In the Heart of the Highlander (19 page)

But Alec looked at the sparkle in her huge hazel eyes behind the goggle lenses and said, “We’ll see.” He hoped he could distract her in bed so she wouldn’t think of anything with wheels for a week.

Chapter

24

T
his was thrilling! Rather like flying except from the comfort of a plump leather seat and no arm flapping required. Mary kept her hat still on the floor beneath the tip of her parasol, and lifted her face to the sun, freckles be damned. The profusion of late spring leaves shaded the road sufficiently so she wasn’t afraid of sunburn.

The scent of fir trees and petrol exhaust made for an odd aphrodisiac, but Mary could not have been more aware of Alec Raeburn’s physical presence. His hair blew backward in the wind, revealing his splendid profile, chiseled chin and formidable nose. He handled all the controls and levers with familiar aplomb, his feet dancing on the pedals on the floor.

The road they were on was not really designed for automobile travel—in fact, it was not much better than a shepherd’s path—but Alec cruised effortlessly, avoiding bumps when he could and giving her a solicitous look when he couldn’t. Conversation was more or less impossible over the noise, and that was fine. She’d have a day or two to talk to Alec Raeburn until her tongue was tired.

What else would she do with her tongue? The thought of his kisses warmed her cheeks and other regions she was not supposed to think about.

After a blissful interval, they broke through the hedgerows. A snaking stone wall lined the road, leading to a charming gatehouse with miniature conical turrets. No one came out to greet them. Alec rolled the car to a stop, leaped from the vehicle, and pushed the wrought iron gates open.

“No more gatekeeper, I’m afraid.” He shrugged. “Another defector. All the country mice think there are more opportunities in the city. And some of the boys went to war and didn’t come back.”

“I cannot imagine leaving such a place, for any reason,” Mary said. Not even duty to King and country would pry her from these hills if she lived here. She could see Raeburn Court down the straight shot of the long driveway, a monumental Scots Baronial pile smaller but grander even than the Forsyth Palace Hotel. The grass on either side of the drive was a hayfield. He needed a flock of sheep to set it to rights if he couldn’t hire some mowers.

“One gets bored, I do assure you. And you have not seen a Scottish winter.” He tinkered with the car and they headed for the stone courtyard ahead. A large fountain, completely dry, stood in the middle of the cobbles. Alec pulled the car in front of the steps and cut the engine.

No one came out to greet them here, either. Mary picked up her slightly crumpled hat and waited for Alec to come around to her side of the car.

He waved a hand toward the empty entrance. “You can see why I need your aunt’s services. Who knows how long we’d have to stand out here before someone came to the door? Money is not the issue—I’ve pots of it, more than I’ll ever need.”

Mary knew his financial circumstances. She always investigated her clients thoroughly. She took his hand and stepped out of the automobile. “The house was fully staffed when your wife lived here?”

Alec studied his feet. “Edith was not the easiest of mistresses, and we are rather isolated up here. It’s always been difficult to run Raeburn Court, even in my mother’s day—she had very exacting standards. Problems with the staff began back then and haven’t improved much. After Edith passed away, they got much worse.”

“I shall write to Aunt Mim at once. There are many anxious, hardworking applicants in our—I mean, in her files. A bit of snow and some silly rumors should not affect their enthusiasm for a good-paying job in a fine country home.”

Alec raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I wish I could believe you. I’ll get you settled and you can write to your heart’s content. I’m going to ride down to Pitcarran and speak to the magistrate about Bauer. Get the local constables on their toes.”

He had mentioned it before, but Mary had hoped he wouldn’t leave her alone just yet. “On a Sunday?”

“There’s no time to waste. Who knows what the man has in mind next? And we may discover that he’s already on a train to Edinburgh, which would be a vast relief. I’ll give you the grand tour of the house when I get back. But don’t get too comfortable. Mac thinks it best if we decamp to the gatehouse.”

“The building we passed on the way in?”

“No, the one on my northern boundary, through the home wood. It’s more private, and we’ll be out of the workmen’s mess. The building looks just the same, though. My ancestors were keen on symmetry.”

The gatehouse Mary had seen was like a child’s castle. Staying in a place like that with Alec would be much cozier than in this stone fortress. They entered a hushed medieval-inspired hallway, replete with dusty suits of armor and weaponry on every wall. The massive fireplace was full of ashes. She heard the steady thud of a hammer down the hall. Goodness, the men were working on a
Sunday.
Alec must pay very well indeed.

He led her up the broad oak staircase to an enormous well-used library, leaded stained glass windows casting colorful patterns across the faded carpets. There were more books than Mary had ever seen in one place, and cracked leather sofas and chairs on which to read them.

“This is my territory, and my father’s before me. I wouldn’t let Edith disturb this room or the entry hall—somehow that seemed sacrilegious to the Raeburn clan. You can use my desk to write your letter, and wander about as you see fit. There is a modern washroom just next door.”

He seemed proud of this homely space, and so he should be. It was an entirely masculine room, with scattered ancient Turkish carpets on parquet floors and enough hunting prints on the walls to choke a horse. Mary felt quite dwarfed beneath the high timbered ceiling.

“I’ll let whoever I can find know that you’re here so they can bring up a luncheon tray,” Alec continued. “Fair warning, though, it might not be much. Mac is passable in the kitchen, but he’s volunteered to get the gatehouse ready for us, and I believe your brother—that is, Oliver—might be roped in to help him. I will find someone to station outside the library door so you won’t be all alone.”

Mary examined an ancient globe in its circular stand. The room was filled with treasures, and she had to admit to herself she was not averse to doing a little snooping. “Surely that won’t be necessary. We don’t expect Bauer to jump out from behind a curtain, do we?”

“He’d be sneezing his head off from the dust if he tried,” Alec said. “But I’d rather have you safe until I get back. One of the workmen might like a break. They had the day off yesterday for a wedding, and agreed to come today.” He put his hands on her shoulders and stared down into her face.

Goodness, she must look a fright, with her scarf knotted under her chin and road dirt on her face. Alec had a smudge himself on one cheek. She lifted a gloved hand to smooth it away and he bent to kiss her palm. She could feel the heat of his mouth through the thin kidskin.

“I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you,” he said, his voice barely audible.

“N-nothing’s going to happen to me.” Except for one thing. Mary was afraid she was pitching headlong into the abyss of love and had no idea how she’d ever be able to climb out.

There was supposed to be a no-nonsense business arrangement between them. She would have her curiosity satisfied, and go about her future a little wiser. Her long-held innocence had become an inconvenience. But standing so close to Alec, it was hard to remember that they barely knew each other, had nothing in common, and soon would go back to their lives as if nothing had happened.

She was close enough to count his eyelashes if she tried. He’d shaved this morning, but inexpertly, and she could count his bristles, too. But instead of counting, she closed her eyes in artless invitation, and felt him come even nearer. His warm lips touched hers.

Kiss
. The word was a sigh itself, starting with strength and trailing off to soft abandon. His fingertips pressed into her shoulders as his mouth pressed into hers, and Mary stretched up on her toes. Alec maneuvered her to the arm of a sofa, which she slid over and he soon followed. It all would have been so much more orderly if they started the kiss from scratch, but Mary didn’t mind the tangle of limbs and clothes as long as Alec kept doing whatever it was he was doing. She was in his lap now, firmly in his arms, his tongue toying with hers, his teeth nibbling.

Mary had never given much thought to kisses before. She’d endured the sloppy wet ones from her little nephews and would only confess under penalty of death that the girls had practiced with each other in the dark dormitory at Miss Ambrose’s Academy for Young Ladies. Alec was certainly superior to any of those people.

And then there was the comfort of being held against his large body. She felt sheltered. Protected. Treasured.

Mary wished she could kiss him forever. But they both had things to do. And very soon, there would be other expressions of affection that would involve more risk and fewer clothes.

But just a few more seconds of languor alternating with electricity. Mary was on an amusement ride with no rules. For a woman who valued organization, she was sadly disorganized and almost completely at the mercy of Lord Alec Raeburn.

True, this had all been her idea to start. But Alec seemed suitably enthusiastic. The rigidity of his lap was proof of that. How odd it must be to be a male. One’s body served as a visual barometer of arousal, while a woman kept her secretions a secret. Except for—oh!—a peaked nipple that brought itself to attention and received the benefits of Alec’s nimble fingers. Mary’s head tipped back and Alec delved deeper. Her scalp tingled as a wave of heat crept over her body. She must be as red as the shredded curtains hanging at the mullioned windows.

It was time to push away, much as she didn’t want to. She didn’t want to lose her virginity on an old leather sofa in the middle of the day. His chest was broad and hard, and it cost her to rap a fist against it.

He pulled back, shaking his dark head to clear it. “Too much, or not enough?”

“Both,” said Mary, noting the dangerous glitter in his eyes. “You have to go see the magistrate, and I have to write my letter.”

He cupped her cheek, his thumb idling over the corner of her mouth. “I find I don’t want to go anywhere at present.”

“And I don’t want you to, in all honesty,” Mary replied. “But it’s not Monday.”

“Monday? What the devil does Monday have to do with it?”

She could feel her face growing hotter. “We agreed to Monday. T-to do the thing on Monday.”

“‘The thing’?” Alec’s face split into a smile. “My dear Miss Arden, I am an impatient man. I feel we haven’t a minute to lose, and I certainly am
not
going to wait until Monday to do ‘the thing,’ as you so inadequately put it, and make you mine.”

Mary would never be his, not in any sense it counted. Their worlds were too disparate, their philosophies at odds. Gracious, he didn’t even know her full name.

“We can talk about it later when you come back,” she said, sliding off his lap. The leather crackled beneath her bottom, adding another aspect to her embarrassment.

“Talk, eh? Vastly overrated. But,” he said, suddenly looking serious, “if that’s all you can bear after last night’s debacle, talk it will be.”

Mary had almost forgotten Bauer and his attack. He was in one of the neatly organized file drawers of her mind, safely locked away. She would
not
allow him to pop out with his beardless pink face and come between her and Alec. The man could not be allowed to spoil her one chance.

“Thanks for understanding.” The disappointment on Alec’s face was gratifying. It wasn’t because of Bauer she wished to delay their intimacy until Monday. She wanted things to be perfect. For one thing she did not want to have a scarf strangling her neck and such butterflies in her stomach. She’d be better prepared Monday night—in one of her new negligees, clean hair rippling down her back, her body perfumed.

“I’ll leave you, then. Someone will be up here before too long.”

“There’s no hurry,” Mary said. She wanted to use the washroom to get soothed and smoothed out.

Alec stood up and walked to the open door. Anyone might have seen their embrace. They’d have to be more careful. But if they were to be sequestered in the gatehouse, there would be more freedom for both of them.

Free to explore. Free to make the best kind of mistake.

Chapter

25

M
ary decided the letter could wait. She was much too curious about Alec’s home to sit docilely in the library. She wouldn’t interrupt the workmen downstairs, whose efforts made enough noise to wake the dead. Before anyone could be summoned to come upstairs and stop her, she opened doors along the long corridor. Most of the rooms were swathed in Holland covers, drapes drawn. There were a good many bedrooms, but none looked occupied. Perhaps Alec bedded down on the crackling couch in his library when he was home.

She climbed a curved staircase, holding on to the rope railing. Raeburn Court felt very much like a castle, and she could easily imagine a swordfight up and down the broad steps. She could play Rapunzel once she got all the way up. Survey Alec’s domain and see if she could catch a glimpse of the Forsyth Palace Hotel across the wooded valley.

Somewhat out of breath, she encountered a locked door at the top of the stairs. Locked doors were not particularly a problem. Mary had once been given a professional courtesy lesson from a private inquiry agent she’d hired to help her with a certain difficult client. Sometimes she couldn’t do everything herself, though not often.

Mary pulled a hairpin from her hair and got to work. There was a welcome click and she turned the knob.

And then stood stock-still, trying to get her bearings. She was in Lady Edith Raeburn’s tower bedroom. The scene of the possible crime. Edith still reigned, in a portrait that was larger than life. Mary had the uncomfortable feeling that the baroness’s cold eyes stared straight at her, and tried to shake off the chill.

Mary didn’t believe in ghosts or curses. In her experience, there was always a practical explanation for odd events. Alec’s remaining staff may have fallen under some superstitious Scottish spell, but Mary was sure Edith Raeburn was not walking at midnight or howling like a banshee. In a dwelling this old, noises were to be expected. Mortar crumbled; stones became loose and fell. Wind whistled through loose panes of glass. And unlimited access to Raeburn’s Special Reserve could not help but induce hallucinations for those with overactive imaginations.

The gilt furniture in Edith’s room was so dazzling Mary wanted to reach for her old gray spectacles to dim the glamor. It was a place fit for a fairy princess, quite at odds with the rough stonework and timbered splendor of the Raeburn Court below. The downstairs rooms were being restored to their masculine origins, but this space was an exclusively feminine room, somehow frigid in its pretty perfection. Pastel floral tapestries covered most of the walls. The bed hangings were picked with metallic thread, too sheer to ward off the chill of a Scottish winter. Not one chair looked strong enough to support a normal human being, never mind a man of Alec’s size.

Mary looked up at the massive painting between the two curved window seats. Its subject would have seen it first thing when rising from her bed. Edith Raeburn’s hair had been the color of champagne, her eyes more silver than blue, her skin translucent save for the faintest flush of pink the artist had brushed onto her cheeks. The image of a fictional snow queen came to mind, painted as she was in white furs, a little white dog at her feet. Quite a lot to live up to with sandmen still in one’s eyes and one’s hair every which way from sleep. But perhaps Edith’s hair didn’t tangle like Mary’s.

Mary could see why Alec—why any man—would have been enthralled by her ethereal looks. There was something otherworldly about Edith, something frail and fey.

Mary tried to feel sympathy for her, but failed. She was a jealous cow. Edith posed no threat to her—the poor girl was dead and had made Alec’s life a misery. But anyone might feel unequal to her beauty, even if one were not a short, plump, middle-aged, middle-class person with no fortune or fame.

Edith had been the daughter of a viscount. Mary was the daughter of a grocer. Whatever social graces she’d picked up since her schooldays had been self-taught. Alec might haunt the Gaiety Theatre green room for fun, but for the serious business of choosing a life companion, he would want someone with a background similar to his own. And he
would
marry again—it would be criminal not to. He was a handsome, hot-blooded man, too potent to let his birthright pass to his brothers.

Oh Lord. Mary should not be here, snooping and feeling sorry for herself. Alec would certainly never ask her to marry him, and she would certainly not accept a proposal if he did. She had the business to run. Her aunt was not well, no matter how energetic she felt at the moment, and past retirement age besides. The Evensong Agency was too important to too many people to give it up.

Mary stuck her tongue out at the painted Edith and felt no better. She walked to the circular window seat and looked out through the leaded glass. Ben-y-Vrackie was wreathed in clouds in the distance. Closer to home, Alec’s sheep were scattered on the hills below. Mary could just catch a glimpse of the turrets of the Forsyth Palace Hotel over the trees. How strange it must have been for the Raeburns to watch the interloper rise across the way.

She made a deliberate decision not to look down on the stone courtyard where Lady Edith Raeburn met her end. Mary had never been afraid of heights, but then she’d never been up so high before. She would not try to imagine the state of Edith’s mind before she climbed up on the satin cushions and opened the window.

It seemed pretty clear that Edith had not accidentally stepped out her window into the void. Somehow Mary couldn’t see a disgruntled servant pushing her, no matter how demanding she’d been. Alec would have moved heaven and earth to discover the culprit who was responsible.

And he had settled on Bauer.

To Mary’s way of thinking, suicide was the most selfish of acts. Alec was still tortured by his wife’s death, even though he hadn’t loved her at the end. He would forever question what he could have done to prevent her from taking her life. By choosing to end it in such a rebuke to him, Edith had made sure he’d never love anyone else again. How could he ever trust a woman with his heart when he’d been so definitively rejected?

Why had she done it? Out of unrequited love for that blighter Bauer? It was hard to imagine.

Mary felt a shiver that owed nothing to the cold stone walls around her. She felt a bit like Pandora—she’d opened the damned box and now was inundated with unpleasant thoughts and images. Mary would have been better off sticking to the library and writing her letter.

“You win,” she whispered to Edith, and closed the door behind her. Before she could take one step, there was a scrabbling sound and furious growling on the stairs below. Someone had discovered her trespass. Not a banshee or a ghostie, but a dirty ball of fluff rounded the staircase and hurled itself at her. The vicious little beast tore at her skirt when it didn’t yap, and Mary backed against Edith’s door.

“Good doggie,” she said faintly. A lie to be sure, but it had an effect. Its button eyes blinked, then the animal continued to chew on the hem of her skirt with unbridled relish.

“Down.”

The dog sat on the step but continued its assault.

“No! No biting or chewing!” What was Gaelic for
stop
? Mary gave a tug and a strip of lace was left in the little dog’s mouth.

“Damn it. I guess I’m getting what I deserve. Protecting your mistress’s quarters, are you?” This was the dog in the painting, no longer looking like the snow queen’s pampered consort. “You’re not very white now, are you, little fellow?” Mary cooed to the creature, hoping it would be satisfied with her skirt trim and not decide to remove her fingers. She bent to scratch between its lopsided ears. The dog gave a muffled bark through the fabric.

“All right now, we’ll just go downstairs, shall we? Nice and slow. See? I’m harmless.” Mary hung on to the rope railing and took a tentative step around the dog. After a second, he bounded down the stairs in front of her, then doubled back, herding her all the way back to the library.

Oliver was there. He leaped up from a chair, looking guilty. “There you are! I’ve been searching all over for you!”

“Not very hard, or you would have found me,” Mary retorted. “What’s that you’ve got in your hand?”

“N-nothing. Just an old book. Raeburn said I was to keep an eye on you until he returns from Pitcarran. Someone’s bringing us up a lunch tray.”

The dog growled but kept its distance. “Sit.” Both the dog and Oliver obeyed. “Oliver Palmer. You are the most awful liar. What have you been doing?”

“It takes one to know one, doesn’t it? You’ve been pulling the wool over everyone’s eyes for four years!” Oliver objected.

“Never mind about me. Confess. I hear it’s good for the soul.”

“I didn’t do anything you wouldn’t have done, had you the chance, Mary, and that’s a fact. You’re a veritable terrier when it comes to digging for information. Like that wretched thing at your feet.” The grimy little dog cocked its head but didn’t bark. “Raeburn said you were going to write a letter, and all I did was try to get things ready for you. Paper, pen, ink, just the way you like things lined up on your desk at the office.”

“Very enterprising of you. And?”

Oliver looked at the slim volume in his hand. “And I found this. In a drawer.”

Mary felt the blood drain from her face. “You went through Lord Raeburn’s private things?” Alec would have every right to boot them both out.

“Not everything. I stopped when I found this.” Oliver leaned forward and passed her the hand-tooled leather diary.

Alec had mentioned a diary the first day she had met him. Edith had kept one, and that’s how Alec discovered her infidelity.

“Put it back!” she snapped.

“But, Mary, don’t you want to read it first?”

Of course she did, but not with Oliver perched like a vulture on the chair. The dog, too. He—for it was a male, now that she had seen him roll on the carpet in ecstasy with the strip of lace in his mouth—gave her a look of disgust and snorted, dropping the material in a wet ball.

“It is completely inappropriate,” Mary said stiffly.

“But didn’t you swipe that viscount’s diary to help his wife get a legal separation?” Oliver asked.

“That was an entirely different matter. Lady Cary had every right to defend herself against such a vile abuser.” Some might have called what Mary did blackmail, but Lady Cary was now happy in the Cary mansion in Mayfair while her husband tried his luck on an Australian cattle ranch. If there was a merciful God, the man would be gored by one of his prize bulls.

“All right. I’ll put it back,” Oliver said, looking abashed. “It’s in the bottom left-hand drawer if you change your mind.”

“I thought you were going to the gatehouse.”

“Mac—that is to say Mackenzie—drafted one of the young grooms to help him. I told him I didn’t mind doing a bit of cleaning—my brothers always stuck me with their chores. But he didn’t want me to ‘lower’ myself, as he put it.” Oliver’s family had servants, of course, but his martinet father did not believe in coddling any of his sons. He had risen up by his own bootstraps, and his sons would, too.

“Is he nice?”

“Who?”

“Don’t be coy, Oliver. Mac. The valet.”

Oliver slammed the drawer shut. “Are you going to forbid me from his friendship? He’s not exactly a client, Mary.”

She sighed. Poor Oliver’s life was a complicated affair. “Of course not. Just be careful. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

“Mac couldn’t hurt a fly. He’s a quarter of the size of his master.”

“I’m not talking about how big or strong he is, Oliver, and you know it.”

“Well, you be careful, too. I’ve seen the way Lord Raeburn looks at you, like he could eat you up without a spoon.”

Really?
Mary felt absurdly pleased. “He just feels guilty for subjecting me to Bauer and wants to give me a little holiday.”

“I think it’s more than that. And why would he put you up in that gatehouse? If he’s so worried about the bad doctor coming after you, he should send you back to London.”

There was a certain logic in Oliver’s thinking. “We’re here on business, too, remember. I’ll depend upon you to get the lay of the land here. As a matter of fact, this will be your first big project for the Evensong Agency. Lord Raeburn needs new servants to run a place this size. Determine how many.
You
can write the letter to Aunt Mim. Then when we get back, you can do most of the interviewing.”

Oliver lit up. “I say, Mary, that’s capital! But what are
you
going to do while you’re here?”

He really didn’t need to know the truth now, did he? “Rest. Walk. The usual country pursuits. If Lord Raeburn agrees, I want to learn how to drive.”

Oliver whistled, startling the dog to attention. “Clear the decks.”

“You’re getting your transportation metaphors mixed. Why shouldn’t I learn how to drive?” asked Mary, irritated.

“Well, for one thing, it’s a rich man’s hobby.”

“It won’t remain a hobby for long. Automobiles are the future.” They’d better be. She’d invested most of her hard-earned money in the Pegasus Motor Company.

“You don’t have the full rig, driving hat and all that rot.”