Taming the Heiress (33 page)

A single black cord encircled her throat. Suspended on it was the aquamarine and gold pendant he had given her, its gold a spark of warmth in the serene perfection of her ensemble. Seeing it there, he narrowed his eyes.

He wondered why she wore the pendant, for it had little value. Surely she owned prettier jewels, although the little stone matched her gown and her eyes. Only he would know, only she, its meaning.

Then he understood. She felt what he did, that he was part of her and she was part of him, that their island paradise had existed for a little space in time. None of that would change, even if they were never together again.

He gave her a cool, polite smile, and felt torn asunder.

"Mr. Stewart," she said, "how very nice to see you again."

He looked at her keenly. He had expected to enact a new introduction, as if they had never met before, yet she greeted him like a friend.

"Lady Strathlin," he murmured. "Enchanted, madam."

She turned to an elderly lady and gentleman standing beside her. "Lord Provost of Edinburgh and Lady Lawrie—this is Mr. Stewart."

"Aye, we've met. Good evening, madam," Dougal said, taking the woman's gloved hand, then the Lord Provost's sure grip. "Sir. How do you do?"

"Mr. Stewart has been working near the Isle of Caransay, where I sometimes holiday," Meg said. "He will be modest about this, to be sure, but he is an exemplary hero."

"Really?" Lord Lawrie peered at him. "How is that?"

"During my last holiday in the Isles, I saw Mr. Stewart save the life of a small child who was drowning in the sea, and in the process, Mr. Stewart took on a fearsome shark," Meg explained. "It was the most courageous thing I have ever seen."

"Oh, Mr. Stewart, how amazing!" Lady Lawrie said.

"Madam, it was not so grand as Lady Strathlin implies," he said. "I merely kicked the shark and grabbed the boy."

"Oh, dear!" Lady Lawrie said, raising her fan and flapping it.

"You see how modest he is," Meg said, smiling.

Dougal glared at her quickly to ask with a stern look just what she intended with this conversation. He would rather the deed not be discussed. "Madam," he said in subtle warning.

Her touch was light on his arm as she guided him forward. "Lord Provost, I'm sure you can coax Mr. Stewart to give his account of it. Please excuse me, I must greet some guests."

She smiled up at Dougal with such brilliance that he felt bedazzled, and he very nearly forgave her. Very nearly. "Mr. Stewart, so wonderfully good of you to come tonight."

"Lady Strathlin," he said, as she turned to greet the couple behind him. As soon as he looked around, he was surrounded by several people eager to be introduced to him, anxious to hear the details of his encounter with the shark.

Swept from that group to another, he told the story twice in total, smiling as he refused, after that, to repeat it. The tale spread and became embellished, whispered and rumored from one guest to another. Dougal floated through the evening on smiles and congratulations and expressions of admiration. He endured one introduction after another, and his hand was clasped, his shoulder slapped, his arm hugged so often that he ached.

He danced with one woman after another, so many that their names and faces and flower-bright gowns blurred as he swirled and dipped and escorted them. He listened to gushing praise, smiled at shy or amorous glances, and turned down three coy invitations to stroll through the conservatory into the garden.

Late in the evening, he was introduced to Miss Jenny Lind, a slight and sweet woman. As he danced with her, he conceded, one last time, to tell the story about the rescue of the little boy, only because she was the guest of honor and begged him gently and charmingly to tell her what everyone was buzzing so about, and because he liked her fine, honest, trusting blue eyes.

As the night went on, one acquaintance after another, both new and old, told him that he was admired by Lady Strathlin in particular. She had made it clear to many that she thought him to be a courageous man of integrity; she thought his skills and abilities beyond measure and his work of great importance to the nation of Scotland. And it came back to him, too, that she regretted any inconvenience to Mr. Stewart and his project through the overzealous efforts of her solicitors.

Graciously and quietly, he accepted apologies from businessmen who murmured that they had been misinformed about him and that they would indeed be interested in contributing funds to his lighthouse project, if he still had need of it.

He even, at one point, was approached by Sir Edward Hamilton, a gaunt and gruff gentleman, and Sir John Shaw, a portly fellow with a pair of eyeglasses set awry on his large nose. Dougal had earlier noticed the men in an animated discussion with Lady Strathlin and her private secretary, a tall dark-haired young man named Guy Hamilton.

"Mr. Stewart," Sir Edward said, tapping him on the shoulder. Sir John stood beside him, clearing his throat repeatedly. "Might we have a word with you, sir?"

"Mr. Stewart, we may have misjudged you," Sir John said.

"Indeed?" Dougal murmured.

"While the lighthouse remains a matter of debate and negotiation and should not be discussed here," Sir Edward began, while Sir John harrumphed, "it might have been hasty of us... of our associates... to imply that you might be unprincipled."

"Mr. Stewart, we hope for peace between our parties," Sir John said. "Lady Strathlin desires it, as well."

Dougal shook their hands solemnly, wondering if the lady desired it for herself or for her advocates.

Not once, throughout that long, lively, and surprising evening, did he speak again to Lady Strathlin. Not once did he dance with her or murmur to her or hold her in his arms and whirl her about the floor in time to the music. Not once did he touch her or kiss her hand or have the chance to thank her.

Now and again, he caught her gaze across the room, those luminous eyes hauntingly somber in the midst of gaiety. Once, as their glances touched, he gave her a subtle nod that he hoped she would interpret as his acknowledgement of gratitude. She paused in her conversation with Miss Lind to angle her head in silent answer with majesty and grace. His heart stirred and his longing for her grew intense, searing through him like a flame.

He turned away. While his appreciation was profound for the magic she had worked that evening, his pride was great. He loved her and could never doubt it, but he would not let it show.

* * *

Late in the evening, when most of the guests had gone, including Miss Jenny Lind and her husband, a soft-spoken Englishman, Meg turned to see a cluster of businessmen still surrounding Dougal Stewart, murmuring closely and privately, holding wineglasses that had been filled and drained repeatedly all evening. Dougal himself stood listening, no glass in his hand. He nodded intently, his hands shoved in his pockets and his coat draped back, one shoulder leaned against a doorframe, one polished boot crossed over the other.

He looked weary, she thought, for she saw the sag in his shoulders and the subtle drawing down of his mouth. As she watched him, he glanced up, and the magical shock of gazes touching, gentle as hands might do, sent a thrill through her. But he looked away quickly, as he had done all evening.

Sighing, she turned and saw that the conservatory door was open. Angela and Guy strolled in the shadows, she realized, deep in conversation, dark and blond heads leaned together. Angela's hand was wrapped around Guy's forearm. Seeing that intimacy and knowing the spellbinding effect of roses and darkness after a long evening of wine and good company, Meg smiled to herself.

"My lady."

She whirled. Frederick smiled down at her.

She had managed to avoid him all evening, with so many guests and so many interesting conversations, with dancing and music and supper all requiring her attention as hostess. He had been a dark and lurking presence, though at times she had almost succeeded in forgetting he was there at all.

But she could not forget that he expected an answer of her this evening. That much was evident in his dark eyes, which seemed hungry and eager.

"Might I have a word in private, madam?" he asked, and he placed a hand on her elbow. "We've not had a chance to talk as yet. I haven't even had the opportunity to tell you how truly ravishing you look in that gown."

"Thank you," she said, glancing around distractedly. Across the room, she saw Dougal listening to an elderly man rumble on about something. A sharp glance from the engineer seemed to register that she stood with Frederick. He frowned and turned his attention back to his gruff, gesturing companion.

"A walk in the garden on such a lovely night," Frederick said, "would be the perfect ending to a perfect evening."

"I must stay here to say farewell to my guests," she said.

"Madam, they have all departed but for a few gentlemen who cannot seem to stop talking business," he pointed out. "They will not even know you are gone. I ask your complete attention for a few minutes only. Indulge me, I beg you." He smiled and leaned toward her. The smell of wine on his breath was very strong.

"Perhaps tomorrow," she said, turning to step away.

"Margaret, dear—we can discuss our business here, I suppose, if you are so devoted to your company."

She exhaled, recognizing defeat. "Very well." Turning, lifting her skirt with subtle grace, she headed toward the conservatory door, which led out to the garden.

The conservatory was dark, hushed, and fragrant as she walked with Frederick just behind her, his hand on her elbow. Ahead, between an aisle of tall, dense ferns in huge pots, she saw Angela and Guy turn, their faces pale in the shadows. They murmured a polite greeting as Meg and Frederick walked past.

Reaching the garden entrance, Meg waited while Frederick opened the door, then passed through before him, entering a quiet moonlit world. Somewhere in the distance, she heard dogs faintly barking, and late-night vehicles rattled occasionally over cobbled streets, muffled by the peace of the enclosed garden.

She turned. "I know why you wish to speak to me."

"Do you? Excellent. Let us get straight to it, this wee question of the heart."

"It is hardly that," she said, "and you know it."

"Margaret, you wound me, for you have my lifelong devotion. Now, please do me the honor of marrying me." He captured her gloved hands, his fingers strong and overly warm on hers.

She could not look at him, glancing toward the back garden wall, with its neatly tiered flower beds and espaliered fruit trees. This was one of her homes, a place she loved very much. Yet now she would have to allow him here, tolerate his presence, pretend to others that she loved him.

She would have to allow him into her bed. His hands seemed even hotter over hers, tugging at her wrists.

"Well, Margaret?"

"I—I must have more time," she said. "It is too important a decision to make so quickly."

"You have had months to think about it, from my first mention of it," he said. "I gave you these last weeks and was promised a final answer tonight."

"I cannot, Frederick," she whispered.

"Cannot answer or cannot marry me?" he asked.

"Neither," she said. "I can do neither."

He drew her closer, so that the flexible cage of her skirt flattened against his legs. "You will," he said, bending down. "You know there is no choice for you. I will tell the world. You will be ruined, lady.
Ruined.
" He snatched her shoulders.

"Please—stop!" She twisted against his cruel grip.

"I wish to God I had been the one to ruin you first," he growled, and yanked her toward him so fast that her back ached with the snap. He planted his mouth on hers in a rich, wet, eager kiss, grinding his lips and teeth against hers.

Repulsed and angry, she gave a guttural cry and shoved against his chest, then shoved again, hard. He flew backward, stumbling to the ground, protesting with a loud cry.

Surely she was not that strong, she thought, dazed. Then she realized that Dougal stood over Frederick in the shadows. He had grabbed Frederick, had flung him away from her. Now he clearly meant to finish the task.

He hauled Matheson up by the lapels of his waistcoat. Shoving the man against the glass-and-stone wall of the conservatory, Dougal pinned him there, half lifting the man, though Matheson was slightly taller and a stone heavier.

"So you intend to ruin the lady?" Dougal demanded.

"No—I—that's not what I said," Matheson protested, clawing at Dougal's wrists.

"That's what I heard," Dougal growled. "And I'll tell you what I saw." He shook Matheson again, pressed him flatter against the wall, his arms digging into the banker's chest. "I came out to say farewell to my hostess," he went on, his voice rough edged with controlled rage, "and I heard you threaten her and saw you grab her." He slammed Frederick tighter against the wall as the man struggled to get free.

"Mr. Stewart—please—" Meg said.

Dougal paused. "Are you harmed, madam?" he asked, still glaring at Frederick.

"I'm fine," she said. She glanced up, saw the businessmen who had been with Dougal, saw Guy and Angela, Mrs. Larrimore and the butler, and beyond them a thick cluster of maids and grooms, all gaping. "I'm fine, truly. Please let Sir Frederick go."