Claimed by the Laird (13 page)

“Are you?” Suddenly the look in her blue eyes was keen and far too perceptive. It felt as though she could see right through him: see the hopes he had cherished of building a relationship with his brother and the pain of loss; see the fierceness with which he rejected all ties that could bind him, hurt him. He had a rule to keep himself apart. He had broken it for Peter and had suffered for it. He would never take that risk again.

“Well...” She brushed the matter away as though she had realized that this was not the sort of conversation she should be having with the gardener. “I do not suppose we should be discussing such personal matters,” she said. A hint of color came into her face. “I am not sure why I talk to you so much, Mr. Ross. It is quite inexplicable.”

Lucas smiled at her. “Perhaps you view me as a confessor figure,” he suggested. “Like a priest.”

She gave a snort of laughter, quickly repressed. “Anyone less like a priest...” she said.

The cedar walk opened out into a broad expanse of parkland. Christina paused, her gaze fixed on the distant boundary where the bank and ditch of the ha-ha separated the park from the bracken-and-heather-clad hillside beyond.

“Did you go to see Eyre?” Lucas asked. He wondered if the riding officer had kept his word.

Christina’s gaze came back to fix on his face. “No,” she said. “There was no need.” She frowned slightly. “Word came this morning that he had released Callum MacFarlane. Perhaps he has some humanity in him after all.”

“I wouldn’t bank on it,” Lucas said. “You heard that he burned a barn over at Kilcoy when he was hunting for the peat-reek? Unfortunately he did not trouble to check first whether anyone was inside.”

He felt a shudder rack her. She turned to look at him, face pale, eyes frightened. “What happened?”

“Some children almost died,” Lucas said harshly. “They had been playing and hid in fear when they saw the riding officers coming. They breathed in the smoke.”

He heard her catch her own breath. “Will they live?”

“No one knows,” Lucas said.

There was silence but for the soft crunch of the path beneath their feet, then she sighed. “I heard that you yourself met Mr. Eyre a few nights ago,” she said. “At the Kilmory Inn.”

“Your spies are very good,” Lucas said, amused. It was a sharp reminder that he needed to be very careful. “We played a game of cards,” he said. “I beat him.”

“I don’t suppose anyone else is prepared to play with him,” Christina said.

Lucas shrugged. “I’ll play cards with any man for money and a drink.”

“Yes,” Christina said. The look she gave him was opaque. He could not read it at all. “That reminds me of something I wished to discuss with you, Mr. Ross.”

“Oh?” Lucas said.

She did not speak immediately and he could not see her face as she was half turned away from him. The sleeve of her spencer brushed his arm. He heard her give a little sigh, and then she stopped and squared her shoulders, tilting her face up to his.

“We need to talk about your drinking habits, Mr. Ross,” she said. “It has come to my attention that you spend almost all your spare time and most of your pay in the Kilmory Inn.” She frowned a little, wrinkling her nose up. “I hope that you do not have a problem with alcohol?”

“That is quite a question,” Lucas said, “from a woman who took refuge in the peat-reek to escape her guilt and her grief.”

“Mr. Ross!” Christina’s eyes flashed. “You are—”

“Presumptuous,” Lucas said. “Insolent. I know. In general, it is not a good idea to use drink as an escape.”

She had turned away from him, her lips set tightly, anger in every elegant line and curve of her body. “That was different,” she said. “You know it was. Whereas you... I hear you visit the inn almost every night.”

Lucas sighed. He could hardly tell her that he only frequented the Kilmory Inn in order to pick up clues about his brother’s death. And something about Christina’s resolve to tackle a difficult subject touched him. She thought he might have a problem. She wanted to help.

“Lady Christina.” He softened his tone. “I do not know what you have heard, but I assure you that I am not reliant on drink.”

A frown still marred the smooth skin between Christina’s brows. “You may think so, Mr. Ross, but I assure you that it is all too easy to become dependent without realizing. My brother—” She stopped abruptly.

Lucas put his hand on her arm. “I am sorry about Lord Lachlan,” he said. The entire castle, the entire village and probably all of Scotland knew that Lachlan MacMorlan’s life was slowly unraveling.

Christina shook her head and Lucas knew she was rejecting his comfort. It was not appropriate for him to offer it; no servant should presume so far.

“I am merely perturbed that if you drink too much you will not be able to work effectively,” Christina said abruptly. Lucas saw her fingers clench on the handle of the basket. “My concern is entirely practical and in the interests of the estate.”

“I am in no danger of putting a garden fork through my foot,” Lucas said. He did not bother to call her on the lie. They both knew her concern for him had been personal, and she betrayed herself again a moment later when she said hesitantly, “If you have spent all your wages and are in financial difficulty I could give you an advance on the next week.”

This time Lucas caught her elbow and pulled her to a halt. “Your concern for me is very sweet,” he said softly, “but quite unnecessary.”

Confusion flickered in her eyes. “I am concerned for the smooth running of the establishment at Kilmory,” she corrected. “I spoke only out of duty.”

“Not quite,” Lucas said pleasantly. “You care about people, not just their ability to work.” He saw her take a breath to contradict him and continued, “You are concerned that no one starves in the village and that your father’s tenants have their grievances addressed justly and that you look after all your relatives and dependents. Duty is cold. You are not cold.”

Her color deepened but she did not correct him. He could feel the resistance in her, though, the need to break away from him and restore the fragile barriers she had erected between them. He was not inclined to let her destroy that intimacy. Suddenly he wanted to make her see, make her understand that there were times when she should put herself first. He gave her arm a little shake so that she looked up at him again.

“What about you,” he said a little roughly. “Who takes care of you, Lady Christina?”

The confusion in her eyes deepened. Seeing the vulnerability there, Lucas was ambushed by a fierce desire to kiss her. Exasperation and frustration warred in him. Here was a woman who spent so much time caring for others that she did not even understand his question. She did not consider her own needs and neither did anyone else. For some reason that made him furious.

It also disturbed him. He did not like the warmth and protectiveness that possessed him whenever he saw Christina. Warmth, affection, belonging—none of these had any place in his life. They were emotions that weakened a man and made his judgment falter. He did not want to feel. He did not want to
care.

She was still looking at him, her chin tilted up slightly, the sunlight on her face, that lush, sensual mouth. Lucas felt his body harden again, his blood running hot.

Hell and the devil.

He stepped back, sketching a bow. “Excuse me, Lady Christina,” he said a little abruptly. “I will leave you here and go to the drawing office. Good day to you.”

She looked nonplussed for a moment—could she really not see how attracted he was to her?—and then nodded. “Good day, Mr. Ross.” She sounded as cool and collected as ever.

Lucas watched her walk away, a neat, precise figure in her summery yellow gown and spencer. She carried the wicker basket over one arm and looked as unpretentious as any country lady. He smiled wryly as he watched her pass the laundry and pause for a word with the maid hanging out the washing before knocking at the door of Hemmings’s cottage and disappearing inside. Lady Christina MacMorlan, her life’s work to care for others. He was damned if he knew why her happiness mattered to him, but it did.

CHAPTER TEN

C
HRISTINA
PUT
DOWN
the sheaf of papers she was holding, took off the glasses that were pinching her nose and rubbed her eyes. They felt dry and gritty. She felt tired after hours of wading through the household expenditure. She had forgotten that that evening they were due to dine with the minister and his family, and, even though it was a short journey, she should have gone upstairs to get ready so much sooner.

She opened a drawer and shoved the account books inside, noticing as she did so the set of references for Lucas Ross that the Duchess of Strathspey had provided, the references that had made Christina feel slightly uncomfortable.

“Mr. Ross comes from a good family and I have known him for many years,” the duchess had written. “You will find him entirely reliable, diligent and trustworthy and able to turn his hand to any task you require.”

It was in all ways completely satisfactory, and Christina was at a loss as to why she felt so uneasy about it, but uneasy she was. There was no hint of impropriety in the duchess’s relationship with Lucas, no suggestion of anything other than a long and respected association, and Christina felt guilty for even imagining it. She wondered whether Lucas had in fact been a protégé of the Strathspeys. Perhaps they had been the ones to find him on the streets of Edinburgh and give him a chance of a better life. They might even have paid for him to go to school. Certainly Lucas’s speech and other aspects of his behavior suggested that he had been educated far above his current station. But in that case, Lucas would have risen equally far above the role of either footman or gardener. He would have become a clerk and would have hired servants himself.

It was a puzzle, but she could not write back to ask the duchess for more detail without betraying a most unladylike interest in her new gardener. She had already betrayed that interest to Lucas far too much. He let slip so little information about himself. She imagined his solitary nature had been forged all those years ago when he had had to fend for himself as a child, but it hurt her that now, as a man, he still fiercely rejected any sense of belonging. Her family, her clan, was everything to her.

She shoved the reference back into the drawer and closed it with a snap, standing up, frowning as she noticed the ink that had stained her fingers and left a blot on her gown. She would have to ask Alice Parmenter if she had any remedies to remove the stain. The previous housekeeper had been a positive mine of useful information but Alice was less helpful; there was something surly in her manner these days. If the duke had not insisted that she be given the job at Kilmory, Christina would have had no hesitation in sacking her.

Promptly at five the carriage drew up on the gravel sweep outside Kilmory Castle’s main door. Christina gathered the family all together: her father, still scribbling distractedly on a piece of paper as she coaxed him into his jacket; Lachlan, who had not bothered to shave and looked like a brigand; Gertrude, proud in olive silk and a matching turban; and Allegra, whose eyes were bright with the excitement of different company.

“I am hoping to see MacPherson’s collection of first editions of Drayton’s poetry tonight,” the duke said, pushing his papers haphazardly into his pockets with ink-stained fingers. The minister was a friend and academic colleague of his. They had been at Oxford together. “I hope he has brought them back with him from Edinburgh.”

“You may have to make do with conversation tonight, Papa,” Christina warned. “The MacPhersons have visitors from Edinburgh and the minister may be too preoccupied to spare time for poetry.”

“MacPherson always introduces the most stimulating topics at the dinner table.” The duke’s face was alight with childlike pleasure. “Last time I believe we spoke on Tillotson’s principles of benevolence.”

“This is precisely the sort of society we should mixing with,” Gertrude agreed as she allowed Galloway to help her on with her cloak. “It is far preferable to your indigent spinsters and charity cases, Christina. They cannot possibly do us any good. Although Mr. and Mrs. MacPherson are without title, they are well connected and are worth cultivating. When Angus and I are in charge of the Forres estates, there will be no hobnobbing with the local peasantry.”

Allegra rolled her eyes. Christina tried not to smile to see it. Gertrude was still talking as she herded Allegra ahead of her down the steps.

“It simply isn’t good enough having only the one carriage,” she was saying. “Angus and Lachlan are obliged to ride because there is not enough room for us all. The Duke of Forres arriving with only one carriage! I could sink with the embarrassment of it.”

“Try to bear it, Gertrude,” Christina said drily. “When
you
are Duchess of Forres, you may of course keep as many carriages as you please, but for now it is not financially worthwhile for us to run more than one.”

Gertrude made a huffing sound. “As though you need to penny pinch! Why, everyone knows that the duke is the richest man in Scotland and that you yourself will have an independent fortune within a couple of years!” Malice tinged her voice. “It will be some small recompense, I suppose, for being an old spinster, long on the shelf.”

Christina felt her stomach drop in sickening fashion. She was used to Gertrude’s spiteful digs, but they were still painful to bear. She knew her sister-in-law deliberately tried to provoke her. She was doing it again now because Christina had refused to rise to her previous comment.

“What was the name of that fellow you were betrothed to?” Gertrude was musing. “McMahon? McGregor?”

“McGill,” Christina said expressionlessly.

“McGill!” Gertrude said with glee. “He went off to London and married a grocer’s daughter! One chance to secure a husband, Christina, and you fail because Lord McGill preferred the daughter of a cit!”

Christina gritted her teeth. Sometimes it seemed, looking back, that her life had been a house of cards, and the tiniest breath of wind had sent them tumbling. She had thought her life was built on rock, but there had been nothing but shifting sand.

She became aware of a tall figure standing by the carriage steps waiting to help them ascend. It was Lucas. The Forres livery of black and scarlet suited his tall, broad-shouldered physique. Christina realized she was staring and shut her mouth with a snap just as Gertrude let out a crow of delight.

“Ah! There you are, Ross! Galloway did find a uniform to fit you, then. That’s excellent. It was quite unacceptable for that other footman to escort us tonight. He was far too unprepossessing.” She gave Lucas a comprehensive glance. “A pity you do not have a twin. You would have looked very pretty together on the back of the carriage.”

“Gertrude!” Christina was simultaneously appalled at her sister-in-law’s high-handed dismissal of Thomas Wallace and the way she spoke to and about Lucas as though he were no more than an ornament. “You cannot simply tell Thomas that he is not to accompany us. It is part of his job! Imagine how that must make him feel. I suppose—” she allowed her disgust to color her tone “—you told him he was too ugly to be seen on the back of a carriage?”

Gertrude looked blank. “Of course I did not offer an explanation. What an odd idea. I merely told him that his services were not required tonight.”

Christina was so furious she stormed up the carriage steps, ignoring the hand Lucas held out to help her and equally ignoring the fact that Gertrude, always so keen on asserting her precedence, wanted to take the best seat. The journey to the manse passed in an uncomfortable simmering silence.

Gertrude’s taunting words seemed to ring in Christina’s ears.
An old spinster, long on the shelf...

It was true. That was precisely what she was and perhaps that was why it hurt so much. What made it worse, though, was that Lucas had heard. That was humiliating. Of course, Lucas knew her situation. Yet she did not want Lucas to pity her. She did not need sympathy. She had chosen this life.

Having got into the carriage first, Christina was the last down the steps when they finally arrived. This time Gertrude made sure to sweep out with a great fuss and swish of skirts, her back still rigid with outrage.

Lucas was again waiting to help, but Christina felt reluctant to take his hand even though she needed it this time, as there was quite a drop to the ground. Gritting her teeth and telling herself not to be so stupid, she put her hand in his. Immediately Lucas’s fingers closed about hers, long and strong. It was such a small thing, only a touch, and it should have been impersonal but it was not. Christina felt the sensation shimmer through her down to her toes, and she stopped dead on the top step.

Immediately Lucas stepped forward and Christina knew he was about to scoop her up in his arms. “There is no need to carry me, Mr. Ross,” she said quickly. “I am not an infant.”

“I beg your pardon, ma’am.” Lucas’s voice was low and amused, his lips so close to her ear that she felt her hair stir with his breath. “I thought that after your experience in the library you might have developed a fear of heights.”

“As usual, you exceed your duties,” Christina said.

Lucas gave her a smile. “Ma’am.”

“That was not a compliment,” Christina said.

Lucas’s smile disappeared. “Ma’am.”

“I believe we also owe you an apology, Mr. Ross,” Christina said stiffly. “It was inappropriate for Lady Semple to ask you to do Thomas’s job this evening, and even more so for her to comment on your appearance.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Lucas said. “Thank you.”

Christina was unsure whether he was agreeing with her or simply acknowledging the point. Servants were not supposed to have opinions. Not that Lucas Ross had ever behaved as he was supposed to do.

“It was equally inappropriate,” she said, “to rehearse our family’s tedious personal affairs in front of you. I apologize for that, too.”

“I wouldn’t call them tedious,” Lucas said. “And forgive me, ma’am, but Lady Semple’s conclusions were quite mistaken.” His voice had changed, hardened. Christina could have sworn there was a thread of anger in it now. “I do not know who this McGill was, ma’am,” he said, “but he sounds like a complete fool.”

Christina felt a pang of shock. “Thank you,” she said, “but—”

“Any number of men would be happy to marry you, ma’am,” Lucas continued, “and they would be fortunate to do so.”

“Because I am an heiress,” Christina said. She felt a flash of bitterness.

“No, ma’am,” Lucas said. He dropped his voice so that no one could overhear. “Because you are generous and kind and you kiss like an angel.”

“Mr. Ross!” Christina’s face flamed and her heart beat so hard she thought he would surely hear it. “I am not sure there has ever been so improper a servant as you are,” she said. “You take the most appalling liberties.”

“You did ask, ma’am,” Lucas said, with a smile that was entirely disrespectful.

“It strikes me, Mr. Ross,” Christina said, ignoring the flare of heat that look engendered, “that you are in completely the wrong job. You need to be employed in something where you can exercise your initiative and express your opinions freely since you do that anyway.” She shook her head. “Did I not tell you right at the start that flirting with a member of the family was improper?”

“I thought it might be,” Lucas said. “Except I was not flirting. I was telling the truth.”

“Enough,” Christina said. “Are you trying to incite me to sack you, Mr. Ross? Think about what I said. If you wish to study or apply for more challenging work, I would be happy to sponsor you.”

Even though it was getting dark, she saw the sudden flare of astonishment in Lucas’s eyes. Perhaps he had not believed her sincere. Perhaps he was accustomed to people making empty offers. His background and upbringing as an orphan on the streets of Edinburgh could not have made him the most trusting of men.

“That is extremely generous of you, ma’am,” he said after a moment, “but I do not require such charity.”

Christina stiffened. She could not help herself—she felt offended at the rebuff. She should have realized. Lucas Ross needed no one. She had lost count of the number of times he had spurned her attempts to help him. He was utterly self-contained, utterly cold. She thought of the flowers she had left him, which the following day she had found wilting on the compost heap behind the potting sheds and had felt a strange sense of desolation sweep through her.

“My lady—” Lucas said, and she realized that her feelings must have shown and now he did pity her. She shook her head and walked away up the path to the door. She could see Mr. and Mrs. MacPherson in the brightly lit hall, waiting to greet her, and Gertrude’s cross face peering back at her through the dark.

“Christina!” Her sister-in-law’s tone cut like glass. “What on earth are you doing out there? You are taking
hours!
”

“Nothing,” Christina said, with a sigh. “I’m doing nothing at all.”

* * *

L
UCAS
HELPED
THE
groom and coachman stable the horses, for which they were properly grateful, though they gave him some banter about dirtying his smart uniform. Acting as footman was a complication he had not seen coming. Annie, the second housemaid, had asked him to coach Thomas Wallace in his duties because poor Thomas was hopeless and Galloway was becoming increasingly exasperated with him. Lucas had been on the terrace giving Thomas some practical advice when Lady Semple had come across them and had promptly decreed that Lucas would accompany them that night in Thomas’s place.

“We are condescending to visit a relatively modest household,” she had said. Her cold gaze had slid over Thomas, itemizing his flushed, freckled face, untidy hair and untucked shirt. “We need to show them how to do things properly. You will not do, Wallace. Not at all.”

Thomas had slipped away, looking mightily relieved, and Lady Semple had sent Lucas off to be sized up for a footman’s livery, much to Galloway’s disgust.

“Don’t go getting ideas, lad,” he had said to Lucas as he’d unearthed an ancient and slightly moth-eaten uniform. “Currying favor with her ladyship is all very well, but your place is in the garden, not the drawing room.”