Marshal and the Heiress (28 page)

Well, he'd been clay in her hands long enough for one day. He wasn't going to spend the evening answering questions.

Ben bowed and offered Sarah Ann his hand. She curtsied, grinning, and took his hand. They left the room together, Annabelle prancing royally behind them.

After Ben left her room, Henry demanded his share of Lisbeth's attention. It was quite obvious to her that his displacement from her bed had wounded him deeply. He'd whined and mumbled, rolled onto his back with his legs awkwardly waving in the air and wriggled until she scratched his stomach.

“You are an impossibly ridiculous dog,” Lisbeth told him. Henry growled in happiness. He loved praise. His legs waggled harder.

“But then I'm ridiculous,” she continued. “I have you. I don't need Ben Masters.” She kept telling herself that. She
couldn't
need him. She
couldn't
want him this badly.

But she did. Her blood turned to molten lava as she thought about touching him again.

Henry whined. She scratched his stomach absently. When had everything changed? When had Henry and the horses faded into the background of her mind, supplanted by Ben Masters?

Ben and Sarah Ann. A man who made her senses sing and a child who made her yearn for one of her own. She wanted to tease a laugh from them, prompt a smile, drive away the ghosts still haunting both father and daughter. She grinned at such fanciful notions. But it was true. She'd rather receive a smile from the four-year-old cherub than ride Shadow to victory. And, God help her, she'd rather make love with Ben than do anything else on earth.

“Darling Henry,” she said wistfully. “Why do you suppose your namesake took so many wives? Is love fleeting? Or is it merely lust?”

Henry barked as if he approved of lust, or might like some himself.

“You're such a handsome lad,” she said. “We'll have to find you someone.” For the first time, she truly understood the joy of mating. The joy and ecstacy and bewilderment. The longing and ache. The uncertainty and fear.

The glory.

It swelled in her as she recalled Ben's every touch, every feeling he evoked in her, every emotion. She thought of those cautious blue eyes that had turned so warm.

What would he be like at dinner? Cool and watchful as he usually was? Warm and teasing as he had been in her bed? Would she be able to keep from reaching out to touch him? Would Barbara realize what had happened?

Full of hesitancy, Lisbeth finally rose from the bed and chose a gown for dinner, one she hadn't worn since Jamie's death. It was subtle and modest, nothing like Barbara's gaily colored finery, but she knew the gray-green silk made the most of her eyes and hair. Barbara and Hugh would raise their eyebrows at it and wonder, but she didn't care. She wanted to look her best, to pale as little as possible next to Barbara.

She was still amazed that Ben preferred her. It was a miracle.

Bennett Sebastian Masters. She allowed the name to roll off her tongue.

Henry started pacing the floor, signaling that he had to go outside. She opened her bedroom door, knowing that Duncan would open the one downstairs. Effie should be up any moment to help her dress. God's toothache, but she disliked dresses with buttons in back, which meant she hated nearly all of her dresses.

Henry bounded out, down the stairs, barking as he went. He was in more of a hurry than usual. She started to close the door, and then she heard a crash. And another one.

She winced.

Then something else crashed, and she heard a screech that sounded as if it came straight from hell.

Annabelle!

A yowl. A child's scream.

Lisbeth opened the door and heard Ben's firm “
Annabelle,
” then a string of curses that would have startled the devil himself.

Oblivious that her hair was down, still mussed from lovemaking, and that she wore only a flimsy dressing gown, she limped toward the stairs. At the bottom step, her ankle gave way and she stumbled straight into Ben.

The shock—and immediate physical reaction—kept her from moving for a moment. Then she was aware of silence. Complete, absolute silence.

She lifted her head from his shoulder and looked around. The entire household had gathered in the foyer. Duncan had horror written all over his face. Effie stood, her mouth open in astonishment. Hugh and Barbara were looking on with dismay. Sarah Ann, eyes wide, watched everyone with great interest.

Henry and Annabelle, oblivious to everyone, occupied the center of the foyer. Henry, stretched out, panted heavily. And Annabelle stood directly in front of him, either challenging him or claiming victory, Lisbeth wasn't sure which.

Annabelle's back wasn't arched though—a hopeful sign—and she wasn't hissing at Henry. The armor had fallen again, and so had the fragile table that held the silver bowl designed for visitors' cards.

That was all she noticed before she felt every angle of Ben's body and his heat singed her. She looked up at Ben, and saw amusement dancing in his eyes. God's toothache, but she loved him when he looked like that.

“Lisbeth!”

There was something ironic about Barbara's horrified cry; after all, Barbara had never been subtle about her own affairs.

Lisbeth knew she should move. She was being held by a man in full sight of the entire household. But Ben made no attempt to let her go, and her own legs were none too steady for her to stand on her own.

“Lady Lisbeth.” Hugh spoke in a righteous voice that Lisbeth just couldn't take seriously.

“I heard … noises,” she tried to explain, but it sounded weak even to her. What was she doing in the late afternoon dressed only in a dressing gown, with her hair tumbling down her back, and her face flushing brightly? “I was resting,” she added.

Hugh narrowed his eyes and darted an accusing look at Ben. Barbara looked hurt. Sarah Ann looked interested.

“I'll carry you back up,” Ben said. “I think there's been a truce of sorts down here,” he added, eyeing Annabelle and Henry. Annabelle had perched herself on Henry's stomach and seemed to be grooming the big dog, who growled contentedly.

“I told you she needed a friend,” Sarah Ann said, and everyone turned to stare at her. Barbara and Hugh obviously hadn't noticed her until just then.

Duncan stiffened even more. “I shall see to dinner,” he said.

Effie giggled. “I'll be there to help ye dress, Lady Lisbeth.”

“This is really quite … scandalous,” Barbara said, but her lips twitched. Lisbeth thought that perhaps Barbara had a sense of humor after all.

Only Hugh's expression remained black and grew even darker when Ben picked her up. His arms were becoming quite familiar to Lisbeth. His hands seemed to burn right through the dressing gown. She studied his bronze face above the snowy-white shirt and tie. He really was handsome, even with a clenched jaw and a muscle twitching in his cheek.

They were silent until they reached her room and he lowered her to the bed, then sat next to her.

“I think we've just created a scandal,” she said.

“I think we did,” he said, his lips twitching. “Your sister-in-law was genuinely appalled.”

“Only because it wasn't her,” she said.

His hand rested on her bare arm. It burned her. He must have felt the heat, too, for he suddenly let go. His eyes devoured her, though.

“At least Henry and Annabelle seem to have made peace.” She tried desperately to hold on to some control.

“Annabelle is mellowing with the coming of motherhood. Still, I wouldn't be surprised to see her chasing Henry tomorrow. She can be rather fickle.”

Lisbeth had heard only one word he spoke: motherhood.

“I'm pretty sure she isn't getting that fat with cream,” Ben continued.

“Sarah Ann must be delighted.”

“She's not the one who has to find homes for Annabelle's litter. It isn't going to be easy. Annabelle isn't exactly the most beautiful cat alive. And God knows her temperament would test His fondness toward all living things.”

“Sarah Ann thinks she's beautiful.”

“Hmm,” he murmured.

Intimacy was cocooning them again. She was aware only of him, of the warmth that flooded her body, of the headiness of being with him. She closed her eyes, enjoying the sensations, relishing the closeness. Then, she felt a sudden chill, and she opened her eyes.

He looked at her strangely, his head tilted as if in question. He was no longer smiling. The muscle continued to twitch in his cheek, though. “I'd better leave before more damage is done to your reputation,” he said stiffly.

Hurt and bewildered by his change in mood, she tried to shrug indifferently. She wanted to ask why, but she couldn't. Everything was too new, too fragile.

“Barbara will always think the worst, and so will Hugh,” she stated.

“And the servants?”

“I'm not sure.”

He hesitated a moment, as if he wanted to say something, but then he rose. “I'll see you at dinner.” He turned and disappeared out the door, leaving her feeling more than a little bruised, but not from the physical injuries.

Dinner was a stiff, formal affair. Hugh was barely polite. Barbara chattered but her gaze kept moving from Ben to Lisbeth and back again. Sarah Ann said little and was watchful. Lisbeth was silent, looking more than a little mystified. Ben couldn't blame her.

What the hell he was doing? He had compromised Lisbeth in more ways than one. A gentleman would propose marriage. But he had no intention of marrying. His luck with women was dismal; his judgment lacking. And he couldn't escape the fact that Lisbeth wanted something from him, something he wasn't sure he could give.

The more he studied Calholm's books, the more he realized that Hugh and Barbara were right. Continuing with the horse-breeding could mean the bankruptcy or loss of Calholm, Sarah Ann's legacy. Even if Shadow won the Grand National, he doubted the horses would ever pay their own way. But doubling the number of sheep would double the income. Ben could never evict the tenants, even if he had the right, but the training and hunting fields could be turned into pasture for sheep.

How would Lisbeth feel about him then?

He already knew, dammit.

He'd been a fool to make love to her. He'd been a bigger fool to make it public, even inadvertently.

“Ben?”

Barbara's decidedly cool voice brought him back to the dinner table.

“I just thought you should know I've employed extra servants for the next few days for the ceilidh. Some of the guests will be staying two nights.”

He nodded, but his gaze lingered on Lisbeth, on the way she looked in a silk dress that emphasized every slender curve and made her eyes deep and mysterious.

“I'll give you a guest list tomorrow and go over them with you,” Barbara persisted.

Ben had no choice but to turn his attention to her. Hugh was frowning, jealousy apparent in his stare. He abruptly got up from the table and left without an explanation.

Barbara looked flustered for a moment. “I don't think … he feels well,” she said, trying to excuse him.

Lisbeth sighed. “Hugh told me this morning he plans to leave Calholm after the ceilidh.”

Barbara visibly paled. She bit her lower lip before covering her dismay with a slight smile. Her hands trembled, though.

“He told
you
?”

“He was saddling his horse when I went out to ride Shadow,” Lisbeth said. “He told me he would be sorry not to see Shadow at the steeplechase, and I asked why. He said something about Australia or America.”

Ben watched Barbara's fingers tighten around her wine glass, and saw the fear in her eyes. Did she really care about Hugh that much? Even if she did, it hadn't stopped her from trying to seduce Ben and secure control of Calholm. That her heart might belong to Hugh had to be little comfort to the man who obviously loved her … and coveted Calholm.

Ben's gaze met Lisbeth's. She was obviously searching for an explanation for his bewildering change of mood. He couldn't explain. Not now. Maybe not ever.

Ben was the first to lower his gaze, but not before he saw the hurt in Lisbeth's face. He wanted to erase it. He wanted to kiss it away. But it would be a lie.

He would hurt her again and again. He simply couldn't trust totally. He had used too many people in his days as a lawman to believe others didn't do the same.

He'd never realized until now how bitter that legacy was.

Chapter Seventeen

Calholm filled rapidly with guests. Standing in the foyer with Sarah Ann beside him, Ben greeted them as they arrived. He tried to keep all their names straight. There were countless Hamiltons, many with the same first names. Then there were Lockharts, Flemings, Douglases, Montgomeries, Carmichaels, Boyds, and Cunninghams. And amidst the chaos, an army of servants, most hired from the village, scurried around like ants.

After an hour of shaking hands and introducing himself and Sarah Ann, Ben was beginning to feel like an exotic insect on display, a “colonial” to the Scots, who wanted tales of gold and Indians. Moreover, his ears tired from deciphering the often heavy Scots accent. Added to that, he knew he would never get used to appearing in public wearing a skirt with nothing under it—and it didn't make him feel one bit better that every other man in attendance was wearing one, too. He felt naked and embarrassed.

To top it all off, he was wondering who was paying for all this. Calholm could ill afford the extravagance.

Ben sighed. It was too late to do anything about any of it. All he could do was continue to shake hands and remind himself that it was for Sarah Ann, which made it worth the discomfort.

So, he endured the newcomers' questions, their inspection and their obvious skepticism. All knew about the missing heir, the adoption, the guardian. All had a fair amount of suspicion in their eyes. He was incredibly proud of Sarah Ann, who smiled and chatted courteously and curtsied again and again, charming everyone who met her.