Ann Lethbridge

by Her Highland Protector

  ‘What?’ She stared at Niall in surprise before turning her gaze to Carrick. ‘How can this be?’

  Carrick frowned. ‘He is a cousin on my mother’s side. There is no one else.’

  Her expression shuttered. She lifted her chin with a smile that chilled. ‘I see you have made yourself indispensable already, Mr Gilvry. You are to be congratulated.’

  The words had the ring of a compliment, but in truth he knew them to be an accusation. She assumed he had broken his promise to further his own ends. Anything he might say would likely only make things worse. So he did the only thing possible. He bowed as if he took her words at face value and had the doubtful pleasure of seeing hauteur in her expression and a healthy dose of dislike.

  As if dismissing him from her thoughts, she turned to Carrick with a bright smile. ‘I had no idea you were planning a journey, Cousin.’

  Carrick raised a brow as if to ask why she should be privy to his plans. ‘Since Mrs Preston is apparently indisposed at the moment, would you please make the necessary arrangements for Mr Gilvry to join us at dinner?’ He glanced at Niall. ‘The family dines at five. It will be an opportunity for us to become better acquainted before I leave. That will be all, Jenna.’

  She stiffened at the dismissal, then dipped a curtsy. ‘As you wish, my lord.’ But the glance she shot at Niall from beneath her lowered lashes before she left in a soft swirl of fabric and light pattering steps was a far cry from the friendly glances she’d given him earlier. He felt the loss as the soft scent of something spicy lingered in the air. Complex, like her. All bright sharp edges underpinned by subtle femininity.

  He didn’t want the job of guardian. It was not what he had been offered. He had been hoping to learn things that would stand him and his family in good stead for the future. Matters of business. And perhaps even of the law. Things that might set his feet on the path to a better future.

  ‘How did you hear of my meeting with Lady Jenna?’ he asked.

  ‘One of the lasses hired in from the town was on her way home when she saw a fight on the road and raised the alarm. By the time the message reached me, the pair of you were at the gate.’ He gestured to the window. ‘I watched ye come through.’

  The muscles in his shoulders tightened. He eyed his chief warily. What else had the girl seen? Not their kiss, apparently, or Carrick would not be looking so calm. At least that he would keep to himself for both their sakes. ‘What happens with regard to the position of under-secretary? Does Mr McDougall not require my services?’

  It was McDougall, Carrick’s secretary, he’d originally been employed to assist.

  Carrick rubbed his hands together. ‘I am sure Lady Jenna will take little time away from your other duties.’

  Niall wasn’t so sure about that, but he could see he’d been well and truly snared. Two duties for the price of one, when nursemaid to a wilful lass ought to be paid double. Rumour did not lie. Carrick was known to be a man who would not spend a shilling where he could make a bargain for a sixpence. He bowed his assent, as if he had a choice.

  Carrick dismissed him with a flick of his fingers. ‘I will see you at dinner, then. That is all.’

  Chapter Two

  Jenna raked the comb through her tangled curls, her eyes watering with the pain. ‘He gave his word and he broke it. Why?’

  ‘My lady.’ Mary McDougall, her maid, grabbed unsuccessfully for the comb. ‘I dinna ken who you are talking about.’

  ‘That mealy-mouthed Scot who came to work with your father. He told Lord Carrick about the footpads when he swore he would not. Currying favour.’ And now Lord Carrick would think her still the hoyden she had been when she first came under his care when her father died, instead of a responsible woman, ready to take up the reins of her own life.

  ‘It seems to have worked, too. He is to dine with us tonight.’ And replace Carrick as her guardian in his absence. How could he leave now, when he had promised to take her to Edinburgh?

  It was as if he was deliberately dragging his feet on the issue of her finding a husband. He had agreed it was the right next step and had promised her a Season. Her estates, her people, had been left without a caring hand for far too long.

  Braemuir. Her home. How she longed to see it again. To feel the comfort of knowing she was safe within its walls. She only had to close her eyes to see every inch of it. The grand staircase with the honours of her family going back for centuries. Her room at the back of the house overlooking the park and the hills beyond. The people in their little crofts. The gypsies who had come every year to help with the hay. And she had promised her father to do everything in her power to care for it the way he would have, had he lived.

  Only she couldn’t. Not without a husband. Carrick insisted she wed before he would give up his trusteeship. Females did not manage their own estates. Worse yet, there were debts incurred by her father to be paid. And no money to pay them. Leasing the estate these many years had not been enough to pay them off.

  She handed the comb to the insistent Mary and stared unseeing at her reflection. Surely it wouldn’t be too difficult to find a husband. She was no beauty, she knew that, but it wasn’t a one-sided bargain. In exchange for paying off the debts, her bridegroom would gain the title of Baron Aleyne, which by ancient charter passed through either the male or the female line. Not to mention the ancient house and surrounding lands.

  A fine house for children to grow up in.

  She had promised her father she would not let the family name die. Yet here she was, two years beyond her age of majority and still unwed. Not that she regretted these past two years caring for her father’s widowed sister during her illness. The woman had been the mother she had never known. She had taught her how to be the lady of a house instead of a hoyden who liked to ride and fish and all of the other things she’d learned from her father. Jenna had managed Mrs Blackstone’s house almost entirely alone these past few years and it galled her to be treated by Carrick as if she did not have a brain in her head.

  ‘It is Mr Gilvry you are meaning?’ Mary asked, pinning a stray lock of hair in place. ‘A handsome young man by all accounts.’

  Ruggedly attractive and traitorous. The feeling of betrayal writhed in her stomach anew. ‘He’s only out for himself.’

  ‘Is that right, then? You know so much about him already?’

  She knew more than she ought. The velvet feel of his lips on hers. The hard strength of his body inside his clothes. A tremor ran through her. She pushed the sensations away.

  ‘He is not worth discussing, though I am sure the lasses below stairs will find him charming enough.’ Oh, my word, didn’t she sound spiteful? Most unlike herself. She took a deep breath. ‘That looks lovely, Mary. Thank you.’

  The maid smiled. She picked up the dress from the end of the bed. ‘May I put this on you, now? We should probably hurry, or you will be late.’

  Lord Carrick hated tardiness and ruled his castle with a rod of iron.

  The dress slipped over her head with a whisper of silk. The silver thread in the lace edge of the sleeves scratched up the length of her arms. Why was she doing this? Why had she asked Mary to put out her best evening gown instead of one of those she would normally wear for dinner en famille? Not for Mr high-and-mighty-you-shouldn’t-be-riding-out-without-a-groom Gilvry, that was certain. Tonight her mission was to remind her cousin of his promise to take her to Edinburgh. She really could not afford another Season to pass her by.

  Not after receiving a plea six months ago from Mr Hughes, the vicar at Braemuir. He had begged her to return home and take up her duties, before there was no one left on the land.

  When she had told Carrick about Mr Hughes’s concerns, he’d been insulted by her lack of trust in his administration. Times were changing, he’d told her. He’d also forbidden any further communication with the old vicar. However, when she pressed the issue, he had grudgingly agreed it was high time she found a husband to look after her affairs. Six months had passed and she
seemed no closer to the married state.

  She pressed her lips together and smoothed her gloves up her arms. She was determined to wait no longer. Especially in the light of what she assumed was another message from Mr Hughes waiting unread with the tinker in the market because of those wretched footpads.

  If Mr Hughes’s pleas had been urgent before, she could only imagine what they would be six months later.

  Despite the urge to move, to pace, she remained still as Mary pinned her brooch on her gown—the pearls and diamonds her father had given her mother on their wedding day, with the family motto inscribed in the silver surround: Family Before All. Family meant the people on her estate. People she hadn’t seen for years. It was a promise instilled into her from birth. A promise she had so far failed to keep.

  Mary handed her a shawl. ‘Will there be anything else, my lady?’

  Jenna gazed at herself in the glass. Was she ready? Was she suitably armed for battle with her cousin and the traitorous Mr Gilvry? ‘Quite ready.’

  * * *

  Two flights down and a draughty corridor brought her to the second-floor drawing room, in the suite of rooms set aside for the lord of the castle and his retinue. Such old-fashioned formality. Outside the great wooden door studded with iron, she squared her shoulders, pinned a smile to her lips and drew on the mantle of a woman aiming to please. The waiting footman opened the door and stepped back to his place like a man who did not exist.

  Her cousin and Mr Gilvry were engaged in conversation beside the hearth. They turned at her entry. Once more, Jenna could not but be startled by Mr Gilvry’s towering height, the lean length of him encased in well-fitting evening clothes, his youth and manly figure more apparent beside her portly cousin.

  Freshly shaven, his face was all hard planes and sharp angles. He looked sterner than earlier in the day, more remote, as if he had donned armour to keep the world at bay. The face, undeniably handsome in a rugged kind of way, did not seek to set her at ease. And those broad shoulders were just too intimidatingly wide.

  She blinked as she got a good look at his waistcoat. Instead of the usual discreet cream or other pastel shade worn by men these days, it was pale green, embroidered with delicate sprigs of heather. It demanded attention. On another man it might have looked effeminate. On him, it only served to emphasise his stark masculinity. Her stomach gave the same odd little jolt it had given when she first saw him on the road. Surprise. It could not be anything else.

  The man clearly knew nothing of fashion.

  She dipped a small curtsy, acknowledging their greeting.

  Mrs Preston, on the other side of the hearth, looked up with a pained smile. She had an unnatural pallor. A peptic stomach again, no doubt. The widow held out a hand. ‘Come, sit beside me, child.’

  Dutifully, she did as requested.

  The woman lived in fear of her cousin’s opinion. Fear she would be turned off to fend for herself on the meagre funds left her by her husband if she did not appease Lord Carrick’s every wish, though never by word or deed had he indicated he entertained any such thoughts.

  ‘It is good to see you up and about again, ma’am,’ Jenna said.

  The lady shot a nervous glance at Carrick. ‘How could I not, when we have a guest for dinner?’

  ‘A member of the household and a relative, too,’ Jenna said, giving Mr Gilvry a cool smile. Playing the great lady was a skill she had learned from Mrs Blackstone, and it would be as well to keep this young man at a distance. Put them back on a proper footing.

  Mr Gilvry acknowledged her words with a slight incline of his head.

  ‘Ratafia?’ Carrick asked.

  She nodded. ‘Thank you.’

  Her cousin served her with a glass of the icky stuff. She sipped at it, keeping her grimace of revulsion hidden. Oh, for a nice dram of whisky. But ladies did not drink whisky in public.

  ‘Fine weather we are having for this time of year,’ Mrs Preston said, filling the silence.

  Gilvry raised a brow. Carrick sighed.

  ‘Surprisingly fair,’ Jenna said, trying not to smile at how the words echoed those she had exchanged with Mr Gilvry on the road. Better to recall nothing of their meeting.

  ‘And are your rooms in the castle to your satisfaction, Mr Gilvry?’ Jenna asked.

  ‘Yes, thank you, my lady.’

  ‘Oh, don’t thank me. Mrs Preston organises all on behalf of Lord Carrick.’

  His quizzical look said he was wondering if she’d had the ordering of it, she would have left a basket full of snakes in his room. Clearly the man had a sense of humour, even if he was a tattletale.

  He bowed to Mrs Preston. ‘Then I thank you, ma’am, for the excellent accommodations. To be truthful, I did not expect such lavish quarters.’

  Too charming to be true. But it was working on Mrs Preston, who fluttered her fan and looked pleased. ‘You are welcome, Mr Gilvry, though nothing was undertaken without his lordship’s instructions, I can assure you.’

  Carrick waved off the compliment. ‘How are things at Dunross, Gilvry? I understand your brother is making improvements to his lands. And how is dear Lady Selina? I really must find the time to visit.’

  ‘My brother is well, my lord. As is his wife. I am sure they would be honoured by your company and that of the ladies, too, should they wish to accompany you.’

  ‘I really would prefer to go to Edinburgh, as soon as it can be arranged,’ Jenna said, giving her cousin a bright smile. ‘As we discussed.’

  Inwardly she winced as Carrick stiffened. Perhaps she should not have been quite so pointed. Carrick wouldn’t like the insinuation he had not kept his word. Or it might make him stir his stumps. If he did not make it so difficult for her to have this conversation in private, she wouldn’t be forced into this tactic.

  A look of disgust flickered in Gilvry’s eyes. His lip curled slightly. He was judging her again. Assuming her to be a woman with nothing but frippery pleasures on her mind. Well, she didn’t give a hoot what he thought. Not about something so important. This was between her and Carrick.

  Her cousin tugged at his collar. ‘I have been meaning to talk to you about that, Jenna.’ He slid a look at Gilvry. Had they been discussing her behind her back? Heat flared through her, anger at the assumption that they, having her interests at heart, knew what was best.

  ‘I am sorry to disappoint you, my dear, but I do not think it is going to be possible this year.’

  Jenna’s chest emptied of every gasp of air. This she had not expected. How was she to find a suitable husband if she never met anyone? ‘But you promised.’

  Carrick’s face froze. Blast. She really had gone too far.

  ‘Dinner is served, my lord,’ the butler said from the doorway.

  ‘We will discuss this later,’ Carrick said smoothly.

  Oh, no. He thought he was going to put her off yet again. She would not allow it. She had been the very soul of patience these past few months, but she wanted to go home. Surely Carrick could see how necessary it was? She’d told him often enough. Or perhaps that was the trouble. The more she pressed him, the more he resisted.

  Naturally, while Carrick took Mrs Preston’s arm, Mr Gilvry came forwards to escort her into dinner. As she placed her hand on his sleeve, she felt the heat of his body down her side and sensed the raw power of his arm beneath her fingers. Tingles shivered up her arm in reaction to that leashed strength. She recalled how casually he had faced those villains on the road and how safe he’d made her feel.

  A foolish impression. The man was ruthless in pursuing his own ends. A tremble shuddered deep in her bones. If it was fear, it came all tangled up in an excitement she did not understand.

  She lifted her chin and walked beside him steadily, outwardly calm, while inside her unruly blood ran hot. She was glad when he released her to pull back her chair so she could be seated. The relief, when he moved to the opposite side of the table, was tainted by a confusing feeling of loss.

  As they talked of poli
tical matters of interest to Carrick and the court gossip that so entertained Mrs Preston, Jenna glanced at Mr Gilvry from beneath her lashes. What about him set her in such disarray? His darkness? His reserve, except for the odd flash of interest when he glanced her way? Every time he did that, she felt a surge of blood in her veins. And all the time her heart felt too high in her throat.

  No. It wasn’t he who had her feeling at sixes and sevens, it was Carrick’s about-face on the visit to Edinburgh, and the strain of saying nothing of importance until the moment was right.

  Somehow, she managed to chatter on about inanities, all the while aware of Gilvry’s speculative glances.

  What had Carrick said about her? Had he been told she’d been brought up a hoyden by an indulgent father and spoiled by her lonely widowed aunt? It wasn’t entirely true. Yes, she was determined to have her way, but she had to be. She had responsibilities. She’d learned what she needed to know about being the mistress of a house and it was time to put that learning into practice.

  The servants brought in the last course: platters of sweetmeats and fruit. Now that the man had a full stomach, perhaps he’d be willing to listen to reason. She glanced at Mr Gilvry, who was gazing at her intently, with a look that made her toes want to curl inside her slippers.

  She did not dare think about what that look meant. She plunged ahead with her question. ‘Well, Cousin, will you explain why it is you’re breaking your promise about taking me to Edinburgh?’ she asked casually while peeling an apple.

  Carrick reared back in his seat.

  Mrs Preston shot him a worried glance. ‘I really don’t think this is the time or the place to discuss family business, dearest Jenna.’

  ‘Why ever not?’ she said, widening her eyes in innocent surprise. ‘Mr Gilvry is family, is he not? At least as close to Lord Carrick as I am. Isn’t that right, my lord?’

  Carrick cast her a look of displeasure, but seemed to wrestle his emotions under control because his voice when he spoke was surprisingly mild. ‘One can hardly refuse a request for a meeting when it comes from Lord Gordon.’