by Tracy Fobes
Coarse and old-fashioned, the men she’d known stood leagues from the one in front of her.
She had a difficult time pinpointing exactly what about him had quickened her blood. Other than a full lower lip, he hadn’t any remarkable features; straight and regular, his countenance could have belonged to one of the men she’d known. He was of average height and build, and hadn’t any physical qualities that she might think of as patrician.
But his eyes, they were dark blue and full of provocation. Coupled with his full lower lip, they gave him a wicked air, as though he were a man accustomed to lavish indulgence. Glittering jewels, fine silk, creamy bonbons . . . these were things she’d often wondered about but never experienced. This man, she suspected, experienced them regularly and with wanton appreciation.
“Townsend and Cheltnum seem to like you,” he said, his gaze assessing. “Should I follow their lead?”
Sarah opened her mouth, and then closed it just as quickly, unable to think of a satisfactory reply. His manner and words implied he expected her to protest innocence, but for what crime, she couldn’t say. As she sat there, mute, she realized that each second she hesitated in answering gave him the advantage. The longer she waited, the more he discovered how he’d flustered her.
“Who are ye?” she forced out.
“I am Colin, Earl of Cawdor,” he told her, his lips curving lazily upward.
She blinked, unprepared for the sheer power of his smile or the effect it would have on her. Her throat grew even tighter. His hair, she noted helplessly, was a gleaming black with bluish streaks through it, reminding her of a crow’s wings.
“Pleased tae meet ye, my lord. I’m Sarah Murphy.” She waited for him to flinch at the sound of her accent.
He didn’t flinch at all. Rather, his smile gained a touch of concern. “This day must have been very difficult for you, Lady Sarah. I’m certain you’d have preferred a gentler welcome, particularly after traveling. Your nerves must be quite raw.”
Underneath the sympathy in his eyes, Sarah noticed an inexplicable glint. She couldn’t quite explain why, but the glint seemed at odds with his apparent concern. He was studying her, she thought. Assessing her. Searching for weaknesses?
She shivered. A strange perception took hold of her, one she couldn’t shake. Beneath the cool blue of his eyes she saw a much warmer flame, that of a hawk who has sighted his prey. And yet, there seemed to be a gentleness in him that suggested his bite would have more in common with pleasure than pain.
The impression made her wary. “Aye. My nerves are raw. A bed is all I seek.”
“You shall certainly have one. Cheltnum, Townsend, come here. You’ll spend the night outside for this evening’s antics.”
The two dogs, their bellies scraping along the floor, inched their way over to his feet. Crouched there, they appeared the very picture of abject misery. And yet, Sarah saw their tails twitching, a fond wag they barely managed to suppress. Listening closely, she heard a rumbling in their throats, one she translated into a plea for forgiveness.
The earl grabbed their collars, hauled them to the door, and handed them over to a footman she hadn’t even noticed. Sionnach took the opportunity to jump out of her arms.
Deserter, she silently berated him, as he slunk away.
His smile still intact, the earl returned to her side and offered her his hand. “Let me help you up.”
“Thank ye.” Swallowing, Sarah placed her hand in his. Considerably larger, his palm engulfed hers with warmth. She flinched at the intimacy of their bare skin touching and, as soon as she’d stood, withdrew her hand. She held the palm he’d grasped in her free hand, feeling as though he’d scalded her.
His smile grew wicked. “You seem to have an uncanny way with the duke’s hounds. Are you part goddess, perhaps? Pan’s mate?”
Confusion furrowed her brow. Goddess? Pan’s mate? She had no idea of what he spoke, but she had enough common sense to distrust his manner. “I’m nae one’s mate, my lord.”
His eyes widened for a brief instant. “What will you have me call you? Lady Sarah is your proper address.”
“I’m nae comfortable being Lady Sarah.”
“What would you prefer?”
“Sarah is fine.”
“Thank you, Sarah, for the privilege of using your first name. Why don’t you call me Colin as well?”
His teeth, she noticed, were even and white in his tanned face. “As ye wish, er, Colin.”
“The duke has asked me to teach you the ways of society,” he said in an offhand manner. “Has he discussed this with you?”
“Aye,” she warbled.
He stepped closer. “How do you suppose you and I will get along, Sarah?”
His lower lip, she saw, was protruding slightly. Its sensuous curve fascinated her. Her gaze dropped lower, to his square chin, then settled on the white neck cloth beneath it. He was sophisticated, imposing . . . and yet, he smelled quite distinctly of skunk.
“We’ll get along fine, if ye dinna ask anything of me and change yer clothes,” she replied calmly.
A beat of silence passed between them.
Then, without warning, he chuckled. “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask plenty of you. We’ll have to work on your language first. Your accent gives you away.”
“Then I dinna think we’re going tae get along at all, sir. I find nothing wrong with my speech.”
“The proper address for an earl is my lord, not sir,” he told her, in tones she deemed pompous.
“I’ll nae have any lessons from ye,” she informed him. “I’ve nae wish tae be here at the duke’s estate, and I’ve nae wish tae become the duke’s daughter. The sooner I’ve convinced him of that fact, the better.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because I’m obligated.”
“In what way?”
She looked him straight in the eye. “Ye haven’t been listening tae me. I dinna like it here. I want tae go home. I stay only because I promised him I would.”
“And you’re a lady of honor,” he said, his attitude suggesting he didn’t think her very honorable at all.
“I’ll stay until he tells me tae go.”
“Well, at least I know your position.” He sighed loud and long, as though she’d wearied him. “Sit down with me, so we might become better acquainted. I’d like to know where you learned to play the flute, and why you keep a fox for a pet.”
He offered her his hand, which she took with the slightest hesitation, knowing exactly how warm and agitating his palm would feel against hers.
“This way,” he said, his voice low, and led her toward a group of chairs clustered around a table.
She held onto him, wary, trying to suppress the surge of warmth that flooded her every time they touched. When he released her, she couldn’t prevent a small sigh of relief. This man, she thought, was a wolf among the flock.
He folded his frame into a fancy little chair. She, too, took a seat, and for the first time noticed her surroundings. Her lips parted as her gaze darted from treasure to treasure.
Everywhere she saw gold. Cream ceilings gilded with golden flowers and intricate oval designs, gold traced across delicate chairs and tables, a golden harp propped up in the corner. And there, amid the gold, were two crystal chandeliers, each a waterfall of clear, faceted jewels that reflected rainbows of color.
Without quite realizing it, she stood. “What is this place?”
Colin stood as well, his attention locked on her.
“ ’Tis the private drawing room.” A smile began to play about his lips. “Guinon and Gerardi embellished the ceiling, Dupasquier gilded it. The windows were designed by Robert Mylne, who also designed the Almack’s rooms in King Street, St. James’s.”
Unimpressed, Sarah nodded. A faint squeaking sound caught her attention. She wandered in its direction and quickly discovered the origin of the sound: a tiny gray mouse, peeking out between a crack in the baseboards. Reassured by its presence, she pulled
out her panflute and played the mouse a quick welcome.
It answered with a vigorous squeak.
Aware that Colin was staring at her with a bemused expression on his face, she concealed her panflute in her pocket and trailed her fingers across the back of a chair, its seat a tapestry of pink roses. “ ’Tis sae beautiful here. Sae fine. Sae clean and bright, and soft tae the touch, and sweet smelling. Everything delights the senses.”
“Inveraray is a special place,” he allowed.
She thought of her croft with its rush flooring and an army of fleas that lay in wait beneath the rushes, and almost scratched her arms in reflex. “Do all aristocrats live as the duke does?”
“Some live better,” he said, “and some worse. It depends on their fortunes and their ways of thinking. I know both hedonists and monks, but most of us fall somewhere in the middle.”
“And ye? Where do ye fall?”
“I tend toward hedonism.”
She nodded, not sure what hedonism meant. “I can’t imagine having enough time in the day tae worry about anything but the next meal. All of this is sae different tae me.”
“You’ve lived a life of penury, where survival, rather than stimulation, is the order of the day. Your senses are deprived. The duke and I shall shortly remedy that condition, and I suspect you’ll enjoy your treatment immensely.”
“What do ye mean?”
“Wait and find out,” he murmured, and suddenly, the gleam was back in his eyes, warm and provocative.
She swallowed and walked a safe distance from him. Those imaginary men she’d kissed in her dreams had never possessed a face. They’d been dark shadows, men who could never actually exist. And yet, now those dreams had invaded her daytime hours, and the imaginary man had acquired a face: Colin’s.
Trying to divert her thoughts to a less dangerous subject, she studied the drawing room and waited for that chord of familiarity to strike. If she’d lived in this castle, surely she must have visited a room as beautiful as this one quite often. And yet, she knew nothing other than awareness of the earl’s attention upon her.
She wandered toward a tapestry hanging on the far wall, her gaze flitting idly across the room. A blur of white among many brilliant colors caught her eye, and abruptly, she froze, her attention locking on the tapestry.
Garlands of roses danced along the edge of the weaving. They encircled a woodlands scene at night. A woman and young girl, bathed in moonlight, stood near a brook. In the background, trees stretched up toward a spray of stars. And there, beside the girl, with one hoof in the water, stood the white beast.
The tapestry’s weave was very fine, its colors as stunning as the scene it depicted. Sarah moved close to the tapestry, close enough to touch it, and traced the white beast’s horn with a trembling finger. She wondered if the earl had ever seen one, and if so, where.
“The chairs are covered in Beauvais tapestries, as are the walls,” the earl informed her, walking a few steps closer.
She looked around and saw that every wall had a rug covering it, each one a brilliant array of colors and depicting scenes of women and children romping in veritable gardens of Eden. But she found no more weavings of the white beast.
She returned her attention to the tapestry in front of her. “This white beast, have ye ever seen it?”
His eyebrows drew together. “White beast?”
“Aye.” She touched the weaving reverently.
“Do you mean the unicorn?”
“Is that what it’s called?”
“Yes.”
Hope sparked within her. She spun around to face him directly, her hands clasped in her skirts to hide their shaking. “Will ye take me tae it?”
“To see a unicorn?” His expression had grown bemused.
“Aye. Please, I must see it.”
“My lady, it would be my very great pleasure to take you to see a unicorn . . . if one existed. But the only unicorns in Scotland that I know of are painted on the Scottish royal arms. They’re the stuff of fables. Legends. Surely you know this.”
Her shoulders drooped. Here it was again, that infernal doubt. “Are ye certain?”
“Of course I am.”
“What makes ye sae sure?”
“Common sense.”
“If ye say sae.”
He shook his head. “I’ve never met a woman such as you. Believing in unicorns, keeping a fox for a pet —” He hesitated, as if a thought had occurred to him. “How do you manage to keep the creature near you?”
“What creature?”
“Your, ah, fox.”
“Oh. He’s a friend.”
“A friend? Surely you jest.”
“Nay, I’m serious. And I’m beginning tae resent ye questioning my every statement.”
Rather than reply, he simply stared at her.
Her cheeks grew warm. She stepped away from the tapestry and moved to the middle of the room. Her attention flitted to the fireplace, a study in white marble. Above it hung a mirror framed in gold, and carvings of two robe-swathed women embraced the hearth from either side.
“The duke acquired those marble chimney pieces from Bellevue, in Edinburgh. Quite a coup, it was,” Colin murmured.
Sarah nodded, pretending interest in the house that supposedly would someday be hers. But her attention was truly upon another woman, this one in the mirror. Tangles matted her hair and dirt made brown splotches on her threadbare dress. She was a blight on the glittering room, a gray pox upon fine white skin.
She looked away. “I dinna belong here.”
“Sarah?” Colin moved behind her. A brief moment passed, and then his hands descended on her shoulders. His skin felt warm, and firm, and aroused a tickling sensation deep within her that she’d never known before, one that was part pleasure, and part yearning. She became utterly still, afraid that he might move his hands and end the pleasure, and yet somehow afraid he wouldn’t.
“I’m here to help you,” he murmured huskily. “Trust me, Sarah. Confide in me. Who are you, really?”
She sensed a presence in the doorway and turned her head just in time to see the duke.
“Thank God you’re all right,” the duke said as he hurried into the room. When he espied Colin’s hands resting on her shoulders, however, he stopped short and raised an eyebrow.
Colin released her. The place on her shoulders where he’d rested his hands abruptly grew cold. Disappointed at the duke’s entrance without quite knowing why, Sarah frowned, while Colin went to slouch against the fireplace mantelpiece.
The duke strode to her side. “Has Colin done anything to upset you?”
“Nay,” she demurred. “I’m just tired from the journey.”
“We all are.” The duke’s gaze fell upon the spiked weapon that Colin had been wielding when he first came into the room. “Good God, who brought in the war hammer? You, Colin?”
“Yes.” Colin shrugged.
“What in blazes were you planning to do with it?”
“I thought I might need to beat the dogs off, and the war hammer was the only weapon I could quickly find.”
“You would have wielded it gently, I hope.”
“With infinite care.”
The duke took a moment to examine the drawing room, then returned his attention to Colin. “Judging by the lack of destruction in the room, and the good health of my dogs, you didn’t need to use it.”
“No, your daughter had everything in hand before I entered.”
The duke’s focus swiveled to Sarah. “How so?”
She swallowed. “Well, I talked softly tae them, and petted them, and told them they shouldn’t harm Sionnach, for he was my personal friend.”
“Really? And this calmed them?”
“Yer dogs are quite reasonable.”
“I see.” The duke glanced at Colin. “Perhaps they simply needed a woman’s touch.”
“I heard Sarah playing the flute before I entered,” Colin offered. “Cheltnum and Townsend may have a musical b
ent. We should arrange for lessons.”
“Indeed.” The duke’s lips twitched. “Whatever the case, I’m glad all has turned out well. Phineas is fine, by the way. Smelling salts revived him. He’s taken a bath and is now resting comfortably in his room.”
Colin nodded. “He had quite a shock.”
The duke turned his attention to Sarah. “Sarah, I’ve brought Mrs. Fitzbottom with me. She is my housekeeper and will see to your needs until I can engage a suitable lady’s maid. Mrs. Fitzbottom, please come in.”
An elderly lady dressed in gray, with her gray hair pulled back into a chignon, entered the room. Sarah thought she had a kindly face, round and slightly red, with a large bosom and plump figure . . . the perfect kind of woman to cry upon, whom Sarah guessed she might soon need. With every moment she was feeling more out of sorts.
“Good evening, Lady Sarah,” the housekeeper said. “Please come with me. We’ll get you into a hot bath at once.”
“A hot bath?”
“Aye, in a tub,” Mrs. Fitzbottom confirmed, sniffing pointedly.
Sarah became freshly aware of the skunk smell in the room. “Ye want me tae sit in water? Water doesn’t get rid of a skunk’s spray.”
“Water works fine,” the housekeeper stoutly assured her, “if you use a little soap to break up the skunk oil, and lemon juice to neutralize the odor.”
Sarah drew in a determined breath. “I canna sit in water. I’ll catch my death of cold. Bring me a bottle of vinegar, and I’ll sponge the skunk spray off.”
“We’ve a bath for you, lass. I’ll not have you stinking like vinegar. That’s nearly as bad as skunk.”
The duke, clearly reading the consternation on Sarah’s face, moved closer to her. “Please, my dear, you must take a bath. We’re all in need of a bath.”
Sarah shook her head stubbornly. “I will nae. A woman died last year of ague for swimming in the River Brora — in the heat of summer.”
She chanced a look at Colin. He had propped himself up against the fireplace mantel. “My lord, ye would not allow them tae put me in a bath, would ye?”
“I would rather put you in one myself.”
The duke spun around and fixed Colin with a glare. “Watch yourself, Colin.”
