Highlander in Disguise

by Julia London

  “Mind ye now,” Grif said quietly as he straightened his coat. “Ye’re a valet, not a lovesick fool.”

  “Aye, and ye’re an earl, no’ a miserable old goat,” Hugh muttered, just as the door of the coach was swung open. He quickly went out.

  “My lord,” a man said, bowing deep, as a footman hastily put a stepping stool beneath the door.

  Grif climbed down, looked at the man. “MacAlister here will see to me things,” he said, nodding casually toward Hugh, and with one last glare at his old friend, he followed the butler to the entrance hall, leaving Hugh to ride around to the servants’ entrance to unload the baggage. That, at least, put a small smile on his face.

  While Grif was attended by the Featherstone butler, Anna was upstairs in the room she was to share with Lucy, lying very still, her head aching as thoughts of Grif bedeviled her.

  From the moment they had shared such intimacy in his drawing room, her life had changed irrevocably, and in some sense had only just begun. There was a certain power in the knowledge of what went on between a man and a woman—perhaps not in all its physical forms—but at the very least, the emotion that could bridge the gap between the sexes.

  Indeed, that long-past afternoon Anna had felt the stirrings of something mysteriously profound for Grif. It was not what she’d felt for Drake Lockhart— this seemed so much more meaningful. It was the Scotsman’s image she took to her dreams each night, his image that stayed with her throughout each day. He was why she kept the ugly gargoyle in her wardrobe, for it was the only reason she had to see him and feel those stirrings each day.

  Stirrings she felt…. But since that day in the drawing room, Grif seemed changed somehow, and no amount of her trying to engage him could move him.

  It was not from a wont of trying. Naturally, they continued their lessons because Anna insisted upon it, insisted she hadn’t learned everything she would need to seduce Drake. Grif obliged her, coaching her each day to turn the head of a man.

  But he was detached, indifferent, instructing her much as her old tutor, Master Burton, had once instructed her. She’d attempted to lure him by doing all the things he’d taught her, but to no avail. She tried to make him laugh, regaling him with the antics of her family, or her hunting dogs, or, in desperation, the ton. But he’d do nothing more than smile thinly and remind her of their purpose, then continue her lessons.

  Yet Anna was not deterred, no matter how dry his response, because something else was happening to her. She could feel the transformation in her, could feel the very core of her turning over like soil, and the rich, multihued part of her coming to the surface. With Grif’s instruction, she could feel the layers of the child and the debutante peeling off, revealing the woman she was inside.

  It was an experience that was quite staggering.

  Whatever was happening to her was being noticed in drawing rooms around town, too. It seemed as if overnight she had garnered a handful of gentleman suitors, all of them clamoring for her attention. And where Anna once might have frowned, or refused to engage, she now laughed, engaged in discourse, challenged the gentlemen to a game of wits, and enjoyed herself immensely.

  The change in her was not lost on Drake, either. He attended her more often than he had before, called on her with equal enthusiasm as he called on Lucy, and made certain promises to Anna that she could not help believing meant that he intended to offer for her.

  That pleased her enormously, of course it did. It had been her dream for so long, hadn’t it? And when he finally kissed her, fully and passionately beneath the arbor of her family’s garden, Anna had walked away quite breathless from it… with just one tiny little problem.

  Her breathlessness was the direct result of her horror at having discovered he had absolutely no flair for that function whatsoever. The man possessed no art of kissing!

  He simply did not inspire her as Grif did with nothing more than a look, and she lay in her bed at Featherstone believing that if Drake were to offer, she’d never in her life be so physically inspired again.

  So lost in sorrow at that thought was she that when Lucy came bursting through the door, Anna was badly startled.

  Not that Lucy noticed; she flew to the vanity to pinch her cheeks, breathlessly announcing that the Messrs. Lockhart had arrived. “Drake gave the footman a note to be delivered,” she quickly informed Anna. “I saw him do it, and I’m certain it is addressed to me.” She stole a glance at Anna’s reflection in the mirror. “I don’t mean to hurt you, Anna, because it’s quite obvious you hold him in high regard,” she said absently, and leaned in a little to have a closer look at her face. “By the bye, Mr. Fynster-Allen has arrived, as has Northam, although I am at quite a loss why Bette would invite him… and Ardencaple, of course.”

  Anna’s heart did a funny little flip in her chest.

  A knock at the door earned a squeal from Lucy, as Anna sat up and gained her feet. The door opened; Bette stuck her head through and smiled happily at her sisters. “Might I come in?” She slipped through the door and coyly withdrew a piece of vellum from her pocket. “I have a note,” she said, waving at the two of them as she walked into the room. “From Mr. Lockhart.”

  Lucy instantly whirled about on her stool. “I knew it! Give it, please!” she said, her hand out, her smile bright.

  Bette laughed. “It’s not for you, Lucy! It’s for Anna,” she said, and handed the note to Anna, beaming as if she’d already sealed a match.

  “For Anna?” Lucy repeated, sounding baffled.

  “For me?” Anna asked, taking the vellum.

  “Is this some sort of jest?” Lucy demanded testily as Anna hastily turned her back and opened the vellum. The note read:

  Dearest Anna, forgive me this letter, but I have counted the days since I last laid eyes on your lovely face, and believe I cannot mark the hours until this evening when I might once again gaze upon your beautiful smile. I quite look forward to your company.

  Yours faithfully,

  Drake

  Anna folded the vellum and glanced sheepishly at her sisters.

  Bette looked curious, but Lucy looked so hopeful. “What has he written?” she asked, her eyes on the piece of vellum in Anna’s hand.

  “Ah…well…it was a private message,” she said uncertainly. “For, ah…for my eyes only, as it were.”

  Lucy’s expression dissolved into dejection. She brought a hand to her face. “But… what could he possibly have to write, for your eyes only?” she asked, her voice smaller and, amazingly, her amber eyes dark and tinged with sadness.

  That surprised Anna. She could hardly look at Lucy when the girl looked so unexpectedly wistful and vulnerable. “That he…” Was it possible that Lucy really did esteem Drake so very much? Was it possible that she really did desire a match with him as much as Anna?

  Lucy blinked up at her, waiting. Anna cleared her throat. “That he, ah… ahem! That he hopes I shall impress on you his many good qualities,” she said softly.

  For a moment, it seemed as if Lucy had not heard her, but then in a blink of an eye she whirled around to the mirror on the vanity and resumed her primping. Behind her, Bette looked at Anna skeptically, but Anna shrugged slightly, tossed the vellum into the fire, and picked up her wrap.

  “How do you suppose he’ll offer?” Lucy asked excitedly. “Before everyone at the ball? Or do you think he shall speak privately with Father?”

  “Really, Lucy!” Bette said, but she was looking at Anna, clearly puzzled.

  “I suppose he’ll speak to Father—wait!” Lucy cried into her mirror at Anna’s reflection as she moved quietly to the door. “Where are you going?”

  At the door, Anna turned around and looked at both of her sisters. Bette was looking at her as if she pitied her, and Lucy, who had twisted around on the vanity bench, was all smiles, her eyes bright with excitement. Anna’s predicament was feeling heavier, and she forced a smile as she pulled the door open. “I think I should like a walkabout before the gathering this eve
ning,” she said, and with a less-than-cheerful wave, she quit the room before either sister could call her back.

  She slipped into her green pelisse and took the servants’ stairs down, lest she encounter anyone she’d rather not encounter, and walked through the kitchen with a terse wave, not even hearing the many “G’day, misses” tossed out to her.

  Outside the kitchen, men in various liveries were milling about around a mound of baggage that might have been ten feet high if it were one, waiting for the Featherstone underbutler to assign them to their rooms. Anna walked on, through the stone gates that led through the kitchen garden and laundry quarters, where some maids were still cleaning chamber pots.

  She was oblivious to the bustle, for it was as if her mind were rearranging itself altogether, moving things about that had been in place so long that they left deep grooves. This was an awfully foolish feeling, to have wanted something for so long and on the verge of achieving it to realize it wasn’t what she wanted in the least.

  As she entered the quiet space of the east lawn rose garden, she realized that all her life she’d believed in that old saying that if she wanted the fruit of life, she’d have to climb the tree to get it. She’d set out to do just that, to chart her future and control her destiny instead of giving into the social forces around her, reaching for something just beyond her grasp.

  It was exactly what she’d done with Drake. She had wanted him—she had thought him the most beautiful man in all of London. And she had reached for him, disregarding all societal rules and proprieties in her quest. Now that he seemed to want her, too, she had no idea what she wanted. She was horribly confused, particularly since the only thing she knew with certainty was that she had fallen in love with Grif, a man who was beyond her capacity to reach—far, far, beyond her grasp.

  “Anna!”

  The whisper of her name startled her out of her wits; she whirled around, hoping it was Grif… but it was Drake who stepped out from the roses to stand before her, smiling warmly. “Anna,” he said again, reaching for her hand. “You received my note?”

  She nervously tried to collect herself. “I, ah…I did,” she said, and suddenly smiled. “How silly you are, sir! I’ve not been gone more than a few days.”

  Drake’s gaze greedily swept her body. “Think me silly if you will, Anna, but it has seemed an eternity since last we met.”

  She took a small step backward. “Mr. Lockhart!” she said gaily. “You flatter me.”

  “I do not,” he said earnestly, matching her small step with a forward step. “I have come to admire you dearly, Anna. I esteem you greatly—can’t you see that I do?”

  “Indeed? Then your opinion of me has changed.” She took another small step backward. “There was a time when you could not seem to recall me at all, sir!” she said laughingly.

  He cocked a brow and smiled. “Do you believe a man cannot change?”

  “Would you have me truly believe you’ve changed?”

  “Indeed I have. I have come to esteem you in a way I did not think possible,” he said, his smile fading, and he laid his hand tenderly against her cheek.

  His response astounded her—Drake had flirted with her, kissed her, but he’d never spoken as earnestly as he did now.

  Anna’s mind was racing wildly, her cheek growing warm beneath his palm. “But… w-what of Lucy?” she stammered helplessly as he drew her to him. “She…she holds you in the highest esteem, sir.”

  Drake chuckled and kissed her forehead. “I hold your sister in high regard as well.”

  “What I mean to say,” Anna said, trying again, as he nuzzled her neck, “is that she holds you in… great esteem.” And she laid a hand on his chest, pushing a little, to impress on him just how much Lucy esteemed him.

  Drake looked down at her hand on his chest and sighed. “Pray tell, what am I to do? I will admit that I had come very close to making an offer for her, but then something rather remarkable occurred. I was quite blinded by you, Anna,” he said, and lowered his head, kissed her chastely on her lips.

  This was it, her prize. She was supposed to feel triumphant, the victor with the spoils. But she felt nothing but a vast emptiness and a sorrowful feeling, because she never wanted to hear those words from anyone but the one man she could not possibly hope to hear them from. Yet how could she possibly push away the man who would offer for her because of her feelings for a man she could never marry?

  Her head was aching with confusion, and she forced a smile, pushed lightly against Drake’s chest again. “Lucy’s feelings are very tender on the subject, and I suppose she is wondering about your intentions.”

  Drake gave her a dumbfounded look, then abruptly laughed. “I don’t understand. You would have me tell your sister that my affections lie with you, is that it?”

  “No, no,” Anna said, uncertain what she wanted him to say. “But you should set it to rights with her.”

  Drake slipped his arm around Anna’s waist. “If I… set it all to rights with her, might I assume, then, that I should pay a call to your father to inquire as to my suitability as a future son?”

  “What?” she exclaimed. His opinion of her may have changed, but she could not believe he’d reach this conclusion so soon, before any real courtship.

  She must have looked shocked, for Drake laughed. “You precious child! I’m asking you if I should inquire as to the availability of your hand?”

  A hot rush of panic flooded her brain; her heart was twisting with all the wrong emotions. “Should you?” she echoed, and all she could seem to think of was Grif, and frantically searched her mind for the right thing to say.

  “I thought this was what you wanted, Anna.”

  For the love of God, what had she done? “I would think that… you, Mr. Lockhart… you should not make a… hasty… inquiry?”

  “And would that be a hasty inquiry?”

  “Umm…” Dear God, what should she say? That she couldn’t decide how, exactly, she felt about him any longer, if indeed she felt anything—other than that it would be a good but standard match of fortunes and she would gain some respectability in the eyes of the ton for having made a match at all—but that her heart would always be with another? Or that she was fairly certain, given the events thus far, that she did not feel the heart-pounding eagerness to see him or touch him any longer, but, in fact, felt a bit of revulsion when he touched her?

  “Everyone believes you intend to offer for Lucy,” she suddenly blurted. “Including Lucy. And Father… Father will believe there has not been a, ah …proper…”

  Drake lifted a brow.

  Proper, proper …“…proper amount of courting!” she exclaimed with a bit of relief for having thought of something.

  It worked. Drake smiled. “I understand. I shall wait before I inquire. I should think the end of this affair would suffice,” he said, and smiled.

  Dear God, she had the space of two days to think of a way out of the wreckage she’d created.

  Drake put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her close to him. “I shall wait to speak to your father,” he said low, “but I shan’t wait to kiss you.” He planted his mouth on hers, and Anna tried not to grimace too terribly.

  It was an overall uneasiness that had Grif searching for an exit from the Featherstone mansion in the waning hours of the afternoon, somewhere outside, away from all the bustle of guests arriving and settling in, just somewhere he might at least draw a breath when he thought of Anna.

  But the direction of the gardens was not readily apparent in a house of such size, and he was soon wandering about the ground floor of the spacious mansion, peeking through doors, marveling at the wealth of the English ton. It far surpassed anything he’d ever seen in Edinburgh, and frankly, most anything he’d seen during his Grand Tour of Europe.

  He had heard in one of the gentleman’s clubs that Lord Featherstone, a viscount, had inherited part of his wealth, but had gone on to double it by investing in the East India Company. Featherstone was per
haps an example of the very best match an Englishwoman could hope to make, and Grif rather imagined Lord Whittington, Lady Featherstone’s father, would want to make similar matches for his remaining two unmarried daughters.

  The bar was set so high that were he of a mind, Grif could not possibly ever hope to meet it, not even in his wildest imagination.

  When he found his way into the gardens by chance, he turned and looked back at the massive structure. How terribly puny Talla Dileas looked in comparison.

  He turned and walked, head down, into the garden with that knowledge piling onto the vague uneasiness that had rooted in him the day he’d touched Anna so intimately, and he felt his heart growing heavier and heavier with the weight of his desire for a woman he could not have.

  He started badly when he saw them, Lockhart and Anna, entwined in an embrace on the path ahead. With her back to him, she shone like an exotic bird, with her long green pelisse drifting behind her, the flutter of ribbons in her hair.

  Grif stepped quietly behind a stand of rosebushes and watched them. Their voices were carried away by a light wind that rustled the trees behind him, and he could not hear what they said. But he didn’t need to hear them, for it was painfully obvious—this was a lover’s meeting.

  He shouldn’t have been surprised—after all, this was what Anna had wanted, had worked so hard to gain.

  Nevertheless, when Drake Lockhart took her in his arms and kissed her with the passion Grif felt for her, Grif’s heavy heart snapped clean and plummeted into a pit of loathing. He pivoted about, walked out of that garden, his breath coming in furious pants, his fists clenched tightly at his sides.

  This may have been what Anna had wanted, but she’d used him unconscionably to get it. She had practiced her feminine sorcery on him, drawing him into her flame until he was burning for her. He loved her. He could not bear to see her with Lockhart, he could not bear to think of her in another man’s arms, and at that moment he hated her with every fiber for having forced this on him.