Highland Heat

by Jennifer Haymore

  She retrieved the matching spencer in solid blue wool, in case the day ended up being cloudy or cool, and she set aside a clean chemise and petticoat, and freshly cleaned stays. Silk stockings with ribbon ties, and a pair of sensible leather shoes. She’d wear her straw hat trimmed with blue ribbons that matched the spencer.

  When she had her outfit planned to perfection, she called for a bath. She scrubbed her body and washed her hair with lilac soap. Then, she paced until her hair had dried, thinking of how she’d do it. She’d never seen a proposal in person, of course, but she’d heard of them. Most of those were formal affairs, a meeting of a lady and gentleman alone in a drawing room, with the lady’s parents’ approval and blessing, of course.

  It wouldn’t be like that with Duncan.

  She hastily scrawled a note to him, saying she had returned to London and would like to speak with him, at ten o’clock tomorrow morning, if that was convenient. If not, could he please send her a note and advise her of a better time?

  The letter was ridiculously formal, especially considering the intimacy they’d shared in the past week. But although she wanted nothing more than to make that intimacy legitimate, the truth was, it wasn’t…yet.

  She sent the letter as it was.

  —

  The Highland Knights had been instructed to travel to the major’s house north of Manchester, where they’d remain for an indeterminate length of time, infiltrating the insurgent cell, learning exactly who was involved and who they were attempting to recruit to their cause, and neutralizing it.

  Neutralizing meant arresting those who were involved. All of them. If any resisted arrest, the Knights were ordered to take stronger measures.

  The whole process could mean weeks in Manchester. Possibly months.

  It was nearing the midnight hour, and the men had only just finished their dinner. The major seemed restless—he paced the drawing room as if the waiting was annoying him and he wished they could depart for Manchester this instant.

  The rest of them were seated and finally shaking off the tension of the day—or drowning it in whiskey.

  Duncan sank deeper into the velvet of his armchair. Damn. It might be months before he laid eyes on Grace again.

  But hell, he’d known this was coming. It had been inevitable, and he’d been certain he’d prepared himself. However, judging from the lump of coal in the pit of his stomach, he wasn’t prepared at all.

  The major had already sent a letter to Lady Campbell, telling her it would be safe enough at the house for her, for now. The major, Stirling, McLeod, and Innes all had connections in the area, and they’d be attending social events nonstop for the next few weeks, gathering information from the gossip around town. The remaining men would be keeping their eyes and ears open, asking questions, spying in just about every sense of the word.

  “Neutralizing,” Innes, who was sitting in the chair beside him, muttered.

  “Aye,” McLeod said cheerfully from where he lounged like a sultan on the sofa, “like we neutralized the damned frogs last month.”

  Stirling released a harsh breath, clearly not liking the idea of reliving the nightmare of Waterloo. Then he downed the rest of his whiskey, rose abruptly, and stalked across the room to refill his glass.

  He’d been having nightmares, crying out loud enough to wake the whole house. Duncan wished he could help, but beyond offering the man sympathy, he’d no idea what to do. No idea how to exorcise those demons from his friend’s mind.

  “If you ask me”—McLeod stretched his legs out and crossed them at the ankles—“neutralizing is nothing. It’s goin’ to be the damned balls and soirees that’ll be hell. If we have to sit and watch simpering ladies sing off-key while playing on the pianoforte, just shoot me, please, and put me out o’ my misery.”

  “I think I’d like the balls and soirees,” Fraser said, grinning. “I’ll gladly trade positions with ye, McLeod. You go into the alleys with the cutthroats and rats, and I’ll don my best coat and ask all the pretty ladies to dance.”

  “They’d all dance with you, Fraser. You’re braw enough half the men’ll be asking to dance with ye too.” Ross grinned under his mop of red hair.

  “Eh”—McLeod waved his hand—“just flip up yer kilt and show ’em yer hairy arse. That’ll have ’em running as if their own arses were afire.”

  “Not the ladies, though,” Duncan warned. “If one o’ those fine ladies saw your hairy arse, she’d faint dead away. And the fine gentlemen of Manchester will have you drawn and quartered by morning.”

  Fraser winced. “Och. Maybe it’s best for me to stay in the alleys, after all.”

  Just then, Bailey slipped into the room. He quickly sorted through the men until his gaze landed on Duncan. Approaching Duncan’s chair, he held out the silver salver he was carrying. “A letter for you, sir.”

  Duncan took the letter, secretly hoping it was from Grace, although he was expecting letters from his parents and sisters as well—they had kept up a frequent correspondence over the years since he’d joined the army.

  But he recognized her elegant hand right away. Ignoring his audience, he unfolded the note and read.

  I’ve returned to London and would like to call upon you at ten o’clock in the morning. If that isn’t a good time, please advise on one that would be more convenient for you.

  Lady Grace Carrington

  He read it a few times—the tone didn’t sound like his Grace at all, though he had to admit he’d never received a letter from her before. Perhaps it was her habit to be terse and professional in correspondence.

  “What’s that all about?” The voice was the major’s. He’d stopped pacing some time ago and now stood by the window, staring out at the street, which was busy even at this time of night.

  Duncan folded the note quickly and tucked it inside his sporran. “ ’Tis nothing. Just a letter from home.”

  The men were silent for a moment, and Duncan wondered how obvious his lie had been. Damn, but he hated lying to his friends. He’d do anything to protect Grace’s reputation, but every lie to the Knights felt like a small betrayal.

  He rose. “It’s been a long day.” That was definitely not a lie. “I’m heading to bed.”

  The major turned to him. “Aye. I am as well. Tomorrow’ll be a busy day.”

  Yes, it would. He’d have no time to see Grace tomorrow. They’d be making all the final preparations for their move to Manchester. They’d be leaving at the crack of dawn the following morning.

  But damned if he was going to leave London without seeing her.

  —

  Duncan was sitting at the edge of his bed when Fraser entered their chamber. Fraser lifted his dark brows. “I thought you were goin’ to bed?”

  Duncan shook his head. “I will. Later. First there’s something I need to do.”

  Fraser sat on the end of his own bed and leaned down to remove his boots. “What’s that?”

  “I need to go see someone.”

  Fraser sat up straight, staring at Duncan. “Who?”

  Duncan hesitated. The truth? A lie? He opted for the truth. “I canna tell you. It’s not safe.”

  Fraser frowned so hard his eyebrows touched above his nose. “What’re ye gettin’ mixed up in?”

  Something he shouldn’t. But still, Fraser’s mind was heading in the wrong direction. Duncan sighed. “It’s a woman.”

  “A woman?”

  “Aye.”

  “Who?”

  “As I said, I canna tell you.”

  Fraser flopped back on the bed, groaning. He covered his face with his hands. “Hell, Mackenzie. Are you mad?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Lady Grace is what I mean. She’s returned to London, hasn’t she? Is that what the note said?”

  Ah, hell.

  “The major’ll kill you if he finds out.”

  “How did you?” Duncan asked dryly. What the hell had he done to expose them? And if Fraser knew, how could the major not?
He’d spent much more time with the two of them.

  “I’ve known you for years.”

  “So?”

  “I ken when a woman has bespelled ye.”

  “None ever has.”

  “Exactly. But one has now, hasn’t she? In the form of an English earl’s daughter.” Fraser emphasized each of the last three words.

  Damn. Duncan couldn’t lie to his friend. He lay back on his bed, too, and stared up at the ceiling. “I need to go to her.”

  “If the major—”

  “Aye,” Duncan interrupted. “He’ll kill me.”

  “How long have you been lying to him?”

  “I’m no’ lying. I’m…withholding information.”

  Fraser snorted. “Just a different form of lying. If he found out, he’d consider that a bigger betrayal than the identity of the lass you’re ruining.”

  “I’m no’ ruining her,” Duncan said tersely.

  “What are ye doin’, then?” Fraser turned on his side and gazed evenly at Duncan.

  Loving her? Being with her? Enjoying her?

  Those were all selfish things. The fact was, if he and Grace were discovered, the truth of their relationship could ruin her life.

  Maybe he had ruined her. And the risk of someone discovering her ruin grew each time he saw her.

  Perhaps it was best he was leaving for Manchester. They’d—well, he’d—fallen in too deep. So deep he was having a difficult time imagining his day-to-day life without her.

  Duncan groaned. “I dinna ken what the hell I’m doing.”

  “You’re risking too much,” Fraser said quietly. “Your position in the Knights. The major’s trust. Her reputation.”

  Bloody hell. Fraser was right. They’d allowed themselves to grow too close. And now, no matter what Duncan did, someone would be hurt. This was his own damn fault.

  Duncan blew out a breath. “I need to go to her.”

  “Aye, well. Be careful.”

  Duncan needed to have a conversation with Grace—one that would probably end up being painful and miserable. But they couldn’t continue like this.

  He pulled his jacket on and buttoned it. “Is everyone abed?”

  “Aye. Well”—Fraser scratched his chin—“McLeod and Ross were still drinking in the drawing room when I left. But they’re too sotted to pay attention to anything that might happen in the house.”

  “I’m going, then. If anyone asks, I’ve gone for a walk.”

  “A midnight stroll?” Fraser asked slyly.

  “Exactly,” Duncan said. A midnight stroll straight to Mayfair and the Earl of Carrington’s London house.

  —

  Grace slept fitfully. Surely by now it was past midnight, yet she was fairly certain she hadn’t slept for more than a few minutes this time before her restless mind woke her yet again.

  Finally, she rose and strode to her basin, where she splashed cool water on her face. She was pressing a towel to her eyelids when she heard a soft voice.

  “Grace?”

  She jumped, dropped the towel, and spun around. “Duncan?”

  It was him. She could see his shape—which had become so familiar to her in the past week—in the dim moonlight filtering through the curtains.

  A rush of happiness flooded her. He’d come to her. She rushed to him and flung her arms around his neck. “Oh, I missed you so much!”

  He hugged her back, pressing his lips to her hair, a gesture that had quickly become a habit of his. He seemed to love her hair.

  “I missed you too,” he murmured. His breath was warm against her scalp. He drew back, holding her shoulders, and gazed at her for a long moment. Then he murmured something under his breath—it sounded like it might be a Scottish curse, and he bent down to kiss her.

  His kiss sent sensation whipping through her, hot and seductive. The heat curled and tightened in her belly until she was gasping with desire.

  He pulled away abruptly, breathing as heavily as she was. “Christ, Grace.”

  She could do nothing but nod. She understood. She felt the same way.

  “I came tonight…because I won’t be able to see you—no’ discreetly, in any case—in the morning. It’ll be a busy day. But I needed to see you.”

  “I’m glad you came,” she said, but her mind was spinning. He couldn’t see her alone tomorrow. Her carefully planned proposal wouldn’t be happening—at least as she’d planned. “But how did you get into the house?”

  He chuckled softly. “Thanks to Sam Hawkins’s excellent training, I’ve become an expert lock picker. I came in through the servants’ entrance.”

  “I see.”

  “We’re leaving London the day after tomorrow, before dawn. So this is my only chance to see you before we go.”

  Her heart sank, and she closed her eyes. “Oh. I wish you weren’t going so soon.”

  “I do too,” he said, “more so now that you’re in Town.” He tilted his head, his eyes searching hers. “Why did you come? Has something happened with your father?”

  She shook her head. “No. I came…” She heaved in a breath, feeling scattered and confused. What should she say? What should she do? “I came because…”

  His hands tightened on her upper arms, concern creasing his brow. “What is it?”

  “I came…” the words emerged ragged and breathy, “to…to…”

  She was shaking hard now, and he swooped her into his arms and took her to the bed, where he laid her down and drew up the covers before lying next to her, removing his boots but otherwise fully dressed in his kilt, shirt, and jacket.

  He gathered her in his embrace and she shuddered against him.

  She’d completely botched this. Made a mess of it. For the first time in her life, she’d been reduced to a simpering ninny.

  She should wait until he returned from Manchester.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. No. That was the coward’s way out.

  She drew back from him, far enough that she could look into his eyes. She stared at him for a long moment, then took a deep breath.

  “I came back to London,” she said, “to ask you to marry me.”

  Chapter 19

  For several seconds, silence hung in the air, so thick it pressed heavily on her skin. Finally, Duncan took a deep, shuddering breath.

  He blinked rapidly as if her words were the last thing he’d expected to hear.

  Then shook his head and said gently, “Your da wilna allow it.”

  “I know,” she told him, “but I don’t care.”

  “But…”

  “I wish to…elope.”

  “Elope.” He drew out the word as if he’d never heard it before. He had, of course, but probably never as it applied to him.

  “We could go to Scotland,” she said. “Gretna Green.”

  She watched as emotions raged across his face, coming and going so quickly she couldn’t pluck one out to identify.

  “It’s not just your da,” he told her softly. “It’s…everything I am, everything I’ve become. And you—your reputation, social status, position, family…and my new family as well—all of it could be shattered by such a rash act.”

  “I don’t care about any of it anymore,” she said. “I have spent my life trying to appease others. It’s time I appeased myself, for once. I’ve thought about it, about every facet of the situation.” The nerves of a few minutes ago had dissipated, and now she heard the edge in her voice. “It’s what I want, Duncan.” She hesitated, and her eyes locked onto his. “Don’t you?” she added softly.

  “Aye, it is. But I made a vow,” he said quietly.

  She shook her head, uncomprehending.

  “I gave my loyalty to the Knights,” he explained.

  “Oh.” She reached out and laid a hand on his arm. “I wouldn’t take you from the Knights. You know that, don’t you?”

  “The major—” He broke off, then started again. “He…he would consider it a betrayal. He has given me his trust in allowing me to be part of h
is Highland Knights. He brought you and your sister into the fold, entrusting your safety and care to all of us. To learn that I seduced you under his nose, then stole you from your home and ran off to Gretna Green with you…” He bowed his head. “He couldna see it as anything but a betrayal.”

  “I think you’re wrong.” Of course he was wrong. “He’d understand. Eventually.”

  His blue eyes brimming with tenderness, Duncan bent down and kissed her forehead.

  “I canna see how. We knew from the beginning it couldna be forever,” he said.

  “We could make it work.”

  “I ken how cruel the English ton can be.”

  She’d already steeled herself against anything and everything the ton would do to her. There would be whispers. People would give her the cut direct. Ladies would snigger behind their fans, and gentlemen would give her knowing looks as if they believed her a whore who’d offer them her favors next.

  “I know how cruel they can be. I’m prepared for it.”

  He stroked her braid down the length of her spine. “I want to be with you, Grace, but I wouldna be able to bear the repercussions on your reputation.”

  “I would.”

  “How can you know that?” He pulled her closer to him. “My life is vastly different from yours. If your father rejected you, you’d lose everyone you’ve ever known—”

  “I wouldn’t lose Claire,” she argued.

  “I’m no’ going to be the man responsible for ruining your life, Grace,” he said quietly, pulling back from her. She sat up in the bed, her frustration so acute, her body buzzed with it.

  “You’re saying you don’t want me, after all.”

  “Nay, that’s not what I’m saying—”

  “Fine. You want me, but not enough to risk my reputation or my father and brother-in-law’s disapproval.”

  “You would lose everything.”

  “Not Claire,” she said again.