Indiscretion (17 page)

27

"
D
ear God." Patrick nearly collided with Anne as they rushed to the window to investigate the agonized bellowing. "What in the name of creation was that?"

She shoved her hair onto her shoulders. Her face was remarkably calm for someone who had been awakened by such an ungodly noise. "A stag. In rut, I think."

"In the courtyard?" he asked, forcing open the window.

"No." She pointed beyond the lodge to the ridge of wooded hills that encircled the estate. "Look," she said softly. "Up there."

Even as she spoke, a guttural roar resounded from the violet shadows of the ridge where a gigantic black stag stood, proclaiming his authority. Below him a hind darted through the trees as if daring the beast to master her.

"
Th
e rut begins
,"
Patrick said, leaning across the
windowsill on his elbows. "I'd forgotten what it was like."

Anne was suddenly acutely aware of his presence, of how attractive he looked in his rumpled linen shirt and breeches with his dark hair disheveled and his big feet bare. He was leaning against her on purpose. She should have pushed him away, but the autumn mist made her shiver, and his large body lent her warmth.

Suddenly the stag roared again, a challenge, and the hills echoed with the grunts and answering roars of younger stags who posed no match for his mastery.

"The dominant male," she said in a subdued voice. "Arrogant creature."

"But he'll win," Patrick said, a grin creasing his face. "Look at the size of him. His body is a mass of muscle."

She stole a glance at Patrick from the co
rn
er of
her eye. "I had noticed. Th
e hind is teasing him."

"So like a woman."

They watched for a few moments as the hind wove through the misty pines toward the
black stag who summoned her. Th
e hind rubbed against him in invitation, and the beast began to nuzzle her neck before he mounted her.

Anne turned away. "So there is your stag, Patrick, and he's already found his mate. You can concentrate on Uncle Edgar now instead of on me."

He followed her to the dressing screen. "There are other stags, and I'm still not giving up my theory that the warning had a symbolic element. I might
even return to Black Mag for a more detailed read
ing."

"It's your money to waste," she said. "Would you leave my room now for me to dress?"

He walked back to the window. "The forest is full of stags. I don't like the idea of you riding out while the males are fighting for supremacy."

"If you aren't going to leave, pass me my riding habit."

"I'm a butler, not a lady's maid. Are you listening to
me?"

"No," she said. "Not at all."

"That's what I thought." He found her habit in the wardrobe and tossed it over the screen. "I admit it is a rare occurrence, but I have heard of stags charging humans in fatal attacks."

"Did you hear about the noblewoman who shot her butler because he refused to leave her bedroom?" She paused. "Nellwyn is an early riser, Patrick. She's going to hear our voices and assume the worst."

"She'll be breeding after this," he said, closing the window against the subtle invasion of mist.

Anne stepped out from the screen. "Nellwyn?"

He grinned. "The hind."

"Nature will take its course."

"It usually does." He stretched his arms above his head, affording her an uninvited view of his flat abdomen through his unbuttoned shirt. "What a night. Sandy and I are going out ourselves to search for Janet. I shall need a gargantuan breakfast to get through the day."

She gave him a droll smile. "Then see to it, Cinderella. I have quite an appetite myself."

"I came here to protect you, Anne, not to pour tea." His blue eyes searched her face. "You do realize that I am doing this because I love you, not because I have developed a sudden penchant for housework? I've fallen in love with you, Anne— woman, did you hear me?"

She knelt to hunt in the chest of drawers, muttering that she just had to find her riding gloves, but her mind was frozen, and she did not know what to say.
He loved her.
To think of him in those terms, after all the emotional tumult he had caused, well, what did he expect of her? What did he want her to do?

"There," she said, brandishing the gloves. "I found them."

She looked around, but he was gone, and she stood up, holding her gloves, wishing her life could be as uncomplicated as the stag's and its mate.
Nature will take its course
…
In the case of her and Patrick, however, she devoutly hoped nature would not interfere, at least not for the second time. She still had not recovered from the first, and judging by the kiss they had shared on the staircase, she had no reason to believe the feelings they aroused in each other would be any easier to control than before.

N
ellwyn gave Anne a guileless look over her tea cup at breakfast a few hours later. "I heard you and Sutherland bumping about in your bedroom all
night. Am I to assume you were reenacting the events that led up to Lord Kingaim's murder?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Anne said, stealing a glance at Patrick, who stood leaning against the drawing room window with his arms folded across his chest.

His expression was remote, unapproachable.

He hadn't spoken to her much since she had refused to acknowledge his confession, or to encourage him. She could imagine his pride had taken a blow, and as it was turning out, there wasn't as much pleasure in her small measure of revenge as she had imagined.

"Do I look stupid
,
Anne?" Nellwyn said, breaking into her thoughts. "I know what noises in the small wee hours mean."

Anne frowned as she took a sip of scalding tea to cover her disconcertment. "That was probably the stag in rut
on
the hill you heard."

"Well, it might have been a stag in rut." Nellwyn cast a meaningful look in Patrick's direction. "But it wasn't coming from the hill, it was coming from your room, and I know because at one point I stood right outside your door and I listened."

Anne put down her cup and covered her eyes with her hand.

"You heard the stags in the hills," Patrick said in a dispassionate voice, not toning around. "You can still hear them if you're in the mood to eavesdrop again."

She hesitated. "Does a stag ask, 'Are you staring at my breasts again?' "

"Dear, dear God." Anne lowered her hand, giving Patrick a furious look. "She
was
listening.
"

He lifted his shoulders in an unconcerned shrug. "Then she knows nothing happened, doesn't she? And she knows you do not return my feelings for you, and I'm making a fool of myself for nothing."

She blinked. Even Nellwyn, for once, was at a loss for words, but only for a moment.

"Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Sutherland," she said. "Anne is entitled to nurse her wounds until she turns into an old crone if she chooses. There are plenty of other women who will jump at the chance to be courted by you. She won't be this attractive forever."

"Thank you," Anne said dryly. "I feel much better about myself now."

"I feel like hell," Patrick said. "While Anne and the footmen were off in the forest, Sandy and I spent two hours knocking at doors and posting notices only to find out Janet and her brother stole two horses during the night and took off to parts unknown. I suppose it's in the sheriff's hands now unless I go after her myself."

"You do look a bit haggard," Nellwyn said. "However, we have already established you must not leave the house until after the party. Did the pair of you come up with any motives for Janet's message?"

Anne hazarded a glance at Patrick. "Well, we didn't actually have much of a discussion about the subject."

Nellwyn's eyebrows shot up. "You spent an entire
night together, and you didn't discuss a death threat?"

Anne sighed. "We did not spend the night together, not in the manner you mean, and I believe Janet was alluded to once or twice, and anyway, it wasn't a death threat at all. It was a vague warning."

"I do not suppose that either of you got around to discussing Edgar's murder while you weren't spending the night together?" Nellwyn asked.

"I have something in mind," Patrick said from the window.

Anne stared down at the floor, not certain she liked the sound of that at all.

"Are you going to share this fascinating plan," Nellwyn asked, "or are you going to stand there sulking forever?"

"Neither." He turned and strode right past the sofa, giving Anne a smile that was smug and pure Sutherland. "I'm going to read the newspaper in the pantry."

28

A
s
a good butler, Patrick was supposed to iron the newspaper and lay it on Anne's breakfast tray. However, since he wasn't speaking to her, and probably never would again, the woman could wait for her wrinkled paper.

Unfortunately, his spell of peace and self-pity did not last long because the neglected noblewomen of Glenferg began to arrive only an hour later to pay a social call on her ladyship.

Actually, their calls
on
Lady Whitehaven were only a pretense. They had never gone to any great lengths to cultivate her friendship, believing the wild young beauty gave herself airs, owing to her connections at court.

But several of the parish beldames
had
taken the trouble to watch Lady Whitehaven's butler spring to the defense of a beaten man at the autumn fair. His chivalry and pugilistic skill had not gone unadmired. What woman would not wish for such a
defender in their employ? And the fact that Miss Flora Abermuir, that brazen light-skirt, had stated the man was a cheeky, irreverent rascal who could not even pour a proper cup of tea had only enhanced his mystique.

What other assets, besides his boxing talents, did the broodingly handsome butler hide? Was he, they speculated wickedly, polishing more than Lady Whitehaven's silver?

The gentlewomen of Glenferg simply had to get to the truth of this alarming matter. Lady Whitehaven, a tender widow, must be protected from this attractive predator if necessary, and the good, gossip-starved ladies of the parish were all too willing to take up her cause.

Lady Murray and Lady Tarbet volunteered to make the first assessment, lest entering the lodge be unsafe for the other women of their group, who had followed in a separate carriage. They pounded bravely at the heavy oaken door and stood in silence as, after endless minutes, footsteps tramped from within.

Sandy flung open the door, a shovel in hand, his white hair askew under his bonnet. "What do you want?" he shouted.

The two gently bred women stumbled a few feet back, mortified by this muddied gnome of Scottish manhood.

Then Lady Murray cleared her throat. "Where, pray tell, is the new butler?"

He smirked. "Himself is sitting on his behind readin' the paper while the poor sod of a gardener has to interrupt his work to answer the door."

"Fetch him," Lady Murray commanded in a voice that even Sandy dared not ignore. "We will be announced by a butler, not a gardener."

Swearing under his breath, Sandy brought Patrick to the door, where the two women took one look at his bluer than blue eyes and behemoth shoulders, and understood exactly why Lady Whitehaven had strayed from virtue's path.

"We have come to call on Lady Whitehaven," Lady Murray said breathlessly, putting her hand to her throat as she gazed up into Patrick's handsome face.

"I believe Lady Whitehaven has gone back to bed." He winked impudently at the older woman. "She was out riding early, and she had a verra active night."

"Oh, dear. Oh, my. An
active
night."

"Are you well, madam?" Patrick asked, the epitome of the solicitous servant.

"A
…
little
…
faint," she said, leaning against her friend.

"Well, my goodness," he said, reaching down to scoop the flustered women into his arms. "Allow me to carry you into the drawing room to recover. The mistress would have my head if I let one of her dear friends collapse at the door."

After that, it was no longer a question of why Lady Whitehaven had employed her butler, or whether she was in any danger of a moral crisis. It was quite simply a question of how to steal him away from Anne for oneself.

A woman would pay a king's ransom to have a
man wait on her hand and foot, then turn around and master her in private. How delightful to have your butler battle for you in public and
bear
you bodily to the couch when you felt a swoon coming on.

Mr. Sutherland was suddenly all the talk at the tea tables of this isolated Highland hamlet.