One Night with the Highlander (The Gilvrys of Dunross) (2 page)

Their visitor sat back with a jerky nod. “And her no better than she should be, by all accounts. Not the sort of woman you should be admitting to the house, Lady Jenna.”

Gordon felt his blood growing hotter by the second. Anger at the insinuations made his hands clench. But now he recalled why the name Merton had sounded familiar. One of his correspondents had regaled him with stories of the seductive Lady Merton. Rumors of a stable of young men at her every beck and call. Bile rose in Gordon’s throat at the things he’d heard as he now tried to associate them with Annabelle.

Jenna’s eyes had narrowed to slits of glittering green. “I met her the first year I arrived here. She was very kind.”

Mrs. Tracey snorted, one of those scornful sounds made by those of a righteous disposition. “You must think of Lady Jenna’s reputation, Mr. McLaughlin. A young lady of her breeding must not be exposed to a whiff of scandal.”

Gordon put down his cup to free his hands so he could put them around the gossiping woman’s throat. Thinking better of it, he picked it up again. “I thank you for your advice.” He drew in a steadying breath. “It was most kind of you to call on Lady Jenna, but I must say she is looking a little pulled. The last few weeks have been hard on her. “

Jenna’s startled eyes swiveled to his face.

He gave her a concerned smile. “The doctor advised plenty of rest. Is that not so, dear cousin?”

Quick to get the message in his eyes, she put the back of her hand to her forehead. “Oh, yes. Oh dear, I am quite exhausted.”

Mrs. Tracey put down her cup with a tight smile. “Indeed. Mr. Tracey said only the other day you were sterling in Mrs. Blackstone’s hours of need. Most creditable. Which is why...” She glanced at Gordon and pressed her lips together. “Enough said. A word to the wise is all that is needed.” She rose to her feet.

Gordon got up and Jenna started to rise.

“It is all right, Jenna,” he said with great solicitation, “I will see our guest to the door. So very kind of you to come all this way, Mrs. Tracey,” he murmured, ushering her out of the room. “Much appreciated.”

Behind him he was aware of Jenna’s attempt to suppress her laughter.

Fortunately for him, the housekeeper was already in the hall with their visitor’s wrap and, once their guest was garbed, opened the door with a flourish. And closed it behind her with a bit more force than was necessary. “Gossipy old crone.”

Gordon raised a brow.

“That’s what my mistress always called her,” the housekeeper said. “And she knew people, Mrs. Blackstone did.”

Yes, Mrs. Blackstone had been no one’s fool. Gordon returned to the parlor.

Jenna was laid out on the sofa with her hands crossed on her chest.

Gordon’s heart dipped. “Jenna? Are you all right?”

She sat up, grinning. “Practicing my die-away airs for my come out next season. Really, Gordon, you do tell some bouncers.”

He grinned in turn and sat down. But the woman’s poisonous words lingered in the air, reminding him of his duty. “Shall I drop Lady Merton a wee note telling her you will no be at home tomorrow?”

Jenna glared at him. “Certainly not. That would make us as bad at That Woman.”

He grimaced. The things he had heard did not reflect well on Lady Merton. He just hadn’t realized the source of gossip was his Annabelle.
His Annabelle?
She had never really been his. “They do say where there’s smoke...”

“There’s fire.” Jenna wrinkled her nose. “What do you think?”

He didn’t want to believe the rumors about Annabelle. He wanted to remember her as the girl he’d met years before. And yet... He took a deep breath. “I think people are innocent until proven guilty.”

Jenna nodded approval. “I, too, think she deserves the benefit of the doubt.”

The way his heart leaped at the knowledge that he would see her again clearly meant his reasons had not been completely altruistic.

Chapter Two

Annabelle hesitated on the doorstep. Was Mother right? Should she have sent a note pleading illness? The reason Mother had given to disguise her embarrassment after hearing the gossip about Annabelle that was circulating in Barton Sidley.

If Merton’s family had their way, the scandal would continue to grow. For all that she had kept her word to him, everything her husband had promised had fallen apart. With Merton’s will being contested before the courts and her personal jewelry all but gone, she and Mother were on the brink of destitution. Yet like her mother, Annabelle still had her pride. So she would visit her mother’s neighbor to offer condolences.

The thought that Gordon might also be there had not influenced her one jot.

Firmly, she rapped on the door with its black crepe-adorned knocker, and braced for what might come when it was opened. The door swung back. The housekeeper, a pleasant plump-faced woman, stepped back without expression. With a quick indrawn breath Annabelle stepped over the threshold and handed the woman her calling card.

“Lady Jenna is expecting you, my lady. If you would follow me, please.”

Perhaps Gordon would not be here. Annabelle’s heart dipped. Why had she thought he might be? It was Lady Jenna she had come to see. Indeed, it would be better if he was absent. She would not have to deal with all the disturbing feelings rushing through her veins. Or suffer the painful squeeze of regret in her heart. Regret for something that never could have been. Her family had needed her to marry well. No matter the leanings of her heart, a charming but penniless second son would have been impossible.

The housekeeper opened a door to reveal Lady Jenna and Gordon in a small snug room that looked out over a walled garden and the forest beyond. A bright sunny room painted cream and white. Books, cushions and bric-a-brac were scattered about in comfortable disarray. On the sofa sat Lady Jenna. Annabelle had forgotten how tiny she was. Her smile was warm, lighting her green eyes, and the sunlight turned her hair to a fiery halo around her face.

Gordon rose from the adjacent armchair, his extraordinary blue eyes fixed on Annabelle’s face. Flames in ice. Blatantly sensual. The heat of that look drew her in, warmed her skin and left her trembling and breathing hard.

A shock hit her hard. He knew about her past indiscretions. Someone had told him.

Color rushed to her face in a hot painful tide. Spine straight, she swept into the room. “Lady Jenna. Mr. McLaughlin. How kind of you to receive me.”

She lifted her chin, refusing to acknowledge her awareness of him as a predatory male.

Lady Jenna bounced up off the sofa. “No. It was kind of you to call. May I offer you tea?”

Annabelle glanced at Gordon. His expression was now unreadable, but his eyes did not warn her away. “Yes, thank you. I must apologise for coming alone. Mother is unwell.” Sickened by her daughter’s reputation.

“Nothing serious I hope,” Lady Jenna said. “I will send some of Aunt...” she swallowed. “Some of Aunt Blackstone’s calf’s foot jelly home with you. It works wonders on the constitution.” Lady Jenna gestured to the sofa. “Come. Sit down beside me. I hope you do not mind that I decided we should take tea here rather than the drawing room, where it is dark and cold.”

Annabelle glanced around at the worn comfort. “It is a charming room.”

“And my aunt was not one for sitting around weeping over what cannot be undone,” Lady Jenna said rather defiantly.

“No indeed,” Annabelle agreed, sitting down beside her hostess, feeling like a fraud. Mother was right. She should not have come. But it would only make her look worse if she fled.

“Are you staying with your mother long?” Lady Jenna asked.

“A few days only,” she said, her heart dipping as she recalled the weight of her worries back in Edinburgh. “And you?”

“I go to Lady Carrick,” Lady Jenna said. “To prepare for my come out in the spring.” She smiled. “It was delayed when my aunt took ill. Not that I minded. She was always so very good to me.”

How wonderful it must be to look forward to the future with such unaffected happiness. “Do you go to Edinburgh or London for your Season?”

Lady Jenna smiled as she poured the aromatic brew into the cups. “Edinburgh, I believe. I need a husband right away. Until I am married, I cannot go home to Braemuir, and I have been away far too long.” She gave a bright little smile. “The prospect of a fine estate and a title should hurry things along, don’t you think?”

Annabelle’s felt the stirring of compassion for the young woman, but what could she say? She had followed much the same path. “I am sure there will be many fine, eligible young men only too delighted to make you an offer.”

She turned to Gordon. “And what about you, sir. Are you planning to set up your nursery?” There now, that sounded casual enough. The sort of thing a married woman might say to a young man with whom she held a passing acquaintance. Her breath sat like a hot hard lump in her throat as she awaited his answer.

“I am no married as yet, Lady Merton,” he replied, his deep burr a gentle caress to her ear and his smile a delicious shiver down her spine. Nor do I expect to remain in Scotland for any length of time,” he continued. “My business concerns are in America.”

Not staying. She felt an unaccountable stab of disappointment.

“Yes,” Lady Jenna said, deftly adding milk to the cups. “And now he is stuck waiting for repairs to his carriage, or we would have been on our way yesterday.”

“The roads around here are abominable,” he said.

“Then what is bad luck for you is good luck for me,” Annabelle said lightly, hoping it sounded like formality and not a fervent truth. “For I would have missed you altogether.” Again her gaze strayed to his face, to the strong bones of cheek and jaw and the piercing blue eyes. Their glances met and lingered, and she felt herself blushing all over again.

“Sugar?” Lady Jenna asked.

“One lump,” she said, her voice breathless.

Having added the sugar, Lady Jenna handed Annabelle her cup. “I know you will have sugar, Gordon.”

“As much as the cup will hold,” he said with a shamefaced smile at his cousin.

“I see you still have a sweet tooth,” Annabelle said, and winced as she realized she’d made it clear she remembered him all too well. He’d piled knob after knob of sugar in his tea at the assembly. She had teased him about it. And he had laughed. It was how their conversation had started. Then he’d asked her to dance. A country dance, but the way he’d looked at her had been enough to quicken her heart. To make her ignore her mother’s warnings and steal outside to meet him. She had been lucky no one had caught them that night. Or perhaps not. If they had been caught, they would have had no choice but to marry. She kept her gaze fixed on her cup and stirred slowly,waiting for the sting in her cheeks to fade.

“Yes,” he said.

She looked up startled. Confused.

He smiled then and it was the familiar boyish smile she’d seen too often in her dreams. She tried not to look at his mouth. To focus in on those finely carved lips that had brushed her own so long ago in a shadowy courtyard beside a fountain.

“Yes, I still have my sweet tooth,” he murmured in that deliciously deep voice.

And she knew he wasn’t talking about sugar. She sipped at her tea to ease the dryness in her throat, and turned to Lady Jenna, presenting her shoulder to Gordon, putting him out of the direct line of her sight so as not to be tempted to gaze at him like a mooncalf. “What will happen to this house when you leave?”

Lady Jenna shrugged. “I believe it is to be sold off. Mrs. Blackstone’s brother-in-law inherits everything. He never wanted this house, but was quite happy to let her stay here as long as she wished.”

Merton’s relatives were not nearly so generous. “I wonder if he will be asking a high price?”

Lady Jenna looked intrigued. “Were you thinking of buying it then?”

It would be perfect for Mother. But with the settlement in doubt, that was out of the question. “Idle curiosity, I’m afraid. Mother likes to keep her finger on the pulse of what goes on in the village.”

“Your father was sorely missed by everyone hereabouts.”

“And Mrs. Blackstone was very kind to Mother after he passed away.”

“She was a dear, wasn’t she?” Lady Jenna said, and the brave facade seemed to waver. Her eyes misted and she pulled out a handkerchief. “Oh, dear. I do apologize. I am not usually such a watering pot.”

Annabelle put down her cup. “Not at all. Your grief does your aunt great honor. Perhaps I may call on you again before you leave.”

“We are leaving the day after tomorrow,” Gordon said. “I am promised the carriage for then.”

“And if it isn’t convenient for you to call tomorrow, perhaps we will meet in Edinburgh next season, if you will be there?” Lady Jenna said.

Lady Carrick would never allow it, of course, but Annabelle smiled and nodded. “I shall look forward to it with pleasure.” She rose to her feet.

Gordon also stood. “I see you walked here alone, Lady Merton.”

Was that censure she heard in his voice? “Our maid stayed to attend my mother,” she said calmly. “And besides, it is only a few steps from here to Ivy Cottage.”

“I will walk you home.”

The tone of command in his voice and the set of his jaw said he would not take no for an answer. Most likely he intended to use their time in private to warn her away from his family. And he would be in the right. She should never have suggested this call. Once she had left him at the post office, reason should have returned. She should have written with excuses, as Mother had advised. But it seemed where he was concerned Annabelle’s willpower was lacking.

Just as it had been when she was a girl. The moment she had seen him, good sense flew out the window. Now it was time to face reality. “I am glad to accept your escort, Mr. McLaughlin.” She couldn’t do him too much harm in the time it would take him to walk her to her front door, and she would assure him she had no intention of drawing his cousin into her sphere.

With a smile, she leaned down and patted Lady Jenna’s small hand. “All things pass in time,” she said softly. “The pain eases and leaves only the happiest of memories.”

Once more Lady Jenna’s eyes glittered with unshed tears. “Thank you,” she said huskily.

Gordon escorted Annabelle from the room.

* * *

He could not believe it. After all these years, he was strolling down a country lane in the sunshine with Annabelle’s hand in the crook of arm, accompanied by the twitter of sparrows. Fortunately, it hadn’t rained for days, and the rutted lane between the dry stone walls merely mired their footwear in dust.

Though if there had been puddles, he might have had an excuse to carry her over them. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. Where he had been stunned by her beauty yesterday, today he could only admire her aplomb. Her dignity. At least his mind held that sort of admiration. Another part of him was occupied by the base urge to investigate the rumors of her wantonness.

And that disgusted him. She had been kindness itself to poor little Jenna, where he had been all fingers and thumbs. Tongue-tied when it came to offering comfort. Much as he had been when he had brought her to her aunt as a child.

His mind hadn’t been on Lady Jenna then. The moment he saw Annabelle at that assembly, he’d been lost in a sea of desire.

When she slipped away from the ball to meet him in the courtyard, he’d been enchanted by her bravery. Her spirit of adventure. He remembered her laughter and his clumsy kiss as if it was yesterday. The hesitant brush of their lips. The way she had tasted on his mouth. The warmth and silkiness of her cheek beneath his trembling fingers. And the scent of her soap. He never smelled roses without thinking of Annabelle, he realized. Or the desperate ache of a young man for a first love.

He had never experienced those same heightened feelings again. Not for any woman he’d known. And while the pain of hearing she’d wed had dwindled over time, it was only now he realized an echo of it remained deeply buried. It was time to be rid of it.

“I can’t believe it is five years since we met,” he said, to break the lengthy silence.

She glanced up at him, shadows filling her expression. “We were so very young, weren’t we?”

“Too young, I suspect.” He inwardly mocked the recollection of how his body had ached for her for days. “You married soon after I left, I understand.” In Boston, when he’d read the announcement in the Edinburgh paper,
The Scotsman
, he’d been angry as well as hurt. “I had no idea you were betrothed when we met.” The stars in her eyes when she’d looked at him had led him down a whole other path.

“I wasn’t,” she said, her gaze fixed on the rutted road. “It was decided very quickly.”

The breath left his body as if he had been punched in the gut. “Not because of me?”

Halting in her tracks, she looked up, a frown crinkling her brow. “No. Oh no. Please do not think it.” She caught her bottom lip in her teeth as if trying to hold back words. Or trying to decide how much to tell him. “Father made a terrible mistake with some investments. Mr. Jenkins had need of a wife and, well...they came to an agreement.” She paused, looking up at Gordon earnestly. “It seemed the perfect answer to our troubles.”

As a second son with few prospects, he certainly would not have been the answer to anyone’s financial troubles. Nor, despite his very real longing to do so, had he made her any kind of promise. In the optimism of youth, he’d thought they would have more time. Perhaps even that she would wait for him. “You subsequently married Merton?”

“He made a very generous offer.”

Something Gordon could not have done then or now. “Jenkins did not leave you well settled?”

“His money went to his heir.”

Was he mistaken, or did she sound a little bitter? It really was not his business. He shouldn’t be asking such questions. And yet he couldn’t stop himself. “What will you do now?”

Again she lowered her glance, looking at the ground as she walked, avoiding the worst of the ruts, giving him a view of the top of her bonnet. Pretty as it was, he preferred seeing her lovely face.