Claimed by the Laird (14 page)

“Of course, Mr. Galloway,” Lucas had said. He’d been tempted to remind the butler that at his interview, Galloway had told him he might need to turn his hand to anything at Kilmory. However, he did not think that would help. It was an irony, since he could not bear Lady Semple and had absolutely no desire at all to curry favor with her, as Galloway put it.

Gertrude, as Lucas had already realized, was inclined to ride roughshod over anything and anyone in her way. She and her husband were precisely the sort of aristocrat that Lucas abhorred: arrogant, self-obsessed and full of that sense of entitlement that he deplored. They did nothing useful, but expected to be rewarded handsomely simply for existing. More heinous was the way in which they both treated Christina. Gertrude’s casual contempt for her sister-in-law made Lucas seethe, whilst her husband’s bullying ways made him want to punch the man. He knew it should not matter to him one way or the other, but it did. It mattered to him a great deal, and there was nothing he could do about that.

The horses had picked up on his tension and were watching him with dark, intelligent eyes, ears pricked as though anticipating trouble. Lucas deliberately banked down his anger and frustration in order not to spook them. Working with horses was something he enjoyed. He had learned to ride as a child on his grandfather’s estates, and later, when his stepfather had thrown him out and he had gone to Scotland, he had eventually found work driving the dray horses that delivered goods around the streets of Edinburgh.

He remembered Christina asking him if he had worked with horses. He had rebuffed her question as he generally did if anyone asked him something too personal or got too close. He had done the same thing tonight when she had offered to sponsor him in finding a new job or studying to better himself. Her open generosity completely devastated him; he did not know how to deal with it. So he pushed her away—and now he felt bad about it because he had upset her. Christina was too kind, he thought as he closed the stable door softly behind him. Several times now she had tried to help him, reaching out to him, only to be rejected. Christina cared, and as a result she laid herself open to hurt.

He swore softly under his breath. He did not want to hurt Christina.

A housemaid was at his shoulder. “You’re to take dinner in the servants’ hall,” she said, gesturing toward the steps that led down to the basement. “Keep your head down—Cook has burned the pheasants and Mr. Dixon, the steward, is on the warpath. Proper bad mood he’s in tonight.”

Lucas nodded, repressing a smile. “Thank you,” he said.

The girl nodded and withdrew and Lucas strolled across the yard and down the basement steps to the servants’ hall. It was brightly lit, rich with the smells of roasting meat and busy with the bustle of a working household.

A harassed steward strode past, saw Lucas’s livery and paused. “What’s your name?” he demanded.

“Lucas, sir.”

The steward nodded. “Well, Lucas, I have a house full of guests and no footman working with me as he was foolish enough to sprain his wrist yesterday. You can help serve dinner.”

“Yes, sir,” Lucas said. He hoped he could remember his etiquette. He was more than a little out of practice.

* * *

I
T
WAS
THE
worst dinner Christina had had to endure for a very long time. The food was delicious, the wine was very fine, conversation sparkled and she sat frozen like a pillar of salt to the chair. It was Lucas’s fault, of course. When she saw him come into the dining room and realized that he was to help serve dinner she felt a very peculiar nervousness, as though she was a debutante at her first formal meal, terrified of dropping her wineglass or using the wrong fork. Her appetite vanished. For a moment it felt as though her mouth was filled with sawdust and she could not swallow.

She found her gaze riveted to Lucas’s hands as he served her. The sight of a footman handling vegetables had never previously caused her to blush, but she was so on edge now that she was practically dancing on her chair. She saw Mrs. MacPherson give her a curious glance and felt even more self-conscious.

She knew she could not really blame Lucas for her discomfiture. It was not his fault that she could not behave naturally in his presence, and she admired his coolness in stepping up to the job when clearly he had been drafted in at the last minute to help Mr. and Mrs. MacPherson’s very harassed steward. His service was immaculate, deferential and smooth; although he did not look at her once, Christina felt as though she was on display. It was very uncomfortable.

Eventually the ladies withdrew to leave the gentlemen to their port, and she found herself drawn into conversation with Mrs. MacPherson and her cousin, Lady Bellingham, as they sat together on a wide rose brocade sofa. She had met Lord and Lady Bellingham on their previous visit to Kilmory and liked them a great deal. She the impression that Mrs. MacPherson had deliberately sought her out and made sure that Gertrude could not join them. Her sister-in-law sat glowering at them from a deep armchair across the room.

“I hear that you have been fixed in Kilmory for some considerable time, Lady Christina,” Lady Bellingham said, looking thoughtfully at Christina with her bright brown eyes. “How do you find it? Not too dull, I hope.”

“Oh, there is plenty to keep me busy,” Christina said lightly. It was her standard reply when anyone asked her how she felt. “Papa prefers Kilmory to Forres for his studies.”

“But what about you?” Lady Bellingham persisted gently. “Is there much society for you here? Running the estate is all very well—” She smiled when Christina made a slight gesture of protest. “My dear Lady Christina, everyone knows that you are the one who
really
takes care of the people of Kilmory. You are laird in all but name. It was the first thing I heard when I came here.”

Christina, aware of Gertrude’s deepening frown, blushed. “I merely keep the household running, ma’am....”

“And only that until Angus comes into his inheritance,” Gertrude said, adding with a false sweetness that set Christina’s teeth on edge, “Then dear Christina may take a very hard-earned break from her housekeeping duties.”

“Well,” Lady Bellingham said, a chip of ice entering her voice, “let us not hurry the duke to his demise quite yet!” She smiled at Christina, pointedly excluding Gertrude. “My dear, I should be so delighted if you wished to visit me in Edinburgh sometime. Do say you will! I insist on it.” Then, as Gertrude opened her mouth, presumably to invite herself, too, Lady Bellingham said, “I would invite you, too, Lady Semple, but as the future chatelaine of Kilmory you must be so occupied with family and other commitments that I would not dream of adding to your burdens with another invitation.”

Gertrude’s mouth closed with a snap and she looked chagrined.

Mrs. MacPherson leaned closer to Christina, dropping her voice a little. “I must apologize that we commandeered your footman so shamelessly to serve dinner tonight,” she said. “It was very bad of us but he rose to the occasion with aplomb.”

“Oh, Ross is excellent in every way,” Gertrude said, seizing the opportunity to enter the conversation again. She shot Christina a triumphant glance. “I was the one who recognized his potential. Dear Christina had him laboring in the garden!”

“Actually, it was Papa who appointed Mr. Ross as under gardener,” Christina said stiffly. She felt a prickle of annoyance to hear Gertrude speak so possessively of Lucas.

“When we return to Castle Semple, I am thinking of taking him with me,” Gertrude continued as though Christina had not spoken. “He is wasted at Kilmory. I will offer him promotion and more money.”

“I beg you to do no such thing, Gertrude,” Christina said sharply. “It is already difficult enough to get good servants here, and with Mr. Hemmings so sick the gardens are already neglected. Besides—” she got a grip on herself, realizing that her tone had betrayed perhaps more than a professional interest in Lucas “—Mr. Ross himself might surely have some say in the matter.”

Gertrude looked blank. “Gracious, what a notion! I do not require
opinions
from my servants.”

“Then you will be sadly disappointed in Mr. Ross,” Christina snapped. “He has plenty of opinions and is not slow to share them!”

She was aware of astonishment on the faces of Gertrude and Mrs. MacPherson, and a lively spark of speculation in Lady Bellingham’s eyes. Yes, decidedly, she had betrayed too much.

There was an awkward silence, broken only when Mrs. MacPherson glanced at the clock. “Excuse me. I must go and see about a fresh pot of tea for when the gentlemen join us.”

Lady Bellingham went to talk to Allegra, and as Christina had no desire to be left alone with Gertrude, who would no doubt be harping on about how different everything would be when she was mistress of Kilmory, she, too, excused herself to the ladies’ withdrawing room. She tidied her hair, smoothed her dress and took several deep breaths in an attempt to steady herself.

The house was hot and stuffy, too, perhaps because the MacPhersons were worried that their guests might be cold, even in a Scottish summer. Christina’s head was aching, though, from the heat and the tension. She pulled back the heavy velvet drapes that cloaked the window and with a sigh of relief, drew up the window sash to let in a breath of fresh air.

It was a clear night but a windy one. A gust rattled the branches of a tree against the glass. Glancing out, Christina saw a tall shadow crossing the courtyard. From the way he moved she knew at once that it was Lucas and her heart did a strange little skip. It was odd that she recognized him so quickly, so instinctively, and yet she had no doubts.

A second later the breath caught in her throat as another figure stepped out of the shadows. It was one of the maids, a pert, dark-haired girl who had taken Christina’s cloak on arrival with a respectful dip of the head. She had then almost dropped Christina’s cloak when she had caught sight of Lucas. Christina had noticed it at the time and thought it amusing, but she did not find it quite so entertaining now as the girl put a hand on Lucas’s arm to arrest his progress, stood on tiptoe and their shadows merged.

A pain wedged like a knife between Christina’s ribs. It was fiercer than she could have imagined. She had not realized until now quite how much she had liked Lucas.

Fool.

So now she was jealous of a housemaid for kissing a handsome footman, which was what housemaids had done since time immemorial. And of course Lucas would kiss her back. He was young and good-looking and the housemaid was extremely pretty. Christina felt hot and envious and mortified to be feeling anything at all.

She pressed her burning forehead to the cold pane of the glass. What a stupid little fool she had been to conceive such a
tendre
for Lucas Ross and to imagine for a moment that he might admire her, as well. He had only been playing with her. He was probably laughing at her. No doubt it was a game he had played many times before and she, the sad, elderly spinster aunt had allowed it, indulged him, even though she knew she should not, because it had flattered her and excited her and made life so much more vibrant and bright.

She let the curtain fall back into place. Automatically she tidied her hair and smoothed her gown for a second time, taking comfort from the repeated movements, the habit of tidying herself and presenting a calm facade to the world. The mirror reflected a wan face, though, and she sighed to see it. Gertrude would be sure to notice and tell her she looked sallow.

As she came out into the passageway, Lucas was coming through the green baize door leading from the servants’ quarters carrying a tray with a silver teapot. When he saw her he smiled, and she could not help herself—her heart gave its customary little tumble of excitement and pleasure.

Fool.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

W
HEN
THE
KNOCK
came at the door of his cottage the following evening, Lucas was in no mood for company. It had been a long, hard, hot day and he had spent it hauling stone for the grotto and digging out the rest of the watercourse. He ached in muscles he could swear he did not possess and all he wanted was a hot bath and to sleep. The former was impossible—his cottage possessed nothing more luxurious than a stone trough fed with cold water from the pump outside—and the latter was unlikely since his mattress was old and lumpy and the blankets coarse.

The door had opened without his invitation. A woman stood there, cloaked, her hood up. For a moment Lucas’s heart leaped at the thought it might be Christina. He had not seen her since the previous night. She had thanked him politely for his services when they had returned to Kilmory Castle, but he had sensed a chill in her, a sense of withdrawal that he was at a loss to explain. He was not sure why he needed to explain it, why it disturbed him, but it did.

The figure stepped into the room and Lucas’s heart steadied. This woman was too short and too slight to be Christina. Besides, Christina would not visit him here. She was far too proper.

“I brought you food.” Alice Parmenter was placing a cloth-covered wicker basket on the wooden table. “You missed supper.”

Lucas gave a grunt of acknowledgment. He tried hard to ensure that he took his meals in the servants’ hall since his fellow servants were an indispensable source of information but on this occasion he was bone weary.

Alice had come into the cottage now and was looking around her with a critical eye. Lucas supposed that his housekeeping was not up to her high standards. He spent very little time inside. “Why do men never take care of themselves?” Alice bustled over to the chair, straightening the cushions, peering inquisitively through the darkened doorway into his bedroom beyond.

Lucas shrugged. “Because there’s no need.” He swung his booted feet down off the table and reached for the basket. There was cheese and bread rolls and a meat pie. His mouth watered.

“Thank you,” he said indistinctly, through a mouthful of Scottish cheddar.

She laughed and walked back toward him. “There are other ways in which to thank me, Mr. Ross,” she said.

Their eyes met. Lucas felt his stomach churn. There was such avid heat in her gaze as it slid over him, so different from Christina MacMorlan’s cool sweetness.

“You flatter me,” he said.

“I don’t think so.” She was coming toward him, sliding the cloak from her shoulders as she did so. He could feel the heat of her body now, feral and eager. This was awkward; he could not afford to alienate her. She could make life at Kilmory very difficult for him.

“I don’t want to trespass,” he said.

Alice’s gaze widened on him. “You know about me and the duke?” she said. He saw a second’s calculation touch her eyes. “I can manage him. He need not hear about us. I’d like someone younger and more energetic.”

Looking at Alice now, with the top buttons of her practical housekeeper’s gown undone and a predatory gleam in her eyes, Lucas wondered what on earth the scholarly Duke of Forres wanted with her. But perhaps the answer to that was all too clear. The duke was a man like any other, and his wife had been dead a very long time. This, then, was the reason why the duke preferred Kilmory to his other estates. Alice was here; it made his philandering easier.

Alice was almost on top of him now. In a moment she would be sitting in his lap.

“I’m sorry,” Lucas said. He stood up.

She stopped, her eyes narrowing. “You prefer men?”

“No,” Lucas said. He smiled in spite of himself. It was a confident woman who thought that. He liked her for that confidence, even if he did not want to take advantage of it.

She saw the smile and misinterpreted it. Her eyes narrowed still further, then she laughed. “You’re playing for higher stakes! I knew it!” A broad, appreciative smile crossed her face. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

She put her hands on her hips, looking at him thoughtfully. It felt as though, suddenly, her attitude had shifted. They were coconspirators now whether Lucas wanted that or not.

She circled behind him. Her demeanor felt like that of a horse trader approving the stock. Lucas was not sure whether to be amused or disgusted.

“With a face and body like yours,” she murmured, “why not aim high?” Her polite vowels had slipped a little with excitement. Perhaps she saw no need to feign gentility with him now. “Do you think you can pull it off?”

“I’m not sure,” Lucas said truthfully. He wondered who she imagined his target to be. Allegra? It would be the most obvious choice. Christina? His heart bumped his ribs at the thought. He did not want Alice turning her spite on Christina.

“You’re an adventurer, just like me.” Alice sat down on the chair beside his, leaning her elbows on the table, watching him as he resumed his seat and reached for the bottle of ale she had brought. “Well, why shouldn’t we be? I’ve worked damn hard on my back for any advantage I can get. If I can become Duchess of Forres...” She stopped, gave a short laugh. “Well, I can try.”

Lucas raised his brows. She was ambitious indeed. “How is that going?” he asked.

She gave him a dark, disillusioned look. “Badly. The old fool is quite happy to bed me when he can get it up and he flatters me about how much he needs me, about how Kilmory needs me, but marriage—” She gave a derisive snort. “Well, he’s a duke. Thinks he’s above me. I’m not finished yet, though.”

“I’m sure you’re not,” Lucas said. He wondered what the Marquess and Marchioness of Semple would do if they learned of Alice’s ambitions. His lips twitched to think of Gertrude’s reaction.

Alice’s eyes were sharp as she watched him. “Help me and I’ll help you,” she said. “It’s a pity the riding officer got in before you with Lady Allegra. That little miss was ripe for the plucking. Full of airs and graces, but as hot for sex as any scullery maid. But Lady Christina—” She gave a short laugh. “Well, you might be lucky there. She’s gone so long without she’s likely desperate. And she’s an heiress, of course. But you’ll have realized that.”

“I have,” Lucas said. He felt repulsed at the way Alice spoke so insultingly of Christina. Christina was too warm, kind and generous to be disparaged like that.

He schooled himself not to show his disgust. Even though every instinct prompted him to move away from Alice, he forced himself to sit still and finish the bread and cheese. He even nodded his appreciation.

“Thank you,” he said. “That was good.”

Alice smiled, putting a hand over his as he repacked the basket. Lucas made a conscious effort not to recoil from her touch. “I’m good for something, then,” she said, “even if it is only food rather than sex.”

“Do I interrupt?” Christina’s voice from the doorway made Lucas jump. He had had no idea anyone was there, least of all that the door was not properly latched. He leaped to his feet and saw Alice Parmenter hide a smile. She thought he was laying the respect on thick because that was what servants did. They hid their contempt and resentment behind a mask of deference.

Christina took a couple of steps into the room. Her gaze, ice-cool as a mountain spring, took in Alice Parmenter and the little sly smile on her face. Lucas cursed under his breath and took several steps away. But it was too late. Christina had definitely seen Alice touching him. Possibly she had even heard some of their conversation. Her expression was cold.

Alice stood, too, resuming her businesslike air. There was a gleam of malice in her eyes, although her tone was respectful. “My lady. Mr. Ross was working so hard on the grotto that he missed supper.”

“How thoughtful of you to provide some,” Christina said. Her tone was bland. “Thank you, Mrs. Parmenter.”

Dismissed, the housekeeper could do nothing other than take the basket, pick up her cloak and slip past Christina through the door and out into the night. In the silence that followed, Lucas waited. Christina did not come any farther into the room and she left the door open.

Her gaze scanned the room, very much as Alice Parmenter’s had done before, then came back to his face. “There is nothing of your own here,” she said. She sounded puzzled. Her eyes were a wide and candid blue. “Did you not want to make it into a home?”

“No,” Lucas said. He felt a pang of some emotion he did not recognize. “I don’t have many possessions,” he said. “I travel light.”

“But there is no warmth,” Christina said. She sounded upset now. “There is nothing to make the place comfortable.”

“I think it is very comfortable,” Lucas said. He gestured to the bright rag rug on the floor. “Someone went to a lot of trouble to furnish it well.” He took a guess. “You, I suspect, Lady Christina.”

Her eyes met his and she shrugged a little awkwardly.

“It was nothing,” she said. “I wanted... I try to ensure that our servants are happy here.” After a moment she added, “I have been taking Mr. Hemmings some more medicines. Unfortunately his gout has come back so badly that he has asked to go home to be cared for by his niece. He leaves tomorrow.”

Her tone was remote again, mistress to servant, placing him at the appropriate distance. “Mr. Grant will take the role of head gardener for the time being.” She looked at him. “I hope you understand.”

“Of course,” Lucas said. “I have been here barely a month. I would not expect a promotion.”

“I realize that we take advantage of you,” Christina said. She blushed. “Of your energy and stamina, Mr. Ross...” She blushed harder and Lucas tried not to laugh. “What I am trying to say is that I know Mr. Grant is older and frailer than Mr. Hemmings and so will not be a great deal of practical use, but he would be offended to be overlooked.” Her gaze pleaded with him.

“It’s all right,” Lucas said. “I understand.”

He saw the tension leave her. “Thank you,” she said simply. “I will arrange for some additional labor from the village, but these men are not gardeners. They do not know a jasmine from a rosebush.” She shrugged. “I think we will have to resign ourselves to a level of neglect without Mr. Hemmings’s guiding hand. Soon the estate will resemble precisely the sort of Gothic wilderness my father wishes to create. He should be pleased.”

Lucas bit back a smile at her wry tone. “I will do my best to keep up to the work,” he said. “And I am learning the difference between a rose and a jasmine. In fact, I wondered—” He took a breath. “Might I borrow some books on gardening from the castle library so that I can do some research?”

Christina looked startled. “More books?”

“I quite enjoy reading,” Lucas said drily.

She blushed. “Of course. I did not mean to imply—” She stopped. “Of course,” she said again. “You already have permission to use the library.”

Lucas nodded. “Thank you.”

She was ill at ease, fidgeting with the braiding on the sleeve of her coat.

“Was there something else, Lady Christina?” Lucas said.

She met his gaze, hers half apologetic, half defiant.

“It seems I need to warn you that relationships between the staff are not tolerated, Mr. Ross,” she said. “It is not appropriate for you to...become involved...with Mrs. Parmenter.”

It was not what Lucas was expecting. He felt a pang of shock and right behind it a swift, fierce pang of anger. He fought it down. It was irrational to be angry with her for believing that he was romantically involved with Alice. What she had seen was suggestive. But that made no difference to how he felt.

“You have no need to tell me that,” he said tightly.

Christina sighed. “No? You certainly seem to be profligate with your affections, Mr. Ross.”

For a moment Lucas had no idea what she was talking about, and then he remembered the previous night at the manse. Christina must have seen the MacPhersons’ housemaid ambush him in the courtyard. It would explain her coldness to him later and her predisposition now to think he was the sort of Lothario who habitually made a pass at any woman who crossed his path. He cursed. The MacPhersons’ housemaid was a flirt, and her brazen advances had surprised him but he had disentangled himself quickly enough. He had no interest in her and no time for dalliance.

Something of his feelings must have shown in his face because Christina’s expression had changed. She did not look angry; she looked sad. Lucas realized with a shift of the heart that she had read his silence as an admission of guilt and she had not wanted to be proved right.

“I don’t know what you saw last night,” he said carefully, “but there was nothing in it.”

“If you say so.” Christina lifted a shoulder in so perfectly executed a gesture of aristocratic disdain that Lucas felt his temper soar still higher. “I am giving you a formal warning, however, that any sort of amorous relationship will not be tolerated whilst you are at Kilmory.” She turned away from him. “Good night, Mr. Ross.”

Lucas reached past her and pushed the door closed with the flat of his hand. Christina spun around to face him, shock flaring in her eyes.

“Are you jealous?” Lucas said softly.

Color flooded her face. “Of course not!” Her tone was icy. “I have no desire to be another notch on your bedpost, Mr. Ross. Now stand aside!”

Lucas did not move. “How contrary you are,” he said, “that you cannot see that the only woman I want is you. I think about you all the time. I dream about you. I have done since that very first night.”

Her lips parted on a gasp. The shock in her eyes deepened, shadowed with doubt and a sudden vulnerability. It was so unusual to see her defenses falter. Normally she was so composed, so utterly in control, but now he could see straight through that self-possession to the woman beneath.

In that moment Lucas forgot his reasons for being at Kilmory. He forgot everything in a rush of emotion so fierce he simply reached out and pulled her to him and kissed her. And when she was in his arms it felt as right as it had done the very first night.

* * *

C
HRISTINA
HAD
WANTED
to kiss Lucas Ross again. She had dreamed of it, longed for it. The reality, so hot, so sweet and so powerful, exceeded both her memories and her dreams. His tongue slid between her lips and his arms went around her to anchor her close. The room spun. She could feel the heat and the hardness of his body, one hand spread in the small of her back, holding her against him. She touched her tongue to his, her senses overwhelmed by the intensity.