In the Heart of the Highlander (22 page)

Chapter

29

A
lec left Mary in the bath, dressed quickly, and went downstairs to the library. He was not going to dwell upon what had just happened, and what he hoped would happen again. And again.

And maybe again before he put her on the train Tuesday morning.

Or Wednesday.

He should be angry at Mary Evensong. Furious. She and her aunt had tricked him—hell, they’d tricked the entire ton for four years. Imagine, sending a little slip of a girl into the lion’s den like the Burleigh house with an
unloaded
gun, washing society’s dirty laundry as well as matching mistress with maid and bride with groom. The Evensong Agency did it all, and did it well.

And sweet blushing Mary had been at the heart of it all.

Well, perhaps she wasn’t so sweet. Alec had felt the laceration of her tart tongue. But not, he reflected, quite where he wanted it now.

He threw himself on one of the cracked leather sofas and stared out the window. Ben-y-Vrackie stared back, blue and gloomy in the late afternoon sunshine. The house was quiet, his hired workmen no longer breaking the Sabbath rules. He was beginning to get hungry, but whatever edible items were in the larder had now been transferred to the gatehouse.

He was anxious and unsettled. He should feel relaxed. Triumphant. Bedding Mary had been a revelation. She had been so responsive that he’d almost forgotten to withdraw. He’d wanted to cover her with his body and crest together, as if they shared a common purpose. But that was ridiculous. He hadn’t even known her true name until an hour ago.

Perhaps a drink would settle his nerves. He was about to rise when Evan strode into the room, his auburn hair a mass of dark wet curls. In fact, everything about him was damp, and rather ripe-smelling if Alec would be rude enough to mention it.

“Been swimming?” Alec asked.

“I have been feathering your love nest, you great daft idiot. Your man Mac waylaid me and ruined my Sunday. I must have moved every stick of furniture in the gatehouse and crawled on my belly like a reptile. There were desiccated rat carcasses everywhere. If I were ten again and she were still alive, we could have fun putting them in Miss McCorkle’s bed.”

Miss McCorkle had been one of their unfortunate governesses. She had been ancient, and the three lively Raeburn boys had not been easy charges. The boys hadn’t killed her outright, but she’d retired from their household and died shortly afterward. Alec hoped the woman had forgiven them from wherever she was. As he recalled, she was Attila with a ruler, but she should have used a yardstick.

Evan headed for the drinks table without invitation and poured them both a staggering amount of Raeburn’s Special Reserve. “So who is this woman you’re so anxious to hide out with?”

“A . . . friend. Is everything ready? All the rats taken care of?”

Evan snorted. “I doona know why you need to bury yourself in that dusty little hole when you have all the Court to cavort in. We can take care of this Bauer fellow if he drops by.”

“You’ll be occupied at the distillery, and I don’t expect you to stand as watchdog. You have your own house to sleep in. I’ll just feel better if no one knows where Mary and I are. The man tried to rape her and set me on fire.”

Evan gave a low whistle, waking Edith’s dog, who had been sleeping on the other end of the sofa. Alec would probably pick up fleas from the mangy little beast. He twisted his face from eager little kisses and set the animal on the floor. Beowulf promptly jumped back on the sofa, curled himself back into a ball, and sighed.

“I knew that hotel would ruin the neighborhood. What can I do?”

Alec knew exactly what his brother might do for him, which meant he could spend the morning lingering in bed with Mary. “Are you going to the bank tomorrow?”

“It’s Monday. I always go to the bank on Monday.”

“Good. That will save me a trip into Pitcarran. I want you to find Sir John and tell him to put out a warrant for Bauer, or at least find out where he’s gone. I’ll put everything in writing.”

“The magistrate? Isn’t he an investor in the hotel?” Evan asked doubtfully.

“Aye, and if he knows what’s good for business, he’ll clap his pet doctor behind bars. I have witnesses, and that weasel Prescott will corroborate if he wants to collect a paycheck. I could shut the whole place down if I put my mind to it. Gah, you stink.”

“You’re welcome, brother.” Evan swallowed his drink down and clinked the glass on a side table. “I’ll just go upstairs to our old rooms and take a bath if I offend your delicate sensibilities so much.”

“No!”

“No?”

“Mary’s up there. Miss Arden. Miss Evensong,” Alec amended.

“You have
three
women in your chamber? A regular harem! By God, Alec, I’m proud of you! I thought you’d lost your touch when Edith died. We were all so worried about you.”

“Damn it, Evan. Only Miss Evensong is up there, and you are to treat her with every courtesy.” The thought of Evan catching a glimpse of Mary’s fair freckled skin made his blood boil. He’d beaten Evan senseless before and could do it again. Evan smirked, and Alec felt his fingers curling into his palm as a matter of course.

“Who is this femme fatale? Is she related to that woman who runs the infamous Evensong Agency?”

Alec had confided his plans to Evan before he went back to London to hire Mrs. Evensong’s services. Evan had thought the plan crazy; therefore he was confident of its success. Alec had always been the big thinker in the family, trying to be rational when it would have been so easy to let his temper and his size win the day.

But he wasn’t feeling rational now. Mary Evensong made him feel . . . itchy. And not from Beowulf’s fleas.

“She works for her aunt,” Alec said, not wanting to go into the details. Evan would howl if he found out Alec had mistaken Mary for her aunt, no matter how convincing the wig and glasses had been, and he’d never live it down. Lord Alec Raeburn, consummate connoisseur of females from the age of fifteen, fooled? He could hear his brother’s laugh now.

“When do I get to meet this paragon?”

“Not until you’ve made yourself presentable.”

“You’re not exactly top of the trees yourself at the moment. Your hair looks like it’s been brushed with an egg beater, and you need a shave. A shave! Damn, what’s happened to your beard? I knew there was something off about you.”

“I was tired of it,” Alec lied. Mary Evensong was some kind of Delilah.

“You are a hairy fellow. You’ll be tired of shaving two or three times a day soon enough,” Evan said, reminding him why he’d grown a beard in the first place.

“Mac can earn his keep. Did he come back with you?”

“He wasn’t far behind, just putting the finishing touches on the old place. How long do you intend to live in the woods?”

“Just until the matter with Bauer is settled. If it turns out he’s gone back to Edinburgh and the wife and kiddies, that might do.” And then Mary would go, and he’d—

Just what the hell would he do all summer? Shear his sheep? Help his tenants with their harvests? Hang out in Evan’s office all day and drink himself into numbness? Parliament would not be in session for months, and politics bored him silly to begin with. He’d spoken against the Boer Wars for years and what had that got him except accusations about his patriotism?

Maybe he should travel. Try to find Nick and drag him home.

Home to what? The beauty of the Highlands didn’t make up for the emptiness inside Raeburn Court.

Maybe the emptiness wasn’t inside his house, but inside him.

“Hang on while I write something up for Sir John. Then make yourself scarce. I don’t want you frightening Miss Evensong.” Alec went to his desk. Mary’s letter to her aunt was in an envelope propped up against the inkwell. “You can take this, too, and mail it.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with me? It might come about better if you delivered your allegations in person.”

“I don’t want to leave Mary alone. Bauer could be lurking in the bushes right now.”

Evan walked to the window. “No sign of him. How’s your car running?”

“Like a dream. You should get yourself one,” Alec replied, scribbling away the bare bones of what happened last night and early this morning.

“What, and drive from the dower house down the road to the distillery? It’s not even half a mile, a waste of petrol when I’ve got perfectly good feet. A car would be useless in the winter, too.”

“Someday cars and roads will be built for the elements, mark my words. All right, this should be enough to get the ball rolling. Tell Sir John I’ll probably visit him on Wednesday if I take Mary to the station.”

Evan raised a russet brow. “If? Never tell me you’re going to ensconce your mistress here at Raeburn Court on a permanent basis.”

“Mary isn’t my mistress! She’s a . . . friend who’s had a great shock. She may not be ready to leave on Wednesday.”

And Alec might not be ready for her to go, either.

Chapter

30

M
ary was back in her embroidered white dress, its sash tied tight over a body that still felt boneless beneath her rigid corset, its high collar obscuring abrasions on her throat. Her hair was neatly repinned as though it had never suffered incursions from Alec’s desperate fingers. She had soaked and scrubbed in the little bathing chamber that had been allotted to the Raeburn boys. It was not luxurious, but it had modern plumbing and copious amounts of hot running water, but not quite enough to wash away the sense of languor she had.

She would ask Alec to continue the tour of the house before they left—they really hadn’t gotten beyond his room.

She wanted to see him inside Edith’s golden chamber. Was she a glutton for punishment? Would he look rapturously at the portrait, or avoid it altogether?

Avoidance didn’t mean he had no feelings left for his wife.

Mary tried to remember the correct turns in the halls, and eventually found Alec in the library, an empty tumbler beside him. He looked pleased to see her, so she must have acquitted herself well enough in his bedroom.

“You’ve just missed Evan. My brother.”

“The one who runs the distillery.”

“Aye. He was dragooned to help fix up our new quarters, and he’s going to consult with the magistrate for me tomorrow. Are you ready?”

“Now that the workmen have left, I’d love to see what they’ve been doing,” Mary said. “And—and I’d like to go up in the tower. The views must be spectacular.”

Alec’s face shuttered. “The views there are no better than what you saw at the Forsyth Palace Hotel.”

She had to tell him—she’d promised to be honest. “I—I’ve already been up there today. It was Edith’s room, wasn’t it?”

“That room is locked!” Alec glared at her. “Let me guess. A locked door is nothing to the resourceful Mrs. Evensong.”

“I’m afraid not. I was tutored by a private detective who was taught by a lock-picking expert. Actually, I think the expert was a criminal. I cannot crack a safe, but a simple lock poses no problem.” It was just one of her many accomplishments, but she doubted Alec would appreciate most of them.

“If you’ve been up there once today, isn’t that enough?”

“It should be. But it isn’t.”

“Explain yourself.”

“I’m not sure I can. I just wonder as you’re remodeling other rooms in the house, why you haven’t touched hers.”

Alec lurched up off the couch and poured more golden liquid into his glass. He didn’t ask her to join him. He tossed off the entire glass and poured more.

Oh dear. She was driving him to drink when she wanted somehow to soothe his soul.

“D-don’t you think it would be better for your house if you, um, exorcised your late wife from the premises? You might be happier here,” Mary ventured.

If Alec was a regular client, she would have been much more forthright in tone. People paid her for her opinions, after all. They expected her to solve their problems whether they were domestic, professional, or personal.

Alec stopped mid-pour. “Exorcised? Are you saying my house is haunted?”

“Of course not!” Only his heart seemed to be.

Alec set the glass down untouched. He turned, his expression somber. “It seemed disrespectful somehow. To touch her things. Invade her space. But now that I’ve avenged her, perhaps you are right.”

“I know I am.” Mary tried to sound sure of herself. It was unnatural to have a virtual museum dedicated to a woman who had not loved him. The ghost of Lady Edith Raeburn might not walk along the cold stone floors of Raeburn Court, but her unhappiness lingered over her husband for certain.

“All right.” Alec walked to the doorway. “We’ll have a look then. I havena been up there since she—since she died.”

Beowulf jumped off the sofa and followed his master down the corridor and up the stairs. Mary had difficulty keeping up with Alec’s long strides. Once he’d made up his mind to do something, he seemed anxious to get on with it.

Up and up they went until they landed at the heavy oak door. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a ring of keys.

“Or would you prefer to do the honors? What did you use? A hairpin?”

“Yes.” Mary resisted pulling one out of her bun. She didn’t want to be a show-off. “I mean, no. It’s not locked. You don’t need the key.”

The door creaked open on its unoiled hinges. The late afternoon sun slanted in the mullioned windows, making all the gleaming surfaces gleam even brighter. Alec took a step, then stopped. “After you.”

Mary slipped by him. Beowulf raced in and jumped onto the bed, rooting around some tasseled pillows before he lay down with a happy snort.

“He misses her,” Mary said.

“Aye, he’s about the only one. Edith was not a very popular mistress. I should not speak ill of the dead. Imagine what folks will say about me when I’m gone. They talk about me enough now.”

Mary had to do something to rehabilitate his reputation, but she couldn’t think what. To be suspected of murder was a terrible thing to bear.

It was not like her to be idea-less. But standing so close to him, her wits had gone begging.

Alec did not once glance up at the giant portrait of Edith. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, and he looked somewhat pinched, as if he’d split if he moved too quickly. There was no place for a man his size to sit in this room anyway—the chairs were unequal to his weight. Beowulf did not look anxious to share the bed, either.

“Would Edith’s parents like the painting?” Mary asked.

“I suppose. It doesn’t do her justice, though.”

Lord, could the woman have been even more beautiful? Mary’s heart sank.

“I think you should offer it to them.”

“You’re probably right.” His hands dug deeper in his pockets. They were barely standing a foot inside the room. Mary reminded herself it was her suggestion to come up, for all she wanted to flee.

“Unless you want it as a memento—”

“God, no! I told you I haven’t been up here in months. Do you think I stand up here and worship at her altar after what she did?”

Alec was angry. She had pushed too far, but then she always did when she thought she was right about something. Which was probably much too often.

“Of course not. I didn’t mean that at all. What about her clothing and personal things? Her mother might help you sort through them. Some items could be given away to charity. You could start a memorial fund.”

“You snooped in the closets, too?”

“Alec,” Mary said softly, “the wardrobe is standing open.” Both doors were in fact wide open, as though Edith had gone hunting for something and hadn’t found it yet. She seemed to favor white. Many of the silks and satins were in various shades—it was surprising how many colors “white” came in.

“A memorial fund, eh? That isn’t such a bad idea. Her parents might like that. They don’t talk much to me anymore, as you can imagine.”

“Do they . . . think you . . .”

“Killed her?” Alec spat the words. “Aye. Or at least they hold me responsible. I couldn’t tell them about Bauer. It would have broken their hearts. Edith was an only child, you see. Their pride and joy when it suited them.”

“What do you mean?” Mary asked.

“I think they knew she was a bit of a handful, but to be critical of her meant they had to question themselves. How they raised her. I think they hoped for more than a lowly baron as a husband for her, but the fact I was filthy rich and Scottish helped. Edinburgh’s nae so far away. They used to visit often.”

Mary almost smiled. It was true a baron was not as grand as a duke, but if the baron was Alec Raeburn, how could one possibly have an objection?

“They shouldn’t have married her off so young,” Alec continued. “She wasn’t ready. I failed her.”

Mary laid a hand on his sleeve. “Stop thinking that way.” Her cheeks grew hot, and her eyes dropped to the carpet. “I have a confession, Alec, another one, and it’s almost as bad as the first two. Maybe even worse.”

Alec sighed. “What now? I know who you are, and that you took it upon yourself to break and enter. Have you robbed a bank? Blackmailed a client? Do you have a husband stashed away somewhere you’ve never slept with? You wouldn’t be the first.” His laughter was hollow.

“I’ve promised not to lie to you again. And anyway, the lies I told were more lies of omission than commission.”

“Don’t go all Jesuitical on me, Miss Evensong. I’ve had my classical education. Let’s just say you’ve been economical with the truth. Why, you could be a Scot yourself. We do mind our pence.”

“I’m not very proud of myself.” Mary took a breath. “I read quite a lot of Edith’s diary before you came back this afternoon. I—I apologize.”

She waited to be castigated. When Alec said nothing, she stumbled on. “Forgive me for saying so, but she seemed very silly and very young. You could not have known what she was thinking of—she barely knew herself.”

He didn’t raise his voice, but Mary shivered just the same. “What else have you done today, Miss Evensong? I leave you alone for an hour and you’ve invaded my desk drawers and locked rooms. Is there no end to your meddling?”

“You’ve paid me to meddle! That is, it’s what I do. Usually people accept my suggestions.”

“I didna ask you to do anything but expose Josef Bauer!” Alec said, each word leavened by a heavier Scottish accent. Mary had noted when his feelings were engaged, he lost his cut-glass public school accent. “I doona need you poking around my house and picking at scabs. You’ve done your part—more than your part if you count an hour ago. I thought we shared something, but if it was just a pity fuck—”

Mary felt a buzzing in her ears. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“You, trying to make me feel better with your ridiculous proposition. ‘Relieve me from my virginity,’ my arse. Well, I’m never going to feel better, Mary Arden Evensong. Not today. Not tomorrow, not in a hundred years.”

He wasn’t mad—just miserable. Mary suppressed the urge to claw down Edith’s portrait and stomp it. Where had the devilish, teasing Alec Raeburn gone, the toast of backstage corners and private balconies? Something was not right here. Not right at all.

“Why not, Alec? You have your whole life before you.”

“Do I?” he asked bitterly. “Everywhere I go, there are whispers. My own brother won’t come home. Do you really think some charity in Edith’s name will stop the rumors?”

“It’s a start. Perhaps if you enlisted Edith’s parents’ help—”

Mary reached out to touch him, willing him to look her in the face. If he did, he would see the truth, plain as day.