temper.
He did not in the least appreciate being stuffed into some storage room like a bad relation. If the situation had been reversed, he would have given Lizzie an entire floor of his bloody castle.
He stalked into the bedroom and stumbled over Dougal, who was curled in front of the hearth. “What in the bloody hell are you doing there?” he demanded.
“Sleeping, milord!” Dougal cried.
“No’ any longer, lad,” Jack said, and nudged him with his foot. “You will draw me a bath. Off with you now.”
Unfortunately, the bath that Dougal reluctantly drew—which was as cold as the sleet that fell outside—did not lighten Jack’s mood. Nor did the cold scone Dougal brought him. And that he donned the last articles of clean clothing only increased his ire, as he supposed he’d be made to launder his own clothing at this way station to hell. That he found insupportable. He’d never laundered as much as a handkerchief, and he would not forgive Miss Lizzie Beal—that blood-stirring kiss notwithstanding.
His first order of business was food. That damn kiss had left him hungry, and if he couldn’t feast on Lizzie, he’d find something to fill him.
With a grunt of displeasure, Jack swept up his greatcoat, marched across the room, and threw open the door of his ice cave.
The letter handed off to Mr. Kincade for posting, Lizzie strode to the kitchen. As she neared it she heard voices and slowed her step, coming to a halt just outside the door. That sounded like him. She laid her palms against the door and leaned in. The voices were muffled, but she could just make out Mrs. Kincade asking, “Is the belly completely bare?” To which he responded, “Aye, completely bare.”
Lizzie pushed open the door and sailed through. Her entrance startled Mrs. Kincade, whose cap, Lizzie couldn’t help but notice, was askew. But Jack looked up at her with sultry gray eyes and a hint of an unapologetic smile, as if he were expecting her, and with his gaze steady on her, he casually took a bite of a large piece of ham from a plate before him.
“Miss Lizzie, you gave me a fright, you did!” Mrs. Kincade said.
Lizzie glanced at Mrs. Kincade and noticed the feathers that lay on the table and the floor all around the elderly woman. She had a chicken. But Lizzie hadn’t fetched the chicken yet.
Mrs. Kincade nodded at Jack in answer to Lizzie’s unspoken question. “He brung it in, along with the eggs.”
Lizzie looked dubiously to Jack, who smiled imperiously as he ate another bite of ham. “He brought it in?”
“Donna let my refined manner confuse you, lass. I am quite capable of gathering eggs and catching old hens,” he said dryly.
“Are you also capable of cooking food?” she asked, gesturing to his plate.
“Oh, ’tis my fault, Miss Lizzie,” Mrs. Kincade said as she scraped feathers off the table and into a basket. “I got a wee bit caught up in his stories, I did,” she said with a funny shake of her head.
Lizzie leveled a suspicious glare on him.
“I was regaling Mrs. Kincade with tales of London and the wonders of Oriental dancing,” Jack said. He winked and popped another nice cut of ham into his mouth.
“It’s scandalous, that dancing! Miss Lizzie, he knows the Prince and Princess of Wales!” Mrs. Kincade said, sounding awestruck.
“Mrs. Kincade has no’ been to London,” Jack added, and glanced up from his plate. “Have you had the pleasure, Miss Beal?”
Lizzie had never been even as far as Edinburgh. “If you donna mind, sir, Mrs. Kincade has quite a lot of work to do—”
“Oh no, miss, I’m quite all right. His lordship helped me. He made a new fire and brought more oats in from the pantry.”
Jack smiled, obviously and inordinately pleased with himself. “Imagine that—eggs, chickens, and oats.”
This was absurd! He was far too comfortable and inserting himself into her household. Just thinking of him being about gave Lizzie a tick of panic; he could ruin everything. “How very helpful of you,” Lizzie said sweetly. “Mrs. Kincade, will you please go to Charlotte and help her from bed? I’ll finish in the kitchen.”
Jack lifted his brows and smiled as if that pleased him.
“Aye, of course,” Mrs. Kincade said. She put down the bucket of feathers, paused to clean her hands, and then removed her apron.
Amusement dancing in his eyes, Jack blithely continued to eat what seemed to be an entire ham as Mrs. Kincade puttered about. When she finally quit the kitchen, Lizzie braced her hands on the table and leaned across to him. “You helped her, did you? You carried a bag of oats and a pair of eggs and thereby helped yourself to our ham?”
“Why do you seem so surprised? Have I no’ shown myself to be most willing?” he asked, his gaze wandering the length of her body.
“You have shown yourself quite willing to charm meat from an old woman and…and…” She couldn’t think when he was looking at her like that, as if he could devour her alongside his ham, head to foot.
“And?” Jack prompted. When Lizzie did not respond, he put aside his fork and wiped his mouth with a napkin. He stood from the stool where he sat, braced his hands on the table, and leaned forward, p
iercing Lizzie’s gaze with his. “And charm the maidenhead from a young woman such as yourself? I’ll have you know, leannan, that Mrs. Kincade heard my belly growl with hunger, understood the conditions to which I have been subjected here, and kindly offered me some bread and ham. I did no’ charm her…any more than I charmed you.”
The fire behind him suddenly crackled and flared, and Lizzie felt it reverberate in her. They were so close, only inches apart. How could she not think of the fiery kiss that still simmered in her veins?
She slowly leaned back, away from him and his gray eyes. She was not a debutante. She was not a shy, socially inexperienced woman who was easily intimidated by the unearthly magnetism of this man. Seduced by it, perhaps, but not intimidated. “You must think me awfully dull if you believe that I donna know what you are about, Jack.”
“Oh?” he said, his gaze sweeping over her. “And just what am I about?”
“You think us fools here. You think yourself superior in every way and take advantages that no gentleman would dare take. You’ve been forced upon us like…like an ague we canna overcome. But donna mistake us—you’re no’ welcome here. So please keep your distance from us.”
“From us? Or from you? What is it, Lizzie? Are you afraid you’ll want me again?”
“I donna want you—”
“Ah,” he said, putting up a hand to stop her. “I know want, leannan, and last night, you wanted me.” His voice was a dangerously low caress. “As for Mrs. Kincade, I was hungry. Your cook fed me.”
Lizzie swallowed.
Jack casually touched her cheek. “There is one more thing I would say. You may think me a rakehell, but for some inexplicable reason, I kissed you because I was attracted to you in a way I’ve no’ been attracted to a woman before, aye? I apologize if I offended your tender sensibilities. And while I know quite well I was no’ the only one who enjoyed it,” he said, his eyes darkening, “you may rest assured that it will no’ happen again.”
A current of unexpected desire quickly slithered through her, and Lizzie took a step back. “Good!” she said, folding her arms tightly across her chest.
“Never you fear, little Lizzie Beal,” he said silkily. “I will be gone from your sight the moment I can find my way out of this calamity.”
A small sliver of disappointment nicked her. “Splendid. Perhaps you will go now and find a quiet place to plan your departure that does not include anyone in this house.”
His face darkened. He walked around the table, intentionally brushing against her as he passed on his way to the door. But he paused there beside her, his eyes sweeping over her face. “Say what you like, Lizzie. You may convince yourself until your toes cock up, but you wanted that kiss as much as I did. You may fool yourself, but you canna fool me.”
She bristled indignantly with the sting of truth in his words. “You are too bold by half! Mr. Gordon is coming, and he’ll no’ abide your insolence!” The moment the words were out of her mouth, Lizzie wanted to kick herself. Not only did she sound like a miffed schoolgirl, but now she’d put herself out on a limb, for what if Mr. Gordon didn’t come?
But it was too late. Jack was grinning wickedly. “How very sweet—the knight comes to rescue the damsel after all. I look forward to meeting the man who will saddle himself to you for all eternity.”
That did it. Lizzie swiped up the butcher knife.
He chuckled. “I am going, damsel,” he said, and kicked open the kitchen door as he strode through.
Lizzie dropped the knife on the table, gripped the edge, closed her eyes, and tossed her head back. “I am such a bloody fool,” she moaned.
Jack did not think Lizzie a fool, but he did think she was possibly the most exasperating woman he’d ever met.
Quite honestly, Jack had, from time to time, failed to charm a member of the opposite sex. It happened rarely, as he normally kept the company of women who were looking for a match or a lover, and he was, he recognized, a rather desirable match and a desirable lover.
But to Lizzie Beal, he was only trouble. Never had he met a woman who was as immune to his charm as she was. And never would he have believed he would care quite as much as he did.
He could not stop brooding about it. Lizzie had enjoyed that kiss. Jack would stake his reputation as a rogue and a lover on it—Lizzie Beal had savored that exquisite kiss every bit as much as he had. Bloody stubborn she was, as stubborn as an old mule.
Jack was so annoyed that he didn’t see Newton until he was almost upon him.
The lumbering giant was standing in the entry, a pair of dogs with him, removing dead flowers from a vase. He glanced at Jack. “There you are, milord.” He walked to the front door, opened it, and tossed the dead flowers outside.
Jack grunted and strode past the dogs, who were rather pleased to see him, judging by the furious wagging of their tails.
“I’ve something to show ye,” Newton said before he could get around the dogs.
“What?” Jack snapped.
“A drawing room,” Newton said.
“I have seen the drawing room.”
“No’ that one,” Newton said. “Your drawing room.”
“Mine?” Jack demanded dubiously.
“Aye. It is away from the lassies. They donna want ye near.”
“I bloody well donna care,” Jack said, and moved to continue on his path.
But Newton caught him by the arm. “Bloody well care, then,” he said, and shoved Jack into a small receiving room just off the entry. It was painted the color of Lizzie’s eyes, the drapery blue French toile. At least the hearth was lit, for which, had the circumstances been different, Jack might have kissed Newton.
But the circumstances were not different. “Is this some sort of jest?” Jack demanded irritably. “You’ll keep me locked away, is that it?”
“No,” Newton said. “But I found a room where ye might pass the time.”
“Then please tell me a card table and three willing players will be arriving shortly.”
Newton didn’t even blink.
Bloody hell, so this was Carson’s idea of freedom. “Splendid.”
Newton returned to the door, but he paused there. “Milord?”
Jack glanced impatiently at him.
“If I may?”
Jack sighed heavenward. “If there is something you’d say to me, Mr. Newton, I beg of you, say it.”
“Only that I trust ye will respect their privacy.”
“What in the name of Scotland have I done to incur the low opinion of everyone at Thorntree?” Jack demanded, exasperated.
“These lassies are no’ accustomed to the ways of high society, if ye take my meaning,” Newton said stoically. “Donna toy with their affections, or ye’ll have me to answer to.”
Jack didn’t know if he should be insulted or amused that a man who, he presumed, farmed sheep on some godforsaken hill would lecture him.
“And donna mind Miss Charlotte,” Newton continued. “Her speech is her way.”
“Her way of what, precisely?”
Newton shrugged. “Of hiding,” he said, as if that was obvious. “She’s frightened.”
“Of?” Jack asked, expecting to be told that the poor lass lived in fear that he would steal her virtue in the middle of the night or something equally absurd.
“Of everything,” Newton said. “Of life.” And that was apparently all he would say on that subject, for Mr. Kincade entered the room.
“Miss Charlotte asks for ye,” he said simply, and Newton immediately quit the room, the dogs trotting behind him as if he were lord and master here.
Chapter Sixteen
If Jack thought he’d be allowed to roam the house freely, he was mistaken. He found Dougal outside his little drawing room, sitting in a chair he’d tilted back against the wall on two legs, a gun draped across his lap.
Jack cocked a brow as he looked at the gun.
“I’m to keep an eye on ye, milord,” Dougal explained unnecessarily.
“And a gun cocked to my head?”
Dougal glanced at the gun in his lap. “Mr. Newton said ye might think to run. Or bother the lassies.”
“Mr. Newton seems to have formed a swift and unalterable opinion of me,” Jack drawled. “Is that loaded? Never mind—pick up your gun, Dougal. I should like a walk about the grounds.”
Dougal dutifully picked up the gun and stood. As Jack walked down the corridor, Dougal followed like one of the ever-present dogs that appeared from nowhere.
“I am reminded of time spent with George in Bath,” Jack said. “He’d decided to pen a bit of poetry and had a poor chap follow him about in the event the muse struck.”
“George?”
Jack glanced over his shoulder at the man. “George. The Prince of Wales. Your future king.”
“Ye…ye are acquainted with the Prince of Wales?” Dougal asked, in disbelief.
“He is—well, was, really—my friend. Aye, Dougal, I know him quite well.” They had reached the front door. Jack opened it, walking outside into the gray light. One of the sheepdogs trotted out ahead of him to sniff about the hitching post. The clouds were beginning to break, and weak sunlight darted around Jack, teasing him as he walked, before disappearing behind the clouds again.
“Did…did ye meet him in London, then?” Dougal asked, hurrying to keep up with Jack’s determined stride.
“Who?” Jack asked coyly.
“The prince.”
“Ah, the prince,” Jack said with a smile. “At Windsor, actually, in the course of a fox hunt many years ago. He’s no’ a particularly good hunter.”
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