The Heir of the Castle (Harlequin Romance)

by Scarlet Wilson

  She took a deep breath. What was she doing? She had no idea who Callan McGregor was. Every time she was around him she was unsettled.

  She couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit envious of the fact he’d grown up here.

  She couldn’t help but feel even more envious that Angus never had any expectation of him beyond going to university.

  She squeezed her eyes tightly shut. This was disloyal. She wasn’t even going to allow herself to think like that.

  It was time to get a hold of herself. Time to stop with the crazy thoughts and focus on the reason she was here—to try and get to know her family members.

  She lifted her head and walked back outside into the sunlight.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘KNOCK, KNOCK.’

  Callan cringed. He’d recognise that high-pitched voice anywhere. It was Robin, the Murder Mystery Weekend organiser. It didn’t matter where in the castle he tried to hide, the guy seemed to have an inbuilt antenna and could find him anyway.

  Robin stuck his head around the door. ‘Dinner will be served in ten minutes. We were hoping you would have made it to the pre-dinner drinks. You did agree to participate.’ There it was. That tiny disapproving edge to his voice that he seemed to have in every conversation with Callan. It was almost as if he were an eighty-year-old grumpy headmaster trapped inside a gangly twenty-five-year-old’s body.

  Callan tried not to say what he was really thinking. He stared at the crumpled piece of card he’d been given earlier with his instructions. They included Flirt with Lucy Clark, get into an argument with Philippe Deveraux. No problem. If the man was drunk again and put his hands on Laurie he’d do more than argue with him.

  Where had that come from? The thought surprised him. He’d only known the woman two days and already she was getting under his skin.

  Who was he kidding?

  She’d probably got under his skin from the second the smoke had cleared at the railway station and he’d caught sight of the curvy brunette. But when they’d been standing on the steps earlier and he could see her brown eyes filled with tears he couldn’t help but feel protective towards her. Something was going on with Laurie Jenkins—and it was nothing to do with inheriting a castle. The question was, did he really want to find out?

  Did he want to get to know any of Angus’s relatives who were milling around the place he thought of as his home? Once one of them inherited it, he would have to clear out his things and start staying in his Edinburgh town house. And even though he owned a beautiful home he couldn’t bear the thought of that.

  The place he called home was here.

  ‘Callan, can I count on you?’

  Robin. He’d forgotten he was even there. He gave the organiser a quick nod and watched him scuttle off.

  Callan closed his computer. He was doing exactly what he’d been dreading. Examining the castle accounts. In the interim period between Angus dying and the castle being handed over he’d been appointed as caretaker. The upkeep of the castle was huge. Heating, lighting and maintenance costs were astronomical. The roof needed some repairs. They needed to employ more staff to help Bert with the grounds. Whoever inherited Annick Castle was going to get a nasty shock.

  A horrible little coil of guilt was snaking around him. He should have stepped in earlier. He should have spoken to Angus about how run-down parts of the estate were becoming.

  But the truth was he had too much respect for Angus to ever have done that.

  But maybe there was a little hope. Maybe if he made more of an effort to talk to the relatives he could plant the seeds about how costly the castle would be. With any luck he could put in a generous offer and buy the castle, just as he’d always wanted to.

  It seemed mercenary. It seemed calculating. But none of these people felt the way he did about the castle. The only one who’d shown any real interest in anything other than its retail value was Laurie, and even she’d admitted that she’d be out of her depth.

  He picked up the jacket that was sitting on the Louis XV armchair. It was the same one he’d worn the night before. He’d no idea whose idea it had been that all the guests should dress in 1920s clothes but this was as far as he’d go.

  He could hear the noise in the main drawing room as he descended the stairs, some laughter louder than others.

  He saw Laurie as soon as he entered the room. She was sitting next to another woman on one of the red velvet chaises longues. It was Mary, from Ireland, the one aunt that she’d really wanted to talk to.

  She was wearing an emerald-green dress with beading around the scooped neckline. It skirted the top of her knees and she had a matching pair of shoes. Her hair was swept back on one side with an elaborate clasp made of jewels and blue and green feathers. Was that a peacock? He couldn’t help but smile.

  The dress could have been made specifically for her. It skimmed her curves, hinting at them without giving too much away. The dress colour accentuated the light tan of her skin and the glossy chestnut of her hair that hung in curls around one shoulder. She’d applied some heavier make-up, her eyes outlined in kohl and her lips red and glossy. It was all he could do to stop himself staring at them.

  But what he noticed most about her was how animated she seemed. She was clutching a photograph in one hand that she’d obviously been showing to her aunt and the two of them were talking at once. Her eyes were sparkling, her other hand gesturing frequently, and her aunt Mary seemed equally engaged.

  Laurie was the only person in the room he was interested in talking to, but he couldn’t disturb them. He walked over to the sideboard where a vast array of drinks was laid out. He didn’t for a second imagine that any of the bottles had been half empty when they’d been put out, but most of them were well on their way to being finished.

  He poured himself some soda water and gritted his teeth. He did drink alcohol himself—in moderation. But he hated being around people that were drunk. Having an alcoholic as a father did that to you. When his father had succumbed to alcoholic liver disease a few years ago Callan had actually felt a sigh of relief. It was as if he could finally shake off that part of his life.

  He looked around the room again. He was still finding it hard to get his head around the fact that he was surrounded by Angus’s relatives—Angus’s family. Twelve people who’d never had a single conversation with Angus McLean in their lives, one of whom could inherit the thing he’d held most dear. No matter which way he looked at it, it still didn’t make sense.

  But as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he was noticing a few similarities in some of the guests. Two of the sons definitely looked like Angus—one so much so that Marion had commented it was like being around a younger version of him.

  One of his daughters had identical blue twinkling eyes and a dimple in her right cheek. He couldn’t see any physical similarities in any of the other relatives.

  Family. Why hadn’t Angus surrounded himself with these people?

  He’d never really understood the whole ‘Annick Castle should be kept in the family’ ethos and had questioned Angus about it on more than one occasion.

  But Angus had made comments about family on other continents. Callan’s problem was he’d imagined that was some distant far-flung second cousin who’d eventually inherit the castle. He’d always had the thought at the back of his mind the said cousin wouldn’t want to move continent and change their life, so would be happy with a financial offer instead.

  But he hadn’t imagined this. He hadn’t imagined children.

  It made it all so much more personal.

  He watched as Laurie threw back her head and laughed, revealing the paler skin of her throat. It was the same hearty laugh he’d heard in the kitchen earlier. He liked it, but from the way Laurie had acted earlier today he guessed she didn’t get to do it often enough.

  It was as if the rest
of the room just faded into oblivion whenever she was around. At least that was what happened in his head. This woman was invading every part of his senses. Even when he wasn’t with her he was thinking about her, and when he was with her it was all he could do to keep his hands to himself.

  What had she meant—What if you can’t find your place in life? She was a lawyer living in London. She’d gone to Cambridge to do her degree. Surely she’d already found her place in life?

  He knew she was successful—he’d Googled her. There didn’t seem to be any bad reports about her work and the case she’d quoted the other night—about winning a client half a million pounds—had been entirely true.

  And why was Laurie Jenkins intriguing him so much? Why, when she’d looked as if she was about to burst into tears on the coastal steps, had he just wanted to put his arms around her?

  Everything about her drew him in like a magnet. Her sparkiness, her ability to cut through the crap, but still have a hint of vulnerability about her. She spoke with love about her father, disappointment that he hadn’t got to meet Angus McLean and she didn’t try to hide her disdain that Angus hadn’t met his children.

  He couldn’t blame her. And as much as that hurt him, part of him was pleased that she didn’t tiptoe around him.

  So what was it that was making Laurie Jenkins unhappy? Because he could see it. See it in her eyes when she had those fleeting moments off in a little world of her own. He could sense it in the little gaps in conversation as she tried to take in the beauty of Annick Castle and its surroundings.

  All he knew was he liked it better when Laurie had a smile on her face and that twinkle in her brown eyes. He liked it better when he could hear the laughter that seemed to come from the very bottom of her soul. Just as she was now.

  Her eyes met his across the room and she paused for a second, then lifted the glass of rosé she had in her hand towards him and gave him a little smile of acknowledgement.

  ‘Dinner is served, everyone.’ Robin’s voice jolted him.

  Callan caught Robin’s steely glare clearly directed at him. Darn it. He’d forgotten about flirting with Laurie and causing an argument. To be frank it was the last thing on his mind. Flirting with Laurie he could do in a heartbeat, but the argument? He really couldn’t be bothered. He’d just need to remedy that at dinner.

  Laurie walked straight over to him as they entered the dining room and reached the table, her green dress swishing around her with the sway of her hips as she moved. ‘I met my aunt Mary,’ she said. ‘And she’s fabulous. It’s so strange how some of her mannerisms are the same as my dad’s. Even though they never met. I can’t believe it.’

  She glanced at the table with the name settings and promptly reached over and swapped hers with someone else’s so she could sit next to Callan. He raised his eyebrows at her but she shook her head and said quietly, ‘Don’t want to be stuck between those two—they’ve spent the whole evening arguing.’

  He smiled and whispered in her ear. ‘Don’t you think you might be spoiling the activities of the night by doing that?’

  She gave him a wink. ‘I’m quite capable of sorting out my own activities for the night.’

  He liked it. Her cheeky side that he’d only glimpsed on a few occasions. Most of the time Laurie Jenkins was obviously on her guard around him. And who could blame her? She’d walked into a weekend full of strangers. Some of whom were friendlier than others.

  ‘I’ll bet you are,’ he replied. If he thought about that too long his imagination would run riot.

  ‘Did you speak to any of your other relatives?’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘Yes, and no. Mary was great. Joe from Canada was great too.’ She wiggled her hand and pointed at the name cards she’d moved. ‘I’m not so sure about Arnold and Audrey.’

  Callan raised his eyebrows. ‘Were they taking pictures while they spoke to you?’

  Laurie nodded and moved to the side as her dinner plate was put in front of her, the feathers in her hairclip brushing against his face. ‘Yes! And what’s that little black book they continually scribble notes in? What on earth are they up to?’

  She straightened up, leaving her perfume wafting around him. Something spicy, more sensual than the floral scent she’d been wearing today. It wound its way around him, prickling his senses.

  He waited until all the other guests had been served, then picked up his knife and fork, trying to clear his head. Marion had got some help this evening and things certainly appeared to be going more smoothly. Like all the food that came out of her kitchen the chicken Caesar salad looked delicious. If only he could concentrate on it.

  He gave her a smile. ‘I hate to think what they’re up to. You know I caught one of them in my rooms yesterday?’

  ‘You’re joking? Really?’ Her mouth was hanging open. ‘What on earth were they doing?’

  He shrugged. ‘I didn’t wait to find out. I just shouted at them, told them my rooms were private and showed them out.’

  Laurie shook her head. ‘That’s just ridiculous.’

  ‘I think we should change seats.’ The interruption was brisk. Callan heard the male voice in his ear and felt the hand pressing heavily on his shoulder. He resisted his first reaction. Although Craig had obviously had a bit too much to drink again this evening, Callan’s instruction card for this evening had told him to flirt with Laurie’s character and get into an argument with Craig, or his alter ego Philippe Deveraux. He’d paid little enough attention to the Murder Mystery Weekend without trying to wreck the one small part he’d been asked to be involved in. He would give him the benefit of the doubt. For five minutes only.

  He stood up. ‘I think you’ll find Ms Clark has decided she wants my attention this evening.’ He looked down at the dinner table. ‘I think you’ll also find that the entrées have already been served. Take a seat, Mr Deveraux.’

  From the corner of the room he could almost see the Murder Mystery Weekend organiser clapping his hands with glee.

  Craig looked momentarily confused, then obviously realised he was supposed to be in character. ‘You’ve monopolised Laurie—I mean, Ms Clark’s attention all day. It’s time to let her mix with some other company.’

  Callan wondered exactly how far he was supposed to go with this. As Laurie lifted a glass of wine to her rose-red lips he had an instant spark of inspiration. Or maybe it was her scent that was still permeating his skin? Whatever it was, he reached down and pulled her to her feet.

  After all, he had agreed to play along.

  ‘I think you’ll find Ms Clark is already spoken for, Mr Deveraux. I suggest you take your seat.’ And at that, he bent down and brushed his lips next to Laurie’s.

  He felt her instantly stiffen in shock. He hadn’t given her any warning. He hadn’t given it much thought himself. He was just playing along and it seemed like the natural thing to do.

  Bartholomew Grant would surely want to stake his claim on his girlfriend?

  His hand was around her waist, supporting her as she leaned back a little. Across the table Auntie Mary burst into a round of applause.

  Her lips were soft and pliable, but, oh, so inviting. He meant just to brush the slightest touch, but his lips caught the taste of wine from her and his gentle brush became instantly more intense. He felt her hands place on his chest. For an instant he wondered if she was going to push him away, but she didn’t. Instead her hands rested lightly—just as they had done earlier that day on the steps.

  Her scent wound its way around him, rich, sultry and exotic. It was truly intoxicating. If he didn’t stop now, he never would.

  Only the briefest few seconds had passed but he was conscious of the audience around them, and conscious of the fact if she did object, she might not want to do so in front of others.

  He pulled back but felt her lips still connected with his. It
was as if she didn’t want the kiss to end. Had she felt the same connection he had? As their noses brushed against each other he opened his eyes. Her dark brown eyes were already open, staring straight at him.

  She looked a little stunned. As if she didn’t quite believe the kiss had happened. Her hand came up automatically to her lips, which seemed even redder, even fuller than before.

  Her eyes still hadn’t left his. All he could see was how chocolate-coloured they looked in this light and a definite dilation of her black pupils. His body reacted instantly—a natural response. Her hips were still pressed against his and her eyes widened, but the smile that appeared on her face was one of pure mischief.

  As if on cue, one of the other guests stood up and started shouting—obviously all part of the activities. Callan stepped back, releasing his hand from around her back, and reluctantly sank back down into his seat. ‘Sorry, if I took you by surprise,’ he murmured.

  She lifted her glass and took another sip of wine. There was a cheeky glint in her eyes. Laurie Jenkins wasn’t upset or offended. Quite the opposite, in fact. It made the blood race through his body. ‘Seems like it was surprises all round,’ she said softly.

  Up close the green dress was perfect for her skin tone and chestnut-coloured hair. Her cheeks glowed and the red gloss on her lips shined. The beads around the neckline caught the candlelight in the room and dazzled. She looked as if she belonged on a magazine cover, or an old-fashioned portrait. But here she was sitting at his side.

  He wanted to sweep the rest of the guests away. He wanted to erase the Murder Mystery Weekend completely. He wanted the chance to get to know Angus McLean’s granddaughter on his own, with no distractions.

  But the long evening stretched ahead of them. He spoke solicitously to the other guests around him. He ate the steak placed in front of him. But all the while his eyes were watching her every move. Every sip of her wine. Every mouthful of delicious food.

  Laurie knew it. And she was enjoying it. Seemed like teasing Callan was the order of the night.