A Highland Folly (20 page)

She rested her cheek against his shoulder, and he kissed her forehead. Every inch of her was as sweet … he assumed. He would be delighted to discover that.

Something jostled Lucais in the back. He spun and then laughed when he came almost nose to nose with Bonito. When Anice stepped past him to stroke her pet's head, he said, “You have quite a watchdog in your llama.”

“Bonito watches over all lost lambs in his herd.”

“Are you a lost lamb?”

She scratched the llama's ears before looking back at Lucais. “I have been. Now I have Bonito, Pippy, and all the Kinlochs to watch over me.”

“And me?”

“Are you watching over me too?” She put her fingers in the middle of his chest, and his heart thudded beneath them.

Taking her hand, he raised it to his lips. “I have never met anyone who needed less looking over than you. You have made for yourself the life you wanted.”

“I thought I had.” She drew her hand away and went back to the fountain.

“But you haven't?”

She looked up at him. “Not completely. Not yet.”

Lucais wondered if he was hearing what he thought he was. From the day she had returned his gun to him, he had enjoyed flirting with her as he wooed her into surrendering her lips to his eager kisses. He had come to admire her quick wit as well as her slender form and had sought any opportunity to be with her. This had been fun.

Was she speaking of more? If she had an inkling of the truth, she might not be so eager to speak from her heart. He had been dishonest with her long enough.

Kneeling by where she sat, he took her hands and folded them between his. “Anice, there is something I need to tell you.”

“I wager,” said Neilli Kinloch as she walked toward them, “that you do.”

Lucais came to his feet as Anice jerked her hand from his. Her fingers had become rigid at the sound of her cousin's voice, and he noted how her knuckles were pale when she clasped her hands in her lap.

“Why did you leave the party?” Anice asked.

Miss Kinloch laughed, amazing Lucais, for the sound held only warmth. Her laughs in his company had always been whetted with anger.

“I could ask you the same.” She yelped when Bonito poked at her with his nose. With a shudder, she edged past Lucais to keep him between her and the llama.

“Bonito will do you no harm,” Anice said.

“He is a bizarre beast, and I do not want him near me.”

Standing, Anice put her arm over the llama's back. “He will leave you alone if you stay away from him.”

“You can be sure,” Miss Kinloch replied with a bit of her usual heat, “that I shall keep as much distance as possible between us.” Her smile returned as she looked up at Lucais. “I came out here to tell you that we are so pleased you could join us tonight, Mr. MacFarlane.”

Lucais wondered if one of the great stones being dug out of the hillside had glanced off his head. That was the easiest explanation for why Miss Kinloch welcomed him with such obvious delight. Previously he had found as little welcome here as in most houses in the village.

“Or should I say
my lord
?” Miss Kinloch added a bit of coquettery to her smile.

The curse exploding through his head was halted by his taut lips. How had the tale of his title reached Miss Kinloch's ears? Save for the help the men from Chester Hills had given during the fire at the road camp, there never was any association between the residents of Killiebige and the estate on the other side of the river. When he had been growing up in Chester Hills, he had come into the village only once. He had been sneaking across the river in spite of his father's orders to remain on the family's lands. It had not mattered, for no one had guessed a naughty boy who played with the children of the village was the son of the marquess on the far side of the Abhainn an Uruisg.

Now he understood what had baffled him throughout the days since the fire. The doors of Ardkinloch had not been thrown wide because the stubborn Kinlochs finally had realized that the road and bridge were an excellent idea. Instead, they were welcoming him because they wanted some connection with the title that burdened him.

Some connection? As he saw the possessive sparkle in Miss Kinloch's eyes, he knew the connection she was considering began with a betrothal and ended with vows in front of the minister. She would not have cared a rap if he were as old as the castle ruins on the hill or a sot. All she saw was the chance to gain a share of the title.

How he wished he could simply hand it to her! Then he would be done with its yoke, which he had come here to escape.

“Neilli, we should not monopolize Lucais's time,” Anice said as she came to stand beside her cousin. Her face was drawn with dismay. “I know so many of the others wish to congratulate him on his excellent shooting.”

His hand rose toward her, his fingers craving to curl around her soft cheek. He forced it back to his side. How many more ways could he prove that he was an idiot? Neilli Kinloch was lathering him with compliments in an effort to find out more about his title.

Had it been the same with Anice? Something might have tipped her off to the truth that he had thought was left behind in England. Left behind when he had come here to escape the marriage-minded Gwendolyn, who had ignored him before he became his father's heir. Then she'd made every effort to let him know how much she would enjoy being his wife. She had had an identical expression of avarice as was now in Miss Kinloch's eyes.

He looked past her to Anice. When she lowered her eyes, clearly unwilling to meet his, he said quietly, “Excuse me.” He walked away, but it was useless. That fury followed.

Fury and regret. He had thought Anice Kinloch was different. Not only was she as deceiving as any other Kinloch, she was the same as any other woman he had met, more interested in his title than the man he was. It was his misfortune that he had been willing to wager his heart, because he had lost both his wager and his heart.

Thirteen

Anice took a step to go after Lucais, then paused. Whirling, she asked, “Neilli, how could you be so unthinking? You should not have spoken to Lucais like that.”

“And why not?” She fluffed her blond hair and smiled. “If he truly is a peer, he should own to that. After all, he has obligations. He needs to find a wife with all speed to obtain himself an heir.”

“He could have found a wife in London if that had been his wish.”

Neilli continued to preen as if she stood in front of a glass. “Mayhap he was unable to find there the woman he wished to be his lady and share his title.”

“You are impossible!”

“I am honest.” Folding her arms in front of her, she eyed Anice up and down. “You should be too. As Lady Kinloch, you must marry a titled man who will bring honor and prestige to Ardkinloch, not chase after a low-born road engineer.”

“You are making no sense. One minute you claim he is a lord. The next you are chastising me for speaking to Lucais.”

“Speaking? Unless my eyes were quite mistaken, you were not simply
speaking
with him.” Neilli arched a pale brow. “You should hope that he truly is a lord, because you clearly are willing to risk your reputation to be alone with him and grant him such liberties. If Mam were to hear of this—”

“That is enough, Neilli! Aunt Coira will not hear of this unless you or I tell her, and to own the truth, I have done nothing of which I am ashamed.” Anice turned to walk toward the steps.

“I trust you will remember what being Lady Kinloch means in this glen.”

“As I trust
you
will.”

“Anice!”

Looking back at her cousin, Anice almost apologized for her harsh words. She could not. Neilli had been thoughtless to speak so to Lucais, and she had angered him.

Why
? That little voice in the back of her mind refused to be silenced. Lucais's reaction had been instantaneous and fierce. That was so unlike him, for he customarily looked at any comment with rational common sense.

Anice hurried up the stairs to the room where the gathering was going on in complete disregard for her disquiet. The musicians were playing a country dance, and her guests were twirling about the floor in tempo to the melody and their own laughter.

She looked past them. Had Lucais left? She did not see him anywhere in the big room. It was unsettling to think of the reasons he had walked away. Unsettling and a waste of time. She needed to talk with him and discover the truth.

Anice smiled and nodded at the people she passed but did not pause even when both Aunt Coira and Sir Busby tried to get her attention. Hurrying through the room, she went up the stairs to the guest wing of the house. Lucais seemed to like to take a refuge in his work, so he might have returned to his room to lose himself in trying to reconstruct the bridge plans.

Loud voices buffeted her as she came around the corner to the passage to the guest wing. In disbelief, she saw Parlan and Mr. Potter standing close to each other, surrounded by a half dozen other men. Parlan's nose was bloody, and, even as she froze in astonishment, he gave Mr. Potter a facer. The roadman shouted to his companions.

“No!” Anice cried, running forward. She stepped between her cousin and Mr. Potter, who was pushing himself to his feet. Holding out her arms, she ordered, “No more.”

“Anice, stay out of this,” Parlan said. He wiped his hand against his nose, leaving a scarlet streak along his shirtsleeve. His best coat was tossed next to a small table that was covered with the shards of a vase. Water dripped off the table onto his coat.

“Why? So you and Mr. Potter can pummel each other into oblivion?” She scowled at both men, swiveling her head. She noted that the others were slinking away, clearly wanting to escape her vexation. “What is this all about?”

“Ask him!” Potter put his fingers to his lip and swore when they came back with blood on the tips. “I was returning to my room, and he ambushed me.”

Parlan raised his fists. “That is a lie, and you know it!”

Anice put her hand over her cousin's right hand. “This will not be resolved by malleting about.”

Slowly he lowered his hands, but they remained clenched. “Don't listen to his out-and-outers, Anice. He was poking his ugly nose into places where it did not belong.”

“Where?”

“The storage rooms at the end of this hall.”

She faced Mr. Potter. “Is that true?”

“I was in that area, that is true. But I had simply gotten lost and was turned around, going in the wrong direction.” He jutted his chin toward Parlan. “After all, I have things to think of other than which cravat to wear to this assembly.”

Anice was unsure if her cousin could control himself when Mr. Potter's pose dared Parlan to strike the Englishman's chin. The glare she gave Parlan warned him that she would not accept any excuse for him hitting Mr. Potter again. She was not interested in Parlan's pout or Mr. Potter's irritation. Every second she spent here trying to calm them was another she was delayed in speaking with Lucais.

Speaking? Unless my eyes were quite mistaken, you were not simply
speaking
with him
. Neilli's accusation refused to be forgotten.

Anice wanted to shout that yes, it was true. She wanted to return to Lucais to do more than ask him what was wrong. She yearned to be close to him, his lips on hers as he lured her into sweet madness. Surrounded by his strong arms, pressed to his firm chest, she could think solely of the rapture to be found in his kisses.

“I have heard enough,” she said quietly, pushing aside her own tempting thoughts. “It may be too much to ask you to apologize to each other, but I trust you can go on your separate ways without further rough-and-tumble.”

Mr. Potter turned to leave, but Parlan would not be put off so readily. Jabbing a finger at the Englishman, he snarled, “Is that all you have to say? Get rid of him and his fellows. These curs do not belong here.”

“Parlan, this is not the time.”

Her cousin scowled as viciously as Mr. Potter did at the insult. “It
is
time, Anice. It is time that these roadmen leave Ardkinloch. None of us wants them here.”

“Are you so sure of that?”

“I am sure of it.”

“But Neilli is not. She was smiling quite broadly when she last spoke with Lucais.” She hated using Neilli's troublesome delusions this way, but she would not have more fisticuffs in Ardkinloch. “Nor am I sure that it would be fitting with our family's traditions to toss our guests out into the night.”

“It's barely past twilight.”

“There will be no further discussion of this.”

“I have no interest in discussing anything.” His hands tightened again into fists.

Anice kept her chin high as she met his gaze. “Nor will there be any bunches of fives flying about. You may not like the fact, Parlan, but the road crew are our guests until their replacement supplies arrive from England.” Turning, she added to the other man, “I bid you a good evening, Mr. Potter.”

The Englishman opened his mouth as if to retort, then seemed to think the wiser course was to say nothing. With the slightest bow of his head, he walked away. His indignant pose was ruined when he reeled into a wall before regaining his balance.

Anice whirled to face her cousin. “Have you gone queer in your attic? If Aunt Coira saw you fighting with Mr. Potter, she …” Now she sounded like Neilli. This was going nowhere.

“She would what?” Parlan demanded.

“Why were you so dashed determined that Mr. Potter not go down the hallway toward the storage rooms?” she asked, refusing to answer his question. Showing any weakness at this point might persuade him to ask other questions she did not want to answer. If he was not so furious at Mr. Potter, Parlan might be wondering why she was up here instead of among her guests below.

“I do not trust those men not to steal supplies to replace those they lost in the fire. Neither should you trust them.”