A Yuletide Highlander

by Cameron, Collette

  Had they detected the undercurrent of attraction between her and Gregor?

  Of course, it was only natural that she felt gratitude toward him, and perhaps it had become infatuation, as well. She’d been most careful to hide her interest, and she believed she’d done a satisfactory job.

  Now wasn’t the time for flirtations or romantic entanglements.

  Would there ever be a time?

  She’d faced that disconcerting truth some time ago. It would take an extraordinary man to win her heart. Because he must accept that Chris would always be a part of their lives. Few men—none that she knew aside from Papa—would willingly take on such a burden.

  Except for Gregor jesting about accepting a kiss in repayment, he’d been the perfect gentleman. She’d been the one who agreed to the terms and could not fault him in that regard.

  “Thank you, Gregor. For everything.”

  He rested a hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. His voice slightly husky, and his brogue a trace thicker, he said, “It’s been my pleasure, lass.”

  More emotional about their inevitable separation than she would’ve anticipated, Sarah struggled against tears. Eyes lowered, she managed a short nod.

  “Nae tears, jo.”

  No tears, she silently chastised herself.

  He lifted her chin and swept a thumb across her damp cheek. “I promise ye, I’m no’ desertin’ ye. I vowed to see ye safely settled, and I am goin’ to keep my oath.” He flashed his charming grin. “Besides, Adaira invited me to dinner tonight.”

  Sarah smiled wide, uncaring he might guess why. “You’ve already done so much for us. I truly don’t expect any more—”

  “The truth is, I’ve enjoyed yer company, and I’ll miss ye. Promise ye’ll let me take ye on an outin’ to Hyde Park tomorrow.”

  “All right.” How could she say no?

  He raised her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles, and a jolt of sensation streaked to her elbow then skittered up her shoulder.

  This was a man she could care for. A man she’d risk much for. But there was Chris to consider.

  Gregor pivoted her toward the door. “Now go, before they parade back up here to see what the delay is.”

  “I owe ye a kiss.” On impulse, she stood on her toes, laid a palm against the broad plane of his chest, and touched her lips to his.

  At first, he remained rigid and unmoving. Then with a groan deep in his chest, he urged her close and kissed her like a man long-starved. Breathing heavily, he angled away and growled, “Go. Now. Before I canna let ye.”

  With a last glance over her shoulder and a small wave, she turned her back, feeling almost as desolate as she had when fleeing Jamaica. Fighting tears and struggling to compose herself, she slipped into the coach.

  The duchess patted the seat beside her. “Sit here, my dear.”

  Sarah sank onto the plush bird’s egg-blue seat, and Alexa wrapped her kid gloved fingers ’round Sarah’s.

  Isobel fished a delicate lace handkerchief from her reticule and passed the square across the carriage. She met Alexa’s eyes as she settled into the squabs and put a finger to her chin. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen Gregor so entranced.”

  Sarah raised a startled glance. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Leave it to us.” Alexa patted her hand. “We’ll have him coming ’round in no time.”

  Three days later, Gregor handed his hat to Ramsbury’s majordomo.

  Today, he’d been invited to a proper English tea. Hadn’t he become the simpering fop? He brushed a cat hair off his buff coat. He reserved it, and the cherry and shimmering gold waistcoat he wore, for special occasions. What could be more special than seeing Sarah Paine again?

  The three days since they’d parted felt like three interminable months. He’d thought of her continuously, had written to her daily, and his apartment was unbearably quiet and lonely now.

  Cat even wandered around meowing plaintively.

  The much-anticipated outing with her to Hyde Park had not manifested. After dinner at the Clarendon’s, he’d returned home to find his living quarters ransacked. It hadn’t taken a good deal of thought to figure out who was behind the break-in.

  Yesterday, he’d interrogated Mrs. Smith, and the housekeeper tearfully confessed she’d seen a toy soldier beneath the couch when she last cleaned Gregor’s quarters. A little more probing, and she admitted to accepting a few coins for sharing that tidbit with a scruffy, bearded man.

  Yeates.

  Mrs. Smith didn’t think sharing that morsel would hurt anything, for she’d seen no other evidence of anything out of the ordinary. Her unfortunate choice had earned her a dismissal, but Gregor had conceded to provide her with a reference and a purse to hold her over until she found another position.

  A locksmith had been retained, and not only did Stapleton Shipping and Supplies now have new locks throughout, he’d hired two former soldiers to patrol the perimeter.

  Thank God, Sarah and Chris had already left. He shuddered to think what would’ve happened had they been discovered.

  Voices and laughter filtered from the drawing room. Having been here a few times before, he motioned for the butler to answer the new knock sounding at the door.

  “I ken the way.”

  “Excellent, sir.”

  Gregor lingered in the drawing room entrance, taking a few moments to savor his friends, family, and, most of all, Sarah enjoying themselves. Previous visits had taught him that this room, as well as the rest of the house, would be decked out in holiday gaiety come Christmas Eve. Likely a few days beforehand since Isobel adored the holiday.

  Wearing a lavender gown, a delicate lace fichu tucked into the bodice—unfortunately hiding the creamy bounty within—and amethyst and pearl earrings dangling from her dainty earlobes, Sarah looked every bit the lady of refinement. Her hair twisted into an intricate knot, she held a yellow chintz-patterned teacup as she smiled and made polite conversation.

  A queer sensation kicked behind his ribs. Gude, he’d missed her. Missed her laugh and ready smile. Missed the gentle interaction with her brother. Missed her keen intellect, droll retorts, and the way her eyes rounded in wonder. He even missed the way her nose crinkled when he said something in Scots or Gaelic that she didn’t understand but was too polite to say so.

  How had she and Chris wiggled their ways into his heart so quickly?

  Ewan vowed he loved Yvette the minute he danced with her, but it had been two years before they met again.

  Isobel spied him and glided to the door. She looped her hand through the crook of his elbow and drew him forward. “I had begun to think you weren’t coming, and that I’d misread your fascination with our dear Sarah.”

  Just what did she mean by that? He gave her a shrewd assessment, but she’d already turned away, leading him straight to Sarah.

  Had he been that bloody obvious? Pointing his gaze ceilingward, he stifled unfamiliar chagrin. By God, he hadn’t moped about like a moon-eyed milksop. He’d not even hinted his interest, so how did Isobel and the others know?

  Women seemed to have an extra sense about these matters.

  He knew the instant Sarah realized he stood beside her, though she hadn’t glanced in his direction.

  The faintest flush pinkened her cheeks, and she carefully set her teacup upon the table, before turning a radiant smile upon him. “Hello, Mr. McTavish.”

  How odd to have her address him so formally, but she’d not want to give rise to tattle. “Always a pleasure, Miss Paine.” He inclined his head.

  Lord and Lady Warrick entered the drawing room, and Isobel floated away to greet them.

  Gregor eyed the dainty chair, the only remaining vacant seat near Sarah. He could either perch like an oversized bird upon its edge or remain standing. For he hadn’t a doubt that if he applied his full weight to the flimsy thing, the legs would give way, and he’d land on his arse.

  Isobel clapped her hands, and her husband, Yancy, Earl of Ramsbury, join
ed her, and with a doting smile, she placed a hand on his forearm. “I have something special to show you.” She gave the callers a mysterious smile. “Please follow me.”

  A swift perusal of the guests had Gregor’s mouth twitching at the corners. Everyone, yes, every last one, was married except for him and Sarah.

  So, the grand ladies—and their husbands? —played matchmakers, did they? Not subtly either, by God. He ought to have considered that he’d set himself up for their interference when he asked them to help a young woman of his acquaintance. Interestingly though, he didn’t mind.

  Nae, he didn’t mind at all.

  Adaira caught his eye and whispered something in Clarendon’s ear. The earl gave Gregor an apologetic shrug before guiding his wife from the room. Aye, the chaps were involved, too. Likely inveigled into assisting their meddling wives.

  On cue, the other couples filed from the room, leaving Gregor and Sarah to come last.

  He mightn’t have objections, but their disregard for her feelings rankled a jot. What if she noticed their ploy? Would she be offended? Humiliated? He offered Sarah his elbow, and she placed her gloved hand upon it.

  “I received your note about the break-in, Gregor. I hope you were able to restore everything to order.”

  He couldn’t prevent the satisfied curving of his mouth that she deemed to use his given name when others were out of earshot. Her perfume, mild, floral, a hint spicy with a touch of citrus, wafted upward. Had she borrowed the scent, or had his cousins purchased it for her?

  “Aye, and I’ve added extra security, as well,” he said. Another waft of fragrance floated past. He almost bent to smell her shiny hair. Had she used scented soap to wash it? He reluctantly towed his errant thoughts back to the matter at hand.

  “No doubt a good idea,” she murmured a bit distractedly.

  “Sarah, I believe Santano’s thugs are still watchin’ the offices, and I’d like to set a trap for them with yer permission, lass.” He slowed their progress.

  “A trap?” She cut a swift glance at those entering the conservatory.

  Was she worried about the propriety of being alone with him? Now? When they’d spent days together? Well, Chris had always been there, but still…

  “Aye.” No help for it. He must speak with her privately, and this was likely his only opportunity. He drew her to a halt. “I hope to apprehend the scoundrel before he sails. Several of the gentlemen in attendance here today are meetin’ me at White’s this afternoon to discuss the plan. But I wanted ye to be aware first. Do ye have any idea why he pursues ye, jo?”

  Her tongue darted out to wet her lower lip, and she tucked her chin, causing her earrings to sway.

  As he’d suspected, she’d been keeping something from him.

  “I do. I possess a key my mother gave me. I believe it belongs to a chest hidden at Bellewood.” She cut him a swift, almost guilty glance before continuing. “That is—was—our home in Jamaica. I don’t know what the chest contains, but my father showed it to me once and told me it was to ensure Chris’s future. I can only presume the contents are of some value. I also don’t know if Santano assumes I have the chest here and believes I’ve hidden it somewhere. I don’t think he’s found it yet because he wouldn’t continue to plague me otherwise.”

  “He must know what it contains then, and I’d wager the contents are precious.” Gregor placed his hand over hers and gently squeezed her fingers. “What if we were to use another chest as bait?”

  He squinted in concentration. Greedy sods like Santano lusted after wealth. Setting a snare for him and his henchmen shouldn’t be all that difficult.

  “Do you really think it would work?” Such hope lit Sarah’s face, he longed to wrap her in his arms, pull her close, and assure her it would

  He didn’t dare, standing in the corridor, more was the pity.

  Someday though…

  “I do. Is that why he killed yer parents?”

  Pain tightened her features, and the long, graceful column of her throat worked. “He killed my father for control of the Mary Elizabeth. I believe he may have killed my mother trying to find the chest, though I don’t know that for certain.”

  “Sarah?” Placing his hands on her upper arms, Gregor turned her to face him. “Are you saying your mother might be alive?”

  “Oh, Gregor.” Her eyes glistened, her pain tearing at his heart. “I want it to be so with all my heart. But there hasn’t been a word in three years. I keep hoping she’s written my grandmother or could somehow make her way to England. But Mama was sickly when she forced Chris and me to leave her behind. If it hadn’t been for Chris, I would’ve refused to go.”

  And she’d probably be dead now.

  Gregor gathered her into his embrace and kissed the top of her head. Devil take what anybody had to say. Not knowing whether her mother lived or not must eat away like a serrated, rusting blade every day.

  “Lass, I ken ships that sail to the Caribbean—specifically Jamaica. I can have inquiries made so that ye’ll know once and for all about yer mother.” He dared press his mouth to her silky, fragrant hair again. “It might bring ye peace.”

  She deserved peace. Deserved to have someone take care of her for a change.

  Eyes closed, her breathing ragged, and head bowed, she struggled for control. At last, she whispered, “I want to know. I cannot ever find peace until I do.”

  “I’ll see to it at once then.”

  Weighty silence filled the passageway.

  Memories likely flooded Sarah’s thoughts while Gregor calculated his next step. Clarendon, Warrick, and Ewan had worked as spies for the Home Office. He didn’t doubt they’d have a shrewd idea or two that could help lead to Santano’s capture and imprisonment.

  A thought struck, and he asked, “Can ye prove yer father’s ownership of the Mary Elizabeth?”

  “Yes. I have the documentation. Mama thought to send it with me and the deed to Bellewood, too. But I expect Santano possessed forged documents claiming the ship is his.”

  Not hard to disprove with the right influence and resources, both of which Gregor had access to.

  She’d been incredibly brave, very much like the women he’d introduced her to the other day. Someday, she’d have to hear their stories. He’d be bound, she would never believe the Duchess of Harcourt had once been a Highland gypsy. Or that Alexa had helped Isobel escape the band of rogue Highlanders who abducted her.

  Aye, introducin’ her to these braw, bonnie women is wise.

  “While we have a moment alone, I wanted to invite ye to the theater tomorrow night.” Gregor had no idea what the performance was, but every one of the lords now chatting in the conservatory had private boxes. For the second time in less than a week, he meant to take advantage of those connections. “And also if ye’re agreeable, the Christmas Pantomime on Drury Lane on Boxin’ Day, as well as Astley’s Christmas Spectacular. Chris is welcome, too, of course.”

  “I’ve never been to any of them. They sound wonderful.” She’d regained her composure, and a half-smile curved her mouth. “I’m not sure Chris would appreciate the theater, but he so adores horses. I’m certain he’d enjoy Astley’s.”

  Yancy poked his head around the door, cocking a reproving eyebrow at Gregor. “Are you coming? Isobel has a special surprise, just for Miss Paine.”

  “Aye.” He took Sarah’s elbow. Still far too thin. “Come along, jo.”

  “Jo? What does that mean?” Her bright eyes brimming with curiosity, she searched his face.

  “Sweetheart or darlin’.”

  “Oh.” Instead of blushing or dropping her gaze in a maidenly fashion, she grinned, joy blossoming across her face.

  Gregor couldn’t suppress a slightly smug smile.

  Upon entering the lush plant and flower-filled room, she released a delighted cry. Several parakeets flitted about, but it was the elaborate cage containing two green parrots that had her flying across the tiled floor.

  “Oh, stars. They are yellow-b
illed parrots. Just like those in Jamaica.”

  “They are,” Isobel agreed. “I acquired them a month ago from a traveling showman. They weren’t being cared for well. When Gregor mentioned you’d had a pet one in Jamaica, I knew I had to introduce you before moving them to our country aviary.”

  “I confess, they make me homesick.” Sarah gripped the cage, resting her forehead on the wires, a hint of sorrow shadowing her features.

  Isobel pressed Sarah’s hand. “You are welcome to visit them anytime while they are still here, and once we’ve moved them to the aviary, as well.”

  “Isobel studies all manner of species of birds and other things.” Gregor caught Ramsbury’s attention. “Might I make use of yer theater box tomorrow? Miss Paine has agreed to attend with me.”

  More hearty approval followed his announcement. Because they were excited about the performance or that he’d asked Sarah to accompany him? The latter to be sure, for he’d not mentioned which theater. The performance might’ve been the rotund Prince Regent dancing naked atop a pink elephant, and they’d have agreed if only to see the courtship’s progression.

  As Gregor had anticipated, all present invited themselves along.

  Rather than look overwhelmed, Sarah seemed pleased.

  He was too, but not only because her happiness brought him joy.

  Shortly, he’d put the plan in place he’d spent days contriving. With Sarah’s key and a fake chest as bait, Santano would soon be in the authorities’ hands.

  Sitting in the Ramsburys’ private box in the opulent Theatre Royal Drury Lane, Sarah scarcely knew what the current entertainment on stage was about. After the first performance—a rather depressing tragedy—the audience was now treated to a pantomime.

  She didn’t dare say so, but she found his antics more silly than humorous.

  From the boisterous chortles and feminine titters, she might be alone in her observation, though from the sideways peeks she’d sent Gregor, he appeared more appalled than anything else.

  A comedy now had the glittering crowd hooting and hollering. Those who weren’t spying on others with their opera glasses, that was. However, as he had all evening, the riveting man at her side commandeered her attention.