The Highlander Who Loved Me

by Tara Kingston

  Home.

  If only it didn’t feel as if she was leaving a part of her soul behind.

  A discreet throat-clearing tugged Johanna from her thoughts. The housekeeper now hovered in the doorway of the study.

  “Miss Templeton, there’s someone here to see you.”

  Was it Johanna’s imagination, or did Mrs. Mitchell look unduly tense? Good heavens, it wasn’t as if she was about to offer the woman a tongue lashing for interrupting her writing session. The matron had been in her employ for only a few months, but one would think she’d be confident of their rapport by this time.

  Johanna forced a smile. “Does this someone have a name?”

  “Yes, Miss.” The housekeeper presented an elegant calling card.

  Miss Serena MacMasters. Johanna rubbed a little circle against her left temple. She’d no idea Connor’s sister was in London. Her gaze shot to the books neatly shelved from floor to ceiling. She’d be sure to keep the curious Scotswoman and her peculiar formulas from her treasured volumes.

  Johanna tossed the card on the desk and came to her feet. “Please send her in.”

  Moments later, Serena shot the housekeeper lingering in the doorway a cool, subtly forbidding glower. With a little humph and an equally fierce scowl, Mrs. Mitchell stepped into the study.

  “Will there be anything for you now, Miss?”

  “No, thank you, Mrs. Mitchell.”

  “You’re sure of that, ma’am? I’d be happy to fetch more tea. Or some shortbread for the two of you.”

  Johanna shot a glance to the plate on her desk that bore three still-warm scones. A pot of tea sat to the side. “I believe we’ve all we might need.”

  “Very well. I’ll be about if you need me.”

  “Thank you,” Johanna said with a nod, then greeted Serena. “Miss MacMasters, you are looking well. This is a pleasant surprise.”

  “I’m Serena to ye, Johanna. After the adventure ye shared with my kin, the time for formalities has passed.” Clad in a rich green traveling suit that brought out the emerald in her gaze, Serena had draped her long, slender neck in a vivid tartan plaid. The same distinctive pattern trimmed the pert hat that teetered on the mass of dark curls she’d attempted to confine in a prim coif.

  “Quite so,” Johanna agreed. “Your brother—Gerard—I trust he is recovered from his injuries.”

  “He’s nearly good as new. It wasnae the first time he’s taken a bullet, and likely, willnae be the last. His body armor protected his vital organs, but the wound to his shoulder has slowed his exploits a bit.”

  “The armor was a brilliant device. It may have saved his life as well as Connor’s.”

  “Brenna McKittrick is a clever one. Sly as they come.” Serena removed a wrapped parcel from her valise and presented it to Johanna. “Connor wanted me to give this to ye.”

  Johanna took the item in hand. She felt her brow furrow. “My, whatever is the occasion?”

  “This is his way of offering thanks for all ye did to preserve the artifact.” Serena glanced behind her, as if to confirm Mrs. Mitchell was out of earshot. “The stone is safe in the Highlands. Regardless of what one believes about the legends surrounding the ruby, it is a part of our heritage.”

  Johanna’s gaze darted to a framed portrait of Laurel. “He…you all, actually…were instrumental in recovering something far more valuable to me. For that, I’ll always be in your debt.”

  “Open it, Johanna. Please.”

  With a few careful motions, Johanna peeled away the paper. Her eyes settled on the book. On the so-very-familiar title. Frankenstein.

  “This volume is an original,” Serena explained. “Connor acquired it from a legitimate collector.” Her lips quirked as amusement danced in her eyes. “Ye’ve no worries of me taking any chemicals to this one.”

  For a heartbeat.…or two…or three, Johanna stared down at the precious book. “This is quite extravagant. I’ve done nothing to merit such a lavish gift.”

  “My brother felt otherwise.” Serena reached for a scone. “May I?”

  “Certainly.” Johanna ran a fingertip over the leather-bound volume. The book must have commanded a princely sum, indeed.

  “If ye’re worried about the cost, dinnae.” Serena read Johanna’s features with uncanny accuracy. “The price scarcely made a dent in my brother’s coffers. It’s high time he parted with some coins from that money bag of his.”

  Johanna’s fingers skimmed the supple binding. She met Serena’s warm eyes. “Still, I don’t feel quite right about accepting such a generous gift.”

  “Would it make ye more inclined to take it if I told ye I’d also come seeking a favor?” The glimmer in Serena’s gaze seemed a warning.

  “I’m not entirely certain of my answer. If there’s anything involving a curse, I will have to decline.”

  Serena shook her head, her hat bobbing precariously on her abundant dark curls. “Nothing so daring as that, I’m afraid. My request is actually rather mundane.”

  Johanna smiled. “After the events of the recent past, mundane is a lovely word indeed.”

  Serena toyed with a scrap of ribbon dangling from the brim. “I understand ye’re intending to sail to America. The ship departs tomorrow.”

  “Yes, that’s correct. How did you know when we leave?”

  “I will be on that vessel, as well. Ye see, Egyptian antiquities are a passion of mine. There is a group in Philadelphia—a coterie, if you will—that holds great interest for me. Mrs. Sara Yorke Stevenson’s lectures on Egyptology are said to be electrifying.” Excitement colored Serena’s voice. “I understand ye have knowledge of the city and its people.”

  “Philadelphia was my home before I ventured to London. How might I be of service?”

  Serena’s fingers laced together. The young woman who’d seemed supremely confident searching a book for hidden messages now appeared flustered. “I’d hoped ye might help me navigate the city upon arrival. I willnae be needing a chaperone. But I’d be obliged if ye could spare the time to show me about just a bit.”

  The look of trepidation on the calm, blunt-spoken young Scotswoman’s face was surprising, but Johanna could certainly understand Serena’s show of nerves. The prospect of embarking on a journey across the Atlantic was daunting enough. But the challenge of making her way about a bustling, crowded city after living in the rugged Highlands might trigger a bit of apprehension in the bravest of souls.

  “It would be my pleasure.” She’d welcome the opportunity to show Serena the city she’d long loved.

  “Verrae well, that’s perfect.” Serena nibbled another bite of scone. “We’ll have a grand time. I’m sure of that.”

  “Indeed.” Pity the anticipation didn’t soothe the relentless pain in Johanna’s heart.

  Hurried footfalls thudded down the corridor, rushing toward Johanna’s study. She didn’t even have to glance at the door to identify the source.

  “Auntie Jo, we have a guest.” Excitement brimmed in Laurel’s girlish tones as she bustled through the door. She stopped in her tracks and placed her hands on her hips, inspecting Serena with eyes that were perceptive beyond her youth. “Oooh, I love your hat. May I get one like that?”

  “When you are a young lady who’s made her debut,” Johanna said with a smile. “Miss MacMasters, this is my niece, Laurel.”

  “My, I’d know that wee lass anywhere. The girl is a miniature of ye,” Serena said with a smile.

  “You are his sister, aren’t you?” Laurel asked quite matter-of-factly.

  “I presume ye’re referring to Connor. The rascal is indeed my brother.” Serena’s reply came easily.

  Laurel scanned the room, then rushed to peek into the hall. “Is he here?”

  Serena’s brows quirked, but she met the question with a knowing smile. “Nay, lass. I’m sorry. He is not.”

  “Oh.” Laurel’s expression went suddenly glum. Was it Johanna’s imagination, or was the child disappointed by his absence?

  Serena
finished the last bite of the biscuit. “I’m sorry to be rushing off, but I am expected at the Savoy. Would ye care to join me?”

  The thought was tempting, but one glance at Laurel doused the notion with thoughts of bathwater and clean clothing. The girl looked as if she’d been digging ditches all day.

  “What’s happened—why do you look…like that?”

  Laurel grinned. “You mean the dirt on my dress, don’t you?”

  “You know quite well that’s what I mean. What happened to you?”

  “I’ve been tending the flowers in my garden. They looked rather neglected.”

  Johanna felt her brows pinch. “Your garden is in pots, darling. However did you manage to get half their contents on you?”

  Laurel’s shrug looked distinctly evasive. Somehow, she wasn’t telling the entire story. Of that, Johanna was certain.

  Serena smiled. “Ah, ’tis nothing hot water and a clean dress won’t cure. I’ll have my driver wait.”

  “But your engagement at the Savoy…it would be impolite to delay you.”

  “Think nothing of it.” Serena fixed her attention on Laurel. “Now go clean yerself up, lass, and find something pretty to wear.”

  “But a child? At the Savoy?”

  Serena shrugged and flashed a smile. “I’m a MacMasters, Johanna. I’m used to stirring things up a bit.”

  “Auntie Jo, what should I wear?” Laurel nearly bounced with excitement. Johanna realized she’d already lost the battle.

  “Hurry upstairs, darling. Scrub your face and hands while I select a dress for you.”

  “My velvet dress would do nicely. The red ribbon is especially delightful,” Laurel called over her shoulder as she dashed out of the room.

  “An excellent suggestion,” Johanna agreed.

  “Quite a precocious child,” Serena said, wandering to the bookcases. A twinge of anxiety rippled through Johanna at the sight.

  “She reminds me so very much of her mother.”

  “The bairn resembles ye. Ye share the same spark in yer eyes.”

  “Thank you.” Johanna searched her mind for the location of the dress Laurel wished to wear. In which trunk had she stored the garment?

  “I’ll be fine here while ye gather the bairn’s things for our excursion.” Serena ran a fingertip over the spine of a shelved volume. “Ye’ve no reason to worry. I promise I haven’t brought my scalpel.”

  With a little laugh she feared sounded entirely unconvincing, Johanna moved to the door. “I’ll have Mrs. Mitchell bring a pot of tea.”

  “Thank ye, but that willnae be necessary.” Serena selected a book from the shelf and studied it for a long moment. “Johanna, I wanted ye to know…” Her brow furrowed, and she seemed to search for words. After a few ticks of the pendulum on the mantel clock, she met Johanna’s gaze. “I am looking forward to getting better acquainted aboard ship. This will be a most exciting journey.”

  Every instinct Johanna possessed insisted that Serena had not hesitated over that bland statement. She held something back. But why? Did Serena sense the not-quite-scabbed-over wound on Johanna’s heart?

  Of course, she could press the issue. She could pursue some hint that Connor harbored feelings for her, some clue that she’d meant more to him than a warm body in his arms during a danger-fraught time. But she already knew the answer. His gift had spoken for him, and its message had been unmistakable. Connor had sent the book with Serena as a show of gratitude for the role Johanna played in ensuring the security of the stone. Nothing more.

  Pulling in a breath, she met Serena’s pronouncement with a smile. “I’m certain you will love Philadelphia. I’m delighted by the prospect of showing you around the city that is my home.”

  Dashing about the townhouse like a madwoman, Johanna managed to select suitable attire for both Laurel and herself. After enlisting Mrs. Mitchell’s assistance in preparing Laurel, she freshened up, slipped into a high-collared dress of burgundy velvet, and swept up her own unruly hair into some semblance of fashionable submission. And all before Serena MacMasters became so weary of the wait that she thought better of her invitation.

  Come to think of it, Serena had not stated who was expecting her at the Savoy. Had she mentioned family in London? Johanna couldn’t quite pin it down in her thoughts.

  “Serena, I do hope we’re not intruding,” Johanna said, leading a ribbon-bedecked Laurel into the study. “With this being your last night in the city, your companion might not welcome unanticipated guests.”

  “My brother will be pleased ye’ve decided to join us.” Serena’s gaze dropped for the briefest of moments. “Ye see, Connor has accompanied me to London.”

  Oh, dear. His name seemed a blustery gale, threatening the eggshell-thin shield Johanna had erected around her heart. How could she sit down to an oh-so-civilized dinner with the man whose passion unleashed utterly improper desires and shattered any illusion she ever held of her own sensible nature?

  “My brother’s a bit rough about the edges,” Serena went on, replacing the book in her hand on the shelf. “But he cleans up well.”

  Serena made a show of toying with the lace at her cuffs. Clearly, she sensed Johanna’s uneasiness. That much had been clear from the moment she’d retrieved the gift from her valise. Yet, she’d set their encounter into motion. Johanna had not taken Serena to be cruel or thoughtless, despite her cool, unflinching demeanor in the Highlands. Had she misinterpreted Johanna’s feelings? Did she believe Johanna felt a dislike of her brother rather than the magnetic attraction neither could deny?

  Even as the questions tore at Johanna, Laurel pranced over to Serena. She gave a twirl, showing off her dress with the enormous scarlet bow she so admired, and flashed a grin at the young woman.

  “My, that’s a lovely ribbon,” Serena said, her tone sweeter than Johanna had imagined possible. Something that looked like amusement danced in Serena’s eyes She hardly seemed the type to be inclined to mischief. Still, there was no denying the glint in her green irises.

  Clever, that one. By openly inviting the child, she’d tilted the odds of Johanna’s acceptance in her favor. After all, to decline at this point would prove a great disappointment to her niece.

  Johanna pulled in a fortifying breath. Surely she could break bread with the man who’d helped save Laurel’s life without going all wobbly-kneed.

  “It would be my pleasure to dine with the two of you,” she said, mustering a placid tone.

  “Wonderful.” Serena smoothed her hair, as if that would tame the mass of sable ringlets framing her face. “Connor can be brusque at times, arrogant at others. But he’s set his mind to laying eyes on ye again before ye embark on yer voyage.”

  So, he wanted to see her off on her journey. Perhaps the brash Scot only intended to ensure for himself that his sister would be in capable hands once she arrived in America. If only Johanna’s heart had healed from the last time she’d said farewell. On the train from Inverness, taking her last look at the Highlands, she’d believed she would never see Connor again. Now, the ache throbbed anew, and she knew the wound hadn’t really mended at all.

  But she couldn’t deny Connor the comfort of knowing that Serena would not be on her own in an unfamiliar land.

  He’d been there for her when she needed him. How could she offer any less? The thought eased her misgivings, if not the pain deep within at the thought of once again bidding him farewell.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Johanna had faced villains whose literary counterparts might have lurked within the pages of her novels and she’d lived to tell the tale. So why in blazes did the sight of Connor MacMasters set her heart to tripping? Why did she follow every step of his approach as if mesmerized, pulse pounding, quietly frantic as a bird staring into the eyes of a hungry cat?

  As she disembarked from the carriage on the Strand, Connor moved toward the coach with long, sure strides. Behind him, the Savoy was a majestic sight. But she could scarcely take her eyes off him.

&n
bsp; “Ah, there’s that brother of mine,” Serena said fondly. “Connor’s been bent on wearing his kilt, displaying the clan colors and all that. I insisted the look of a proper Englishman might better serve his purposes, but as usual, he had his way.

  A proper Englishman? Indeed, his silver cravat was skillfully tied, and his shirt was a pristine white fresh-fallen snow could not rival. A well-tailored wool jacket emphasized the breadth of the magnificent shoulders she’d clung to as their passion had reached its summit. But Connor MacMasters could not disguise himself as an Englishman with all the cravats and immaculately-pressed trousers in the land. No garment could strip him of his rugged masculinity, the brash confidence he wore like a second skin.

  Her gaze roamed to the kilt with its distinctive hues of red, black, and green, proclaiming his heritage with a bold pride that intoxicated her. Her attention roamed lower still, to strong, muscular legs that bespoke a powerful maleness. He was magnificent, a superb blend of gentleman and warrior.

  If only he was hers.

  How she longed to peel off that oh-so-proper shirt and cravat and strip the kilt from his hips. Her desire for the man was like a storm she hadn’t seen coming. With a pure, consuming hunger, she yearned to touch him. To thread her fingers through his dark hair. To feel his flesh against hers once again.

  For his part, Connor’s expression betrayed nothing of his deepest thoughts. Infuriating man, stirring her heart and offering not so much as a glimmer of response.

  He offered a greeting so restrained, so civilized, she might have believed him an imposter if his sister had not been standing at his side. Despite the stiff politeness of his words, the rumble of his deep burr and the spirit in his penetrating eyes touched something deep and primal within her.

  At Johanna’s side, Laurel studied him. “You look different. Your whiskers are gone.”

  His brows quirked. Whether with amusement or puzzlement, Johanna could not be sure.

  “I wished to be a proper gentleman this evening,” he said with a warm smile. “’Tis a very special night.”

  “Yes,” Laurel agreed with a smile. “I’ve never been to such a fine establishment.”