by Julia London
“Is that what has ye fretting?” Mared asked laughingly. “I’m no’ a blushing young maid, Ellie. And I’ve no’ seen one that I’d consider marrying, in truth.”
“Then what is all this talk of offers?”
“Only talk. Because I’ve never been in a position to be admired. And because it is great jolly fun.”
“Mared, please be careful. There are many insincere people around you and your good reputation could be irrevocably tarnished with as little as one wrong word!”
“Honestly, Ellie!” Mared scoffed. “This is no’ London, and I’m no’ so naïve as that,” she said blithely, missing Ellie’s dubious look as she picked up another gown.
It was true that Mared had spread her wings in earnest since arriving in Edinburgh with her family. After a couple of outings with her brothers, it wasn’t long before she was on the guest list of every soiree, ball, and supper party held in aristocratic circles, for she was thought to be exotically pretty and heretofore unknown. She’d danced more in the last month than she had in her entire life. It seemed that her dance card was always quite full and gentlemen—married, unmarried, and those quite undecided—would whisper naughty, wicked little things in her ear.
Talla Dileas seemed so far away from the glittering life in and around Charlotte Square.
And Mared reveled in the attention she was receiving. She coveted each and every invitation that came her way. She bought gowns and shoes and hats and coats, and cared not a whit for the cost, for the beastie, and especially that enormous emerald, had made her family wealthy once again.
For two months, she had lived life fully in the shadow of Edinburgh Castle. So fully that she rarely had time to think of Payton other than at night, in that quiet moment between consciousness and sleep.
He never failed to visit her there. Every blessed night.
Mared would lie with her arms wrapped around her pillow, wondering what he did with his days, picturing him dining alone and riding along the base of Ben Cluaran.
She heard of him from time to time. Her mother—who had returned with Father as soon as their affairs were handled to settle all their debts—wrote often, as did Anna, and they would mention Payton now and again. Mother reported that he had accepted the payment of their debt and had given them written confirmation that they were cleared of owing him as much as a pence. She did not say if he’d asked about her.
Anna wrote that he regularly accompanied Miss Crowley to Sunday services at the kirk, and that everyone speculated there would be a wedding very soon. Even Grif wrote once, saying that Douglas had persuaded him to lend a hand in building a new barn for Mr. Craig, and that he had been quite surprised that Douglas was as skilled with a hammer and nails as he was.
Mared wasn’t surprised. She rather thought he could do anything, for he was that sort of man—powerful and immensely capable, as comfortable building a barn as he was hosting an important social affair.
Grif also reported that Payton had secured the funding necessary to complete his distillery, and that construction was already under way. Mared rather guessed he spent his time overseeing that—he was quite proud of his whiskey, despite its having almost killed him.
She’d written him twice since coming to Edinburgh, both times to tell him all the things she’d seen and the places she’d gone. He’d only responded to her letters once, and it had been a terse reply.
She kept the letter in a jeweled box on her dressing table and reread it often. Almost every night, in fact, because she would take the luckenbooth from the silk wrapper and wear it to whatever affair she was attending that night. The letter read:
My dear Miss Lockhart,
I am pleased to hear that Edinburgh suits you well. I never doubted it. We are all quite well, but the dogs rather miss you.
You will be delighted to know that Una has consented to marry Mr. Harold Fuquay from Loch Leven. She leaves our employ at the end of this month and will serve as a maid to my cousin Neacel and his bride. We begin shearing soon, which should please you, as the sheep will not be grazing on your land. I can assure you that they have not “ruined” the landscape for your cows as you feared. Do have a care for the residents of Edinburgh and try not to startle them out of their wits.
Douglas
Aye, Mared thought of Payton often and held him dear in a quiet corner of her heart. But she rather supposed he had carried on without her. How very lost that made her feel.
But every morning, she rose eager to know what the day might bring and pushed him and the sadness from her mind.
There was so much she wanted to see and do, so much she had missed! She scoured Edinburgh Castle, roamed the grounds of Holyroodhouse Palace, and walked along the castle grounds to Charlotte Square where she resided. At night she attended one fete after another and enjoyed herself immensely.
From time to time, Mared would see Hugh at a soiree or ball. Like her, he’d opted to stay in Edinburgh after he’d collected his due for returning the beastie. When she saw the scoundrel, sometimes he’d scarcely acknowledge her presence before disappearing into one of the rooms where the gentlemen gambled—she’d heard that he’d parlayed his share of the fortune into a greater fortune at the gaming tables. Other times, he’d be the first to ask her to stand up with him and would make her laugh by whispering his devotion in her ear. He was something of an enigma.
She rather supposed she’d see him tonight, too, for tonight was the Aitkin ball, an event that would purportedly draw at least two hundred. Mared could scarcely wait. As Ellie had declined the invitation in favor of staying with Duncan, Liam was to escort her.
She donned the celery green and plum gown with the matching slippers and Ellie wound her hair into an elaborate coif, wrapped her head with ribbons in the Grecian style, and clasped a generous piece of the emerald around her neck. Her family had given her the necklace, along with a pair of earbobs.
“Oh my, Mared,” Ellie said, standing back to gaze at her, shaking her head. “I’ve never seen anyone as beautiful as you, I swear it.”
“Ellie, ye flatter me!” Mared laughed.
“No,” Ellie insisted, shaking her head in wonder. “Sometimes I can scarcely believe it is you. You’re like a different person entirely in all your finery.”
Ellie had no idea how different Mared truly was. She smiled warmly and kissed Ellie’s cheek fondly. “I’m the same person, Ellie, but I suppose a bit of silk and an emerald or two might make me appear a wee bit different.”
“Perhaps.” Ellie took in Mared’s gown and her jewels, and she smiled as Mared pinned the luckenbooth to her shoulder. “My guess is that there will be a rather long queue of men, and all of them inquiring as to the availability of space on Mared Lockhart’s dance card.”
Mared laughed gaily and picked up her wrap. “It’s all quite a dramatic turn of fate, is it no’?”
Liam and Mared arrived at the mansion overlooking the Firth of Forth in a gilded carriage pulled by a team of four grays, which Liam had recently purchased for Talla Dileas. Liam cared not a whit for balls, so he left Mared to be the center of attention and headed for the gaming room where he said he intended to double his military pension, preferably by taking it from Hugh MacAlister.
Mared entered the ballroom and snapped open her hand-painted fan, as she’d seen many of the women do, and was immediately set upon by several gentlemen.
But David Anderson, son of Viscount Aitkin, the host of this affair, was the first one to draw her away. With his gloved hand on her elbow, he murmured, “A vision has descended into my father’s home.”
Mared glanced at him from the corner of her eye and smiled coyly. “Sounds rather like a buzzard.”
He laughed gently and pulled her to one side. “The vision is indeed a bird,” he murmured, “and one that I should very much like to capture and keep in a gilded cage so that I might gaze upon her at my leisure.”
“Keep her in a cage?” Mared laughed. “Rather barbaric, sir.”
“Ther
e is something to be said for a wee bit of barbarism, aye?” he suggested with a wink. “Shall we dance?” he asked and escorted a smiling Mared onto the dance floor for a minuet.
She loved dancing, and stepped and turned and flirted with Mr. Anderson while smiling at other men who endeavored to catch her eye. Her behavior had the desired effect on Mr. Anderson. “You’re bloody gorgeous,” Mr. Anderson said as he took her hand and stepped forward to meet her, then back. “There’s not a lovelier lass in this town.”
Mared smiled playfully.
And so it went, her dancing and flirting and smiling, her delight immeasurable, the lighthearted and gay feeling absolutely divine.
When Mr. Anderson reluctantly gave her up, she danced on, with one gentleman after another, smiling and flirting. She left Lord Brimley after the eighth or ninth dance and made her way to the ladies’ retiring room on the second floor. And having availed herself, she stepped out onto the second floor balcony and walked around the railing, her fingers absently trailing along the mahogany balustrade as she stared down at the dancers below her.
They were playing a reel, and she watched as the women twirled, their colorful skirts flaring out. Men in their black evening clothes, so handsome and debonair, gracefully led the women through the dance steps.
Mared reached the staircase and began her descent, absently surveying the crowded ballroom. But as her gaze swept the crowd, her heart suddenly stopped beating. She instantly looked back, to the person she thought she had seen, and her heart plummeted to her knees.
It was him. Payton. Her heart began to beat again, only quickly, so quickly that she could not seem to catch her breath. Diah, but he looked impossibly majestic, far more dashing than her mind’s eye had recalled him these last two months. He was dressed in black trousers and coat, a white silk waistcoat and neckcloth, his hair unfashionably long, yet sleek and rather becoming. His was an imposing figure and certainly the most agreeable of the many men in the room.
Judging by the many admiring looks he was getting, she was not the only female who thought so.
He stood on the edge of the dance floor, a glass of champagne in his hand, and he watched her calmly, almost expressionless…save the twinkle in his bonny gray eyes that she could see from even this distance. She recalled, with no small shiver of delight, how those eyes had shone when he thrust into her.
That delicious memory made her smile spread wider.
Payton smiled, too, and she wondered with a small laugh if he, too, was recalling that very moment. Below her, he cocked a brow at her. She smiled and gestured to her gown just as she had that night at Loch Leven, turning first one way, then the other.
And just as he had done that night, he bowed his head in acknowledgment of her gown and lifted his flute in silent toast to it. With a flick of her wrist, Mared opened her fan, and slowly fanning herself, she floated down the stairs. He began to walk in her direction, his eyes never leaving her.
He met her at the bottom of the stairs and held out his hand to her. With a laugh of pleasure, Mared put her hand atop his, allowed him to guide her down the last step, at which point, she curtsied deeply. A smile of amusement tipped the corner of his mouth, and he bowed politely over her hand, pressing his lips to her gloved knuckles. When he rose up, she looked up into his gray eyes, felt them tug at something deep and familiar within her. “Feasgar math,” she murmured.
“Feasgar math,” he replied to her greeting as he casually perused her gown.
She blushed a little at his perusal and asked, “How do ye do, then? Ye seem well…very well indeed.”
“I am much improved now that I’ve seen ye. Aye, as bonny as ever ye were, Mared. A Highland beauty.”
“Do you like it?” she asked, gesturing to her gown, then leaned forward and whispered, “I paid one hundred pounds for it. Can ye imagine!”
“Diah,” he said and looked her over again, his gaze landing on the luckenbooth she wore. “I like it very much,” he said and lifted his gaze to hers. “Ye are undeniably the most beautiful woman here.”
Her heart, she noticed, gave her a bit of a bump at that—she’d been told she was beautiful by more than one man this evening, but when Payton said it, she could feel the compliment radiate throughout her body and beam back at him through her smile.
“Will ye dance with me?” he asked, and when she nodded, he led her out onto the dance floor.
When the music began, he opened his arms and Mared stepped into them, slipping her hand into his. With his hand securely around her waist, he calmly and smoothly drew her toward his chest as he expertly led her into a waltz.
She smiled up at him. “It’s good to see ye.” She meant it. It was damn good to see him.
He smiled warmly.
“What news have ye brought of Eilean Ros?”
He shrugged a little. “All is the same.”
“And the staff?”
“Happy in the service of the new housekeeper,” he said. “Mrs. Rawlins.”
“Aha, a new housekeeper,” she said with approval. “That would account for the perfection of yer clothing, then.”
“It would indeed,” Payton said with a lopsided smile.
“And the distillery? Grif says it will proceed, aye?”
“Eilean Ros whiskey will be bottled by the end of the coming year.”
“Congratulations,” Mared said, nodding her head in a mock bow. “I know how ye’ve wanted it.”
“Thank ye,” he said, nodding back. There was a glimmer in his eyes, that ever-present hint of amusement that she realized she missed.
“Ye seem to have settled into…this,” he said, glancing around at the grandeur of the Aitkin mansion.
“Oh, ’tis bonny, the soirees and the balls.”
He pulled her a little closer; his gaze fell to her décolletage. “I am overcome,” he said quietly, “at how beautiful ye are, Mared. I always thought it, but to see ye like this…ye astonish me.”
Mared felt that peculiar tug again, as if some invisible rope had circled her heart and was pulling it from her chest. “Ye should come to Edinburra more often,” she suggested lightly and smiled. “I’ve more gowns.”
That earned her a sad smile, and Payton shook his head. “I’ve Eilean Ros to care for. And the distillery. And God help me if I should leave the sheep unattended—yer dogs might herd them all the way to the sea, aye?”
“Aye,” she laughed. “I trained them well, I did.”
He chuckled and pulled her closer. “It’s damn good to hold ye in my arms again.”
A palpable heat was unfurling in her, a heat that only Payton seemed capable of arousing in her. “It’s damn good to be in them,” she admitted in a whisper.
That pleased him, for he smiled deeply and pulled her even closer, his gaze, deep and intimate. They danced on that way, their gazes locked, Mared’s smile bright and her awareness of anyone or anything else rapidly fading away.
When the waltz ended, Mared curtsied, but Payton did not let go her hand. “Walk with me.”
She laughed. “Where shall we walk? ’Tis terribly cold out, and the house is filled to the rafters.”
He smiled confidently. “Walk with me.” He gave her a subtle wink, firmly placing her hand on his arm, and led her out of the ballroom. They walked into the corridor, which was equally crowded, but Payton led her purposefully toward the entrance.
But just as they might have stepped into the foyer, Payton ushered Mared into a room on their right and shut the door behind him. It was the room where the footmen had laid the coats and wraps. Apair of rush torches on the drive provided a soft amber light by which they could see. Payton walked to the windows and peered out for a moment.
“What if someone thinks to leave?” Mared asked. “They shall want to fetch their wrap.”
“No one is leaving this ball for some time.” He turned around and looked at her. “I’ve missed ye, lass.”
“I’ve missed ye as well.”
“The house is so emp
ty without ye.”
For a moment, neither of them moved, just stood staring at one another. Mared felt as if someone had turned everything upside down, but then Payton was striding toward her. She met him halfway, launching herself into his arms, her mouth eagerly seeking his. His tongue swept hungrily into her mouth, his hands sought her face, her shoulders, her ribs. “Mared…”
She was just as hungry for him; it was a mad moment, one without conscious thought or breath. Mared ran her hands up his chest and arms, recalling every living inch of him, the feel of his body on her and in her, the strength of his passion as he drove into her.
Payton seemed to recall it, too, for he suddenly picked her up and carried her to a small settee. He came over her, his mouth on her neck, her bosom, his hand somehow beneath her skirts, caressing her leg, rising higher. In the amber light, Mared could see the longing in his eyes. Her hands swept inside his coat, feeling the hardened wall of his chest, then sliding down, to his waist, and then the evidence of his hard desire. She pushed seductively against it as desire pooled between her legs. She ached to be with him, ached to feel him inside her.
Payton groaned and kissed her deeper and madly, his lips full of mutual longing and anticipation. His hands swept every inch of her, his mouth sought every bit of bare skin. “Diah, how I’ve missed ye. How I’ve wanted ye, to be inside ye, to put my mouth to yer skin,” he breathed.
“Oh, Payton,” she whispered, arching up and pressing her bosom against his mouth.
“Say ye want me, Mared. Say ye want me to love ye—”
“Aye, I want ye, Payton,” she whispered against the top of his head.
He suddenly pulled away from her, his breathing ragged, and caught her face between his hands, gazing at her. He kissed her once more, then dropped his hands and stood up. His neckcloth was askew, his hair mussed, but he seemed not to notice, just kept gazing at her.
Mared pushed herself up to a sitting position, curious. Payton reached into his coat pocket, and went down on his knee before her.
Mared suddenly panicked. “Payton!” she cried, scrambling to her feet, grabbing his arm, trying to make him stand. “What are ye about? Stand, then!”
