by Liz Carlyle
Alasdair emitted an awful groan. “Oh, Christ,” he said. “The curtains—were they heavy? Velvet?”
“Aye, mayhap.”
Another groan. “Did—did anyone see—?”
Angus slapped him cheerfully on the shoulder. “No, but ’twould have been quite a shock to the womenfolk if the drapes had been drawn whilst your trews were round your ankles,” he said. “But not tae worry. We hitched everything up again, and ’twas then I realized ’twas time to take our leave of Lord and Lady Morwen before one of us got shot, for I well knew what I’d been aboot.”
The humor of the situation was lost on Esmée. She was half in a panic. Captain MacGregor was her mother’s lover? Good Lord. It was beyond belief. Her mother had always preferred handsome, faithless wastrels. A short, squat, grizzled old sea captain with a face like a well-worn saddlebag was inconceivable. And now, what would become of Sorcha? How could this have happened?
Suddenly, she remembered all the callous things she’d thrown at Alasdair. “Oh, Lord!” She pressed her hands to her cheeks. “What a bloody awful mess I’ve made of all this!”
“No, lassie, ’twas your mother that made it, God rest her.”
Esmée did not heed him. “Oh, Alasdair! I owe you a most profuse apology.”
Angus looked at her oddly. “Why?” he said. “What did you do?”
Esmée stared at the carpet. She felt a little sick. “I—I said some terrible things,” she whispered. “Some things I can’t bear to think back on.”
But Alasdair seemed disinterested in her apology. He was still watching his uncle warily. “Angus, are you sure?” he asked, his voice a little hollow. “I’ve spent these last months coming to grip with what I thought was the truth. That child is precious to me.”
“Aye, laddie,” he said wearily. “I’m sure.”
Esmée set her hand on Alasdair’s arm. “Sorcha does have those MacGregor eyes,” she mused. “And I think your uncle might be right about Mamma, too. It sounds just the sort of overwrought, shortsighted thing she would do. And then there was something Aunt Rowena said—oh, but never mind that! I am just so sorry, Alasdair, for the ugly things I said.”
Alasdair turned to face her and took both her hands in his. “But you weren’t far off the mark, my dear,” he answered. “I suppose I must accept that what my uncle says is true. He has no reason to lie. But the awful truth is, it could just as well have been me. Perhaps I’m off the hook—now, the first time I’d as soon not be—but how many other times have I been guilty of just such a thing? How many, Esmée? I can’t even count them.”
Angus was watching them curiously. “What d’ye mean, laddie, ‘as soon not be’?”
Alasdair turned to face his uncle and set his jaw in that hard, stubborn line Esmée had come to know too well. “Angus, I want no trouble with you,” he began. “But it is like this: Possession is nine-tenths of the law. I’m not giving her up. Not without a fight.”
Angus drew back in shock. “You’re wishing to keep the bairn?” he said. “But I thought Miss Hamilton was raising her.”
Esmée sniffled pathetically. “Well, I was,” she said. “Until my aunt Rowena found out.”
Angus chuckled quietly. “Aye, Rowena!” he said. “I remember her, too.”
“Angus, damn it, this is not funny.”
Angus lifted his hands expressively. “Ah, well, laddie! Ye know what your granny MacGregor always says: One way or anither, your chicks will come home to roost. But somehow, this one came to roost with you by mistake.”
Alasdair’s brow drew into a knot. “Did Granny really say that?”
“Oh, aye, a thousand times!” said Angus.
Alasdair fisted both his hands. “Well, she roosted here, and by God, she’s staying here,” he said. “I’ve raised the child as mine. I’m the only father she’s ever known—God knows Achanalt never spared her a thought—and I tell you, I shan’t give her up.”
It was slowly dawning on Esmée that Alasdair was entirely serious. He really did not want off the hook. Indeed, he was quite angry. The muscle in his jaw was having spasms now.
Angus sat down and scratched his grizzled head. “Well, well, what’s best done?” he muttered. “God knows a sailor can’t raise a child—I had no intention of it, anyway. And I want the best for the wee thing, o’course. But laddie, the truth is—” Here, he gestured at Esmée again, “—She’s got more rights to the bairn than you or I, come to that. And ’tis womenfolk that know what’s best for children.”
“I know what’s best for Sorcha,” Alasdair snapped, his jaw still firmly set. “I understand her. Esmée and I will raise her together.”
Angus looked befuddled. “Thought Esmée was living with Rowena.”
“Yes, and that’s the next problem I mean to fix,” said Alasdair, scrabbling through his pocket and extracting a small velvet box. It was green, just like the one her pearls had come in, only smaller. He slapped it down beside the unused coffee service and shot Esmée a look that dared her to contradict him. “But we’ll be having that discussion in private,” he added.
“Ah!” said Angus, slapping his knees and standing up again. “That would be my cue tae get upstairs with my whisky.”
Alasdair waved him toward the door. “Yes, yes,” he said. “By all means, go.”
Angus stopped beside Esmée and laid a gnarled hand on her shoulder. “Now don’t fret, lass,” he said. “I’m a wealthy man, and I’ll do right by the bairn. I needed an heir anyway.”
Esmée just stared at him. “B-But what are we to tell Sorcha?”
Angus gave her an avuncular pat. “Why, when she’s of age, you can tell her whatever you please—or nothing a’tall!” he said. “She can be just Lady Sorcha Guthrie, your dear, wee sister. Achanalt is na’ apt to gainsay that; not publicly, and if he does, I’ll kill ’im. Or you can tell her she had two parents who loved each other very much, but bollixed up their lives, yet still wanted the very best for her. Or if you truly wish it, why, you can just change her name and tell her she’s yours and Alasdair’s—which she will be, aye?”
Esmée opened her mouth, then closed it again. “Well. At least we have…alternatives.”
Angus paused just long enough to give her another wink and snatch the whisky decanter. “Aye, so bide your time,” he advised. “But either way it goes, lassie, a child does need two parents, aye? And parenthood has verra little to do with who begat you and a vast deal to do with who loved and cared for you.”
Slowly, she nodded. “That is very true.”
Then, quietly, Angus left, closing the door behind.
Alasdair watched him go in disbelief. “Well,” he said, reaching for her hand, “this has been one hell of a day, and the morning’s but half-gone. What do you make of it, my girl?”
“I believe, Alasdair, that I am in shock.” Esmée, too, was still staring at the door. “Just imagine! Captain MacGregor and my mother? But it does indeed seem that he was her long-lost love. It all quite boggles the mind.”
“Aye, well, my mind’s been boggled for weeks now,” Alasdair returned. “But what’s this lost love business?”
Esmée turned on the sofa, and set her hand against his cheek. “Oh, just a silly, romantic story Aunt Rowena told me,” she murmured. “Something of a cautionary tale.”
Alasdair watched her a little warily. “Ah, I see,” he murmured. “And what was the moral of the story?”
Esmée leaned closer and kissed him lightly on the lips. “That one should always trust one’s heart,” she said. “Because sometimes, the first love you find is the right one, and you should hold on to him with all your strength.”
“Ah!” said Alasdair. “Is that so?”
“It is,” she said certainly. “My mother did not do that, and it may well have been the cause of all her unhappiness. I hope to do better. I hope to seize what is meant for me and hold to it no matter what. Perhaps I shall have a happy life. Perhaps I shan’t turn out like my mother after all.”
> Alasdair stroked the back of his hand over her cheek. “My dear girl, you aren’t like anyone I’ve ever known,” he whispered. “You are just Esmée. And you are perfect.”
Esmée managed a watery smile. “Well, you are not,” she said. “You are hopelessly flawed, and very, very wicked. Unfortunately, I seem to find the combination irresistible.”
Alasdair was holding her gaze gently. “Oh, Esmée, I have been such a fool,” he answered. “And it did not take Angus’s coming here to teach me that.”
Esmée gave him a muted smile. “Yes, ’tis true. You have been a fool.”
A teasing glint flashed in his eye. “But perhaps we should begin at the beginning,” he went on. “Esmée, what are you doing here? You shouldn’t have come alone, you know.”
“Yes, I believe you mentioned that earlier,” she remarked, picking up her newspaper.
“What’s that?” he asked. “Today’s paper? How odd. That’s the same one I read before bolting off to Grosvenor Square.”
She shot him a coy look. “Then you will have noticed, I daresay, that my betrothal to Lord Wynwood is at an end?”
His expression saddened. “I saw it and went directly to your aunt’s house, only to find you gone,” he said. “I won’t pretend, Esmée, that I’m not glad. And I shan’t let the opportunity to win you pass me by a second time. I’d hate to saddle you with a rogue like me, but I mean to do it if you’ll let me. I love you, my girl, with all my heart.”
“And I love you,” she said, taking both his hands in hers. “Indeed, I came here with every intention of throwing myself at you most wantonly. I know it’s a dodgy business, MacLachlan, consorting with a man of your ilk, but ’twould be best if you just gave in gracefully. I mean to have you no matter what it takes.”
He flashed his most charming grin. “Oh, it won’t take much,” he answered. “Especially if you mean to do it wantonly.” Suddenly, the grin fell. “I just…well, I just hope Quin will not hate me.”
“Oh, I think Quin has other fish to fry,” she murmured. “Indeed, he barely noticed my leaving.”
“The devil!” said Alasdair. “I don’t believe you.”
Esmée gave him a sly smile. “Oh, you may well believe it,” she said, snapping open the paper. “But that, I daresay, is another tale for another time. Now, as to this paper—what really got my attention was this.”
“Ho!” he said, following her finger down the page. “Well, I’ll be damned! I never got that far before dashing off to your aunt’s house. I’m glad to see Wheeler did the right thing by Julia. That will save me a dawn appointment.”
Impatiently, Esmée tapped on the announcement. “Alasdair, why did you not tell me Henrietta Wheeler was Mr. Wheeler’s sister?”
He looked at her blankly. “Why should I?” he answered. “I scarcely know the woman. What difference does it make?”
Esmée lifted one shoulder. “Oh, never mind!” she said. “So Mr. Wheeler is the father of Mrs. Crosby’s child?”
“So Julia says,” answered Alasdair. “What, are you still trying to pack that off on me?”
Esmée shook her head. “I guess I did not believe you.”
Alasdair scowled at her darkly, then just as suddenly, his face fell again. “Well, the truth is…oh, Esmée, the ugly truth is, it just as easily could have been mine,” he said. “I take no pride in saying it, either. But it isn’t, and I told you so. Now Julia is Mrs. Edward Wheeler, and I wish them both very happy.”
Esmée felt a little nonplussed. “Well, that was simple enough,” she said. “So tell me this, Alasdair—what’s in that box?”
Alasdair dropped his gaze, his dark lashes fanning across his cheeks. “Something I bought for you long ago,” he said. “Before your aunt came and turned my life upside down.”
“Before my aunt came?” she echoed. “How intriguing! Am I to have it now?”
“No,” he said, picking up the box and giving her just a peek of what was inside—the flawless sapphire-and-diamond ring which had set him back a bloody fortune so many weeks ago.
Her eyes widened at the sight. “No—?”
“No.” He snapped the box shut. “First you must agree to marry me and help me raise Sorcha and the other nine children we are going to have.”
“Must I?” she asked, reaching for the box. “But why nine?”
Alasdair slid the box behind his back. “To fill up all those empty chairs in the schoolroom,” he confessed. “A good Scot would never let them go to waste, now, would he?”
Esmée drew back and frowned. “That’s just what I thought when you bought them,” she said. “But surely you…you did not plan…? ”
“Oh, I’ve never planned a thing in my life!” he returned. “But Granny MacGregor says the mind works in mysterious ways.”
Esmée reached behind him and snatched the ring. “Oh, Alasdair, I am not marrying you for your mind,” she said, distracted by opening the box. “And certainly not for your granny’s old adages. But this ring—! Oh, my love! Now, that is another thing altogether! For this, why, I would almost—almost—marry your uncle Angus.”
With a muttered oath, Alasdair pushed her back onto the sofa and dragged his body half over hers. “Oh, no, my little Highland lass,” he said in a mocking burr. “’Tis MacLachlan or no one for you. I’ll not take a chance on losing you to another man ever again.”
Esmée looked up from beneath her half-lowered lashes. “Will you not, then?” she asked, rubbing her thigh suggestively against his—and to quite good effect.
“No, not in a thousand years,” he vowed. “Or a thousand years after that.”
A slow, satisfied grin spread over Esmée’s face. “Then get up and bolt that door, MacLachlan,” she whispered, lowering her lashes fully. “You’ve got nine empty chairs left—and you’ve wasted far too much time already.”
