As the innkeeper led the way to a private parlor, Jacob raised an eyebrow at her. "Lady Farrish? Interesting choice, as we are not married, nor am I a lord."
Heat infused Elle's cheeks and she refused to meet his eyes.
"It had seemed safe yesterday, since he would not accept me as an unmarried woman," she whispered back, her fingers clenching the material of her skirts. She had never thought to see Jacob again after leaving the duke's estate, and taking his name to strengthen her fabrication seemed harmless enough at the time.
Now it felt as childish, and mortifying, as if he had caught her carving their initials together on the trunk of a tree.
The innkeeper left them in the small parlor, closing the door as he retreated. Elle headed straight to the sideboard and began to fill her plate in an attempt to discourage any more questions, but she should have known better. The barrister in him would never allow him to leave it alone.
"Why Farrish? Why not Langley?" Jacob didn't seem too annoyed by her appropriation of his surname. He wasn't even amused. If she had to say, Elle would name his mood more puzzled than anything else. "You could have been a duchess and stayed in a much nicer suite of rooms, I'd warrant."
She set her plate down with a thump on the small table by the window, her toast sliding off to land on the wood surface, frustration bubbling within her. "I don't want to be a duchess. I would rather be a Mrs. Farrish than Her Grace, Lady Langley, if it would mean I was loved!"
When he went perfectly still, Elle realized what she had said. She hadn't thought things could get worse, but her skin now prickled with embarrassment. Any more of this and she'd just throw herself from a cliff, solving everyone's troubles in one fell swoop.
"For example, I mean," she muttered, collapsing into her chair and taking a large bite of her wayward toast. Perhaps if she kept her mouth full, she would stop making a fool of herself.
Though she would not look up again, Elle heard Jacob's chair creak as he settled down across from her. He was silent as he slathered butter on his toast and stirred milk into his tea. She was itching to know what he was thinking, but refused to ask. She was sure it wouldn't be anything complimentary. Suddenly exhausted, Elle almost wished they were already back at the duke's estate.
At least then this would all be over with.
"Why did you never tell your father how you felt about marrying Langley?”
Elle looked up at his soft question to find him watching her.
"You don't know Papa well, or you wouldn't have to ask me that. He would never have listened, even if I had tried. But to be truthful, I didn't realize precisely how unhappy I was until the night before leaving London for Brookdale." Setting down her fork, Elle rubbed her lips together, still unhappy at the memory of Langley’s dismissal at the Hastings’ ball and his aloofness during the house party. "Well, let's just say no one's world has been set aflame. Still, I think I might have gone through with the wedding if it wasn't for our little chat in his study the other evening."
Jacob said nothing, watching her with a steady gaze.
She drew a sharp breath in through her nose, refusing to loosen her iron grip on the tears that threatened. "He will never see me, never bother to know me. Once I allowed myself to acknowledge that, I couldn't bear the thought of it."
She picked up her fork again, giving a half shrug of self-consciousness and scooped up a bit of egg. "It sounds very dramatic, but I assure you if you faced the same situation, you would feel as desperate."
"I don't find it dramatic at all." When Elle looked up in surprise, he gave a small shrug of his own. "I've found myself in the unenviable position of admiring a woman who looks right past me most days. I assure you, I can understand your feeling of desperation."
The news that Jacob was in love almost had her knocking over her tea. He couldn’t possibly mean with her, could he? If so, why would he return her to Langley? She banished the thought as quickly as it came. Jacob must be teasing her again. He was wholly focused on his position as a barrister, and if he made time for female companionship, it would not be the lasting sort.
With his bright hair and the abundance of freckles scattered across his skin, one might call him boyishly handsome, if it wasn't for his leanly muscled frame and broad shoulders. The way Jacob's shirt draped loosely over the sleek muscles of his chest and arms caused such a stutter in her pulse that she worried.
Elle leaned back in her chair, wishing the windows were open. A cool breeze would be very welcome.
"Are you well?" Jacob was looking at her with concern. "You're flushed."
She cleared her throat, willing her blush to fade. "As well as I can be, circumstances notwithstanding."
"I've been thinking." He set down his silverware, lining them up precisely with the edge of the table. There was a hesitancy to his manner that hadn't been there a moment ago. "Since we are so close to your grandfather's home, it would be foolish not to stop there to restock our provisions before attempting the trip back to Brookdale. You can visit for an evening, though I regret to say we can't linger any longer than that. Does that agree with you?"
Hope welled up within her, and she laced her fingers together on her lap, lest he see the slight shaking of her hands. "Yes, of course. It's entirely the sensible thing to do."
"I knew you'd see it that way." His smile was faint as he stood up from the table. "I'll give you a few moments to compose yourself, but then we should get back on the road. There is still quite a drive ahead of us."
Elle murmured her agreement, her thoughts racing. Once at Grandfather's, she would appeal to familial ties and beg him not to send her back to Brookdale. He would allow her to stay, of course he would. Jacob would have no choice but to leave her behind when he travelled home to England.
Ignoring the raw ache of loss in her throat, Elle hurried out of the parlor to board the carriage that would take her to her new life.
Chapter Eight
Jacob silently called himself a fool for the hundredth time since he had looked at Elle's strained, white face over breakfast and heard his own voice announcing that he would take her to her grandfather's home instead of back to his cousin. He had told her it would be an overnight stay only, but he was an intelligent man.
As soon as they arrived, she would throw herself on her grandfather's mercy. Jacob could only hope the old man would allow her to stay, granting her at least a slim chance at happiness.
Jacob would travel back to England alone, to face her irate parents and his cousin. He did not look forward to it.
Once word got out he had helped the Duke of Langley's future wife break their betrothal, his career would be finished before it even truly began. Any chance of winning support in his pursuit of an appointment to the Royal Court had vanished into the cool, Scottish Highlands air the moment he announced their revised travel itinerary.
And yet, what could he have done?
It went against everything he had ever believed about justice and improving the human condition to be a part of forcing the lady into a marriage she did not want. The act would haunt him the rest of his life, most especially whenever he had to sit through dinner at his cousin's home pinned to his chair by silently reproachful blue eyes. Her eyes.
Not to mention his stomach lurched at the thought of Langley taking her to bed.
Jacob should have never kissed her, because now he had the barest inkling of what it would be like to spend every night in her arms. It was killing him not to touch her, to kiss her, to pull her into his embrace.
He shook the dangerous thoughts away as the carriage rolled up the packed dirt drive to the massive castle set upon a cliff that seemed to drop off the edge of the world. They came to a clattering halt, and he stared, struck by the view.
A massive forest spread out at the base of the cliff, marching toward the horizon where the jagged peaks of the surrounding mountains stood as proud sentinels against the strong afternoon light. Raised mostly in London and the soft rises of the English countrysi
de, he had never seen the like. The beauty of it caught him by the throat and refused to let go.
Elle turned to him as the driver opened the door, her lips moving with words Jacob couldn't hear over the rush of his own heartbeat in his ears. Framed in the doorway by the greens and blues of Scotland, her eyes matched the vivid color of the sky. It knocked the breath from him, and he broke eye contact, gesturing she should precede him out of the vehicle, while he struggled to find his footing on ground that had suddenly become precarious.
Ducking out of the carriage in her wake, Jacob straightened and raised his eyes to the enormous structure in front of them. Truly, it could not be called anything but a castle. Grey stone walls rose above them, scored and beaten by years of weather and the passage of time. Elle smiled nervously over her shoulder as she led the way under a soaring stone arch, toward the inner courtyard and the front steps of the home. Glancing overhead, Jacob blinked and nearly tripped over his own feet.
There was an honest-to-God iron gate secured in the top reaches of the arch, leftover from the days of bloody civil war and clan rebellion against their English overlords.
Or as his born and bred in the Highlands father used to tell it, the fight for their rightful freedom.
If Jacob had learned anything in his time practicing law, he knew a man's perspective was skewed by which cause he chose to serve. His father had no intentions of falling in love with a Sassenach, the daughter of an English duke, and leaving his clan to live in London with her. But fall he did, and hard.
It had taken persistence, patience, and a refusal to be chased away, but eventually Jacob’s father had worn the old duke down and convinced him to give the couple his blessing. As Father liked to tell it, Jacob and Langley's grandfather hid a romantic heart under all that cantankerous bluster. Having known the elderly man for a decade before his death, Jacob could only presume it had been buried quite deep.
Father would have admired Elle for taking her fate into her own hands and refusing to allow others to direct her life. Jacob wished that his father and mother were still here to meet her. They would have enjoyed her.
He followed her up the broad stairs to the massive wooden door, trying and mostly failing not to notice the way her bottom swayed under the thin summer dress she wore. A silent butler held open the door for them, with a nod of faint recognition for Elle, and they stepped into an airy hall.
Ancient tapestries marched across stone walls, and expensive stained glass windows let in a myriad of colored light. It was beautiful and intimidating, just like the view from the castle's front drive. The way Elle twisted her fingers together, slender shoulders set tight, didn't escape his notice.
"Ellie?"
They turned at the sound of a surprised masculine voice. Peter Barnaby hurried toward them with eyes that matched his sister's filled with concern.
"Oh, Peter! I'm so glad to see you." Elle fell into her brother's arms and he looked over her head at Jacob with narrowed eyes.
"As am I—though shouldn't you be at Brookdale with Mother, and your future husband?"
Jacob studied the heavy wooden beams crisscrossing the high ceiling at Peter's suspicious question. Elle had gotten herself into this mess. Let her figure out how to weave her tale best to capture her audience.
She stepped back from her brother, her wide smile bright.
Jacob didn't believe it for a moment, and since Barnaby had never been an idiot, it was unlikely he would either.
"Ah. Yes, well, I've decided not to marry Langley." Elle smoothed one hand over her hair. "His barrister, Mr. Farrish, graciously agreed to accompany me to Scotland instead. It's all perfectly fine; you mustn't worry a bit. Where's Grandfather?"
Jacob coughed into his hand at the look of outrage on her brother's face.
"Do you mean to tell me that you ran away with the duke's barrister to avoid marriage?"
"No, of course not!" Elle's assurance caused Peter to relax marginally, until her next words tumbled out. "I actually left on my own, and Jacob chased me down at an inn last night."
Oh, Christ. If the look on Peter Barnaby's face was any indication, Jacob had about thirty seconds left on this earth.
"Jacob?" growled her brother, cracking his knuckles.
"Yes, of course, Peter. You recall him, from our visits to Langley's estates as children. He's the duke's cousin." Elle's smile was sweeter than sugar cubes, false without a doubt, and he didn't think her brother was appeased in the least. She turned to Jacob and gestured to her glowering sibling. "Did you know that Peter is now Baron Barnaby? He's become a treasure hunter! In fact, he's so good that the Regent himself created a new title just for Peter, in gratitude for certain services rendered. We're all rather proud of him."
"Collector of antiquities, thank you very much, and it's not a public venture, Ellie. I believe we can leave the matter at that." His irritated words were directed at his sister, but the baron's narrowed gaze never left Jacob. "Exactly how did all this come about, Farrish?"
"I was merely attempting to bring your sister home to the duke." Jacob raised his hands in defense as the other man stared at him with murder in his eyes. It was as if he knew all the covetous thoughts Jacob had been entertaining over the years about his sister. "I slept on a pallet by the fire to make sure the lady remained safe, and had fully intended to be on our way back to England this morning."
"Then why aren't you?"
Jacob shook his head in rueful bemusement. "I assure you I was set on my course and cannot fathom how I have drifted from it."
A sardonic smile tipped up one side of her brother's mouth. "Yes, these things have a way of happening around Ellie."
"So I am beginning to notice."
"That's rather unfair." Elle placed her hands on her hips and regarded them both with a frown. "I didn't ask you to come after me. I was fine on my own."
Jacob ignored her, not willing to engage in an argument in front of her brother. "I have delivered Lady Eleanore safe to your doorstep, but I must be on my way as soon as possible."
"I'm to stay?" Her question was rife with shock, and the bright note of hope.
He could not look at her. "Yes. You'll be safe at your grandfather's home, and happier."
"But must you leave directly? We only just arrived." Something in Elle's voice had him glancing over. If he didn't know better, he'd swear she looked... hurt. Impossible. Most likely it was that she was loathe to lose a barrier between her male relatives and herself.
"No, my dear, the gentleman will not be leaving today.”
They all looked up as a large man with an unruly gray beard and bushy eyebrows descended the staircase from the upper levels of the castle, his step slow and measured due to the cane he leaned on. Though Peter's expression went curiously blank, Elle gave a soft cry of delight and rushed forward.
"Grandfather!"
"What have you done now, Eleanore Barnaby?" He gave her back an awkward pat as she threw her arms around him. Dark eyes crinkled at the corners as she drew back, her expression offended. One look at his slight smile and her face softened again.
"I decided to wait for love rather than marry the Langley boy, as you called him."
His gaze sharpened on her face. "Ahh. Did you now? I'd imagine your father had much to say about that."
"Oh. Um." Elle fiddled with the fringe on her shawl, not meeting his eyes. "Well, I'm sure Papa will understand... once I've explained it properly to him."
"I wouldn't wager on that," Jacob muttered to himself, but the older man looked over, his eyebrows shooting upward. Resisting the urge to shuffle his feet under such close scrutiny, Jacob straightened his shoulders instead.
"Who are you?"
"Grandfather." Elle's admonishment was soft but firm. "This is Mr. Jacob Farrish. He is the Duke of Langley's cousin, and a successful barrister. He discovered me at an inn last night and insisted on accompanying me the rest of my journey to make sure I arrived safely."
Looking over at Jacob, she smiled, her
arm still tucked through her grandfather's. Her entire demeanor had lightened since walking into the house, the toll of the last few days dropping away under the happiness of reuniting with her grandfather. Jacob hadn't realized how much he missed seeing her true smile until it was directed his way again.
"Mr. Farrish, may I introduce my grandfather, the Earl of Muir?"
The older man harrumphed as Jacob executed a short bow. "It is a pleasure, my lord."
The earl looked between him and Elle with narrowed eyes. "Yes. I'm sure 'tis. You are welcome to Sleeping Giant Keep."
A fitting name for such a grand home overlooking what must be half of Scotland. As much as Jacob would love to stay and explore the forests and glen surrounding the earl's castle in Elle's company, he knew the longer he stayed, the harder it would be to walk away from her.
"Thank you, but as I said earlier, I truly cannot stay. I must make haste for England. We were expected tomorrow, and I must return as soon as possible to explain the changed circumstances."
"No, I donna think so." The earl ran a thoughtful hand over his beard. "You'll stay the night."
"The offer is appreciated, but—"
"'Tisn't an offer. You will stay the night." Steely determination infused the older man's voice, brooking no dissent. He looked at Elle's brother, who had watched the entire exchange with a neutral expression. "Peter will show you the house while my butler Kinley sees to your bags. Then we will have supper."
Jacob could see there was no argument the earl would accept. He would just have to stay and leave at dawn instead. He could manage that.
"Well." He glanced at Elle to where she had moved to the base of the staircase, one elegant hand resting on the carved wood of the banister. Their gazes connected, her blue eyes sending a warm cascade of sparks through him. "Perhaps just the night."
Chapter Nine
The Heart of a Duke Page 7
