He hit his fist on the pillow,
and the scent of lavender buds fill
ed the air as he collapsed backward on the bed. There was no justice in this world, none at all. Look at David, dead and gone, and here his blackguard of a cousin slept in his bed while the woman they both had loved was sleeping alone. Life wasn't always fair, which was why Patrick believed a man had to make his own luck even if it meant suffering a little humiliation along the way.
13
P
atrick took an instant dislike to the distinguished-looking gentleman who banged at the door the following morning and insisted on seeing Anne. The middle-aged caller was bristling with anticipation, practically bursting the seams of his tweed jacket to enter the house. His mustache and thick brown hair, streaked attractively with silver, shone with a light application of Macassar oil.
Patrick was not in a good mood after being awakened before dawn by Gracie so he could get an early start on his duties, and he could smell a wolf when one knocked on the door. God above, he ought to be able to recognize his own kind.
He straightened his impressive shoulders and looked down his nose at the smaller man. It was, after all, a butler's prerogative to intimidate unwelcome callers.
"I will inquire whether her ladyship is receiving visitors," he said with starch in his voice.
The man gave him a smug smile, patting his cravat. "Oh, she'll receive me, all right. Anne and I are close friends."
Patrick frowned at that.
"Her ladyship has not had her breakfast yet," he said, all but closing the door in the man's face. "I believe she has made plans afterward to take her morning ride."
"Yes, yes." The man caught the door with the tip of his highly polished boot. "That is why I'm here. Nobody can outride Lady Whitehaven, and I intend to accompany her on her outing. Now open this door and tell her I am here, or I shall see to it that you get the sack."
Patrick put his hands on his hips. "What did you say your name was?"
The man looked a little startled at a butler assuming such a belligerent attitude. "Wallace.
Sir
Wallace Abermuir. But you may tell her ladyship that Wallie is here to welcome her back. She'll know me."
"Wallie, is it? Well, doesn't that just warm the cockles of your wee heart?" Patrick said to himself as he turned on his heel.
The man blinked and let himself into the hall, commenting under his breath about where one found one's help these days.
Patrick could have given Sir Wallie an earful about where he'd been found. He also could have thrown him out the door, he felt that annoyed as he stalked off down the hall under the unblinking stares of the stags' heads mounted on the wall.
Close friends, were they? And here he'd thought he knew everything there was to know about Anne; he had made discreet inquiries over the years into her personal affairs and was convinced she had never been unfaithful to David; still, he shouldn't be surprised that the local buzzards were already flocking to fe
ast. She was beautiful and well-
connected, if not wealthy.
He found her drinking tea in the blue drawing room with Nellwyn. As always, the sight of Anne made his heart beat a little harder, and for a moment he just leaned against the doorjamb, taking pleasure in listening to her talk about her horses. He loved this vivacious side of her character.
Nellwyn noticed him first. "Sutherland, have you brought my digestive biscuits?"
He made a face. "There's an odd fellow at the door to see Anne."
"To see her ladyship," Nellwyn corrected him.
He was staring at Anne's mouth, remembering the taste and texture of her lips. He had never appreciated her innocent kisses before, and now he was starved for them.
Anne frowned at him. "What was this man's name, Sutherland?"
He shrugged. "Walter. William. Hell if I know."
"Walter?" Anne put down her teacup. "I don't know anyone named Walter, and the only William in this area is a bit off in the head."
"Good." Patrick turned before she could stop him. "I'll get rid of him. I didn't like the looks of the walrus anyway."
"Wait a minute." Anne came to her feet. "He might be a friend of David's."
"I don't think he was David's friend," Patrick said, already halfway down the hall. "Anyway, there is something about him that I disliked."
"How intriguing," Nellwyn murmured. She had risen from her chair to follow Anne, although Patrick couldn't imagine what was so interesting about watching him turn away an unwelcome visitor. Bloodthirsty women, he decided. Well-bred but bloodthirsty.
His giant strides ate the distance to the door in no time. In fact, he was rolling up his shirtsleeves for a physical confrontation when Anne arrived and recognized her visitor.
She gasped in surprise. "Wallie, oh, good heavens. It's
you.
He said it was Walter, but I should have guessed. How
embarrassing—you'll have to for
give us. After David died, there were so many insufferable men who came to call, claiming to be friends. And—"
She seemed unable to stop talking. In fact, Patrick couldn't remember se
eing her so flustered and self-
conscious in years, and he was taken aback by the change in her. And jealous. He was actually jealous when Sir Wallace smiled in relief and barreled past him, holding out his arms to Anne.
"Anne, you naughty girl, you should have let me know you were coming. I'd have had a crew of workers busy making this place more comfortable. How long are you staying? Did you ever breed Jocasta to that stallion? Did you hear my bay had foaled and Iolaire took a first?"
Anne was laughing, apparently enjoying the attention. Worse, she was letting the man touch her. Patrick swallowed and felt as if he had been turned to ice, unable to look away. Yet the absurdity of his masquerade made it impossible to express his anger in the usual ways. He couldn't very well pummel Sir Wallace into a pulp, or call him out for embracing Anne. So he did what any butler might do to signal his disapproval. He slammed the front door with a satisfying bang that echoed throughout the lodge. Dust motes danced in
the air, and one of the ceremo
nial swords crossed on the wall dropped to dangle by its foil.
Startled, Anne pulled away from Wallace and turned to see what had caused the resounding crash. She found her
self staring up at a very hurt-
looking Patrick, who stood glowering back at her with his arms folded across his chest.
She stared at him for a long time. "We shall take fresh tea in the red drawing room. See to it, Sutherland."
Patrick clenched his jaw, not moving as Nellwyn came up to give him in encouraging word. "Don't worry. He doesn't hold a candle to you."
"He tried to kiss her on the mouth."
Nellwyn looked surprised. "She didn't let him, did she?"
"No," he said grudgingly, but who could say what might have happened if she had met Wallace alone—a situation he vowed instantly would never happen.
"Unless I miss my guess, this is all part of your
penance for whatever happened between you and Anne
,"
Nellwyn said thoughtfully. "Have you tried telling her how you feel? Sometimes a woman needs gentle words, a bit of wooing."
He smiled grimly. "She knows I want her back, damn her. I can prove it by squashing that leech who's attached himself to her side."
She touched his arm. "No, you won't do any squashing. You shall better prove it by serving them tea."
14
T
he
staff had never seen one of their own in such a pique. Sutherland looked positively forbidding as he left the kitchen shoving his trolley like a plow. Mrs. Forbes held her breath as her best china rattled in rhythm with his thunderous footsteps.
"
What's the matter wi' him?" Graci
e whispered to the parlormaid as they passed each other in the hall.
"Her ladyship has a visitor," was the reply. "A
male
visitor—Sir Wallace—and Mr. Sutherland is in a snit about it."
They jumped as he practically rammed the tea trolley through the door.
"
Tea," he said loudly as he interrupted Wallace in the act of draping a shawl around Anne's shoulders.
Anne looked up from the sofa, her eyes alight with mischief. "There you are, Sutherland. I had just commented on how chilly the lodge is in the morning."
"There should be no need for her ladyship to feel cold," Sir Wallace said in disapproval. "Don't you have a second man, Sutherland, to see to such things as a chilly room?"
Patrick wheeled the trolley into the room with an unearthly clatter. "Her ladyship may complain to me in person if there is a problem. She is perfectly capable of complaining for herself."
The man looked dumbfounded. "Does your butler always speak in such a blunt manner?" he asked Anne.
She gave a helpless shrug. "I'm afraid he does."
"This would not have been allowed were your dear husband alive." Wallace settled back down next to her on the sofa. "It is a sad fact of life that young widows are one of society's most vulnerable members." He gave Patrick a look. "Prone to being taken advantage of by men of every station."
"Isn't that the truth?" Patrick retorted from the tea trolley
Sir Wallace's eyebrows shot up. "Are you addressing me, Sutherland?"
"Not unless you're an envelope."
Anne shot him a murderous look. "Stop teasing, Sutherland, and pour that tea before it goes cold."
Patrick stared down at the tea trolley, uncertain he could continue with this masquerade and maintain any semblance of dignity whatsoever. And how was he to pour such a sissified beverage into these wee cups with a straight face?
"The tea, Sutherland," Anne said, biting off each word.
He lifted the silver pot and two china cups from the tray. Resentment blatant in his every move, he strode up to the sofa and thrust both cups into Sir Wallace's hands.
"Here. Kindly hold these for a moment."
"What the—"
"Don't move," Patrick warned him. "If you get hot tea dumped in your lap, I shall not accept the blame."
Anne held her breath as Patrick poured from his standing position, and Sir Wallace, speechless, sat as still as death with the cups gripped in his shaking hands.
"This is outrageous," the man sputtered.
"I suppose you both want sugar," Patrick said, turning back to the tray.
"I do," Anne said between her teeth.
"So do I," Sir Wallace said. "However, I do not want it dropped like a bomb into my cup."
Patrick arched his eyebrow. "Fine. Then perhaps you ought to do it yourself." And as Anne watched in disbelief he brought the tea trolley up to the sofa, wedging it as a barrier between her and Sir Wallace.
"There. Now nobody can complain. Drink away."
"Thank you, Sutherland," Anne said tightly. "You may see about your other duties now. Perhaps you could check the flues again. I'm sure Sir Wallace would like to catch me up on the local gossip."
Which meant Lord Kingaim's murder. Patrick didn't need to be hit over the head to get that hint. However, he did not like leaving his Anne alone with this middle-aged Romeo either. Butler or not,
he would not tolerate anyone taking advantage of her.
"You know where to find me if you need me, madam," he said.
Then he bowed and marched to th
e door, giving Sir Wallace a man-to-man look that warned him he had better behave himself, or else.
"That is the most aggravating servant I have ever encountered," Sir Wallace said the instant the door closed.
Anne put her hand to her head. It was throbbing. "Yes, I know."
"Why do you tolerate such impudence in an inferior, Anne?"
"I'm not sure." She stared at the door, fighting an urge to laugh. "Perhaps because he and David were once close."
Which wasn't a lie. The two men had been cousins, and David had always admired Patrick from a distance, although to this day Anne wondered how much he had guessed about her past.
David had envied
Patrick's confidence and devil-
may-care approach to life. David's interests had leaned toward the scholarly, a quiet man who craved hearth and home. Yet more than once he had admitted to Anne that he wished himself strong enough to accompany Patrick to Bermuda, but he didn't have the stamina for fighting. He didn't even have the stamina to ride with his young wife on the moor.
Anne had been secretly relieved. She cherished her time riding alone, even if more often than not she had spent those times thinking about how different her life might have been if she had married
another man. But she couldn't complain, could she? Her husband had worshipped her and her reputation was intact.
"Dear, sad Anne."
She gave a start of alarm as she realized Sir Wallace had taken her hand. His knee pressed against hers, and he was looking at her with an indulgent if admonishing smile.
"David and I met during our Oxford days. Do you remember?"
She did, but only vaguely, and what did they say about the kind of wife she'd been? For most of their marriage David had buried himself in the library with his books while she attended the races or rode alone on the heath, a pursuit that had worried her husband half to death.
"David is gone," Sir Wallace said. "Perhaps in your grief for your dear husband, your judgment is not as sound as it should be."
She pried her hand loose on the pretense of reaching for her cup. "Are you saying that my wits are scattered because I have employed Sutherland?"
He watched her carefully. "Let us not discuss your rather eccentric butler. If David was fond of the fellow, then he must have his worthy side."
She took a sip of tea. "Speaking of David, do you remember how he loved his shooting parties? I had thought this year I might resume the tradition, as a tribute to his memory."
He frowned. "It is rather short notice, and I do not wish to sound rude, but the lodge is badly in need of repairs."
"And I am in desperate need of some diversion," she said lightly.
"Perhaps a trip abroad might better do the trick.
"
"No. No." She smiled, pressing her point. "My heart is set on a party and seeing all of our old friends."
"I see." He smiled back at her. "Then a party you shall have, and I am delighted to offer any help you might need."
She sighed. "Of course it will be sad without David giving his tearful toasts and Uncle Edgar doing that silly sword dance."
"Uncle—Oh, yes, Edgar. Poor fellow. Still, he was fortunate to have lived such a full life, and to die fishing on a loch, well, most men would consider that an ideal end."
Anne set her cup back on its saucer. "I've heard the most distressing rumors about his death."
He took her hand again. "Then do not be distressed, my dear. I was there at the very end when we discovered him gone, and it was a tragic but straightforward affair."
"You were there?'
7
she said in surprise.
"Everyone was there, all the usual guests. The doctor told us his heart probably failed during the excitement of rowing across the loch. He had gone out ahead of us, it seems."
"Alone, you said?"
He looked at her. "Well, yes, he was found by himself, but that is not unusual, is it? Lady Kingaim never atten
ded such affairs." He squeezed h
er hand. "Now that is entirely enough sadness for one
day. Poor Edgar aside, I am delighted that you have come home."
"Home?"
"Yes, home, and I say we celebrate your return with a rousing canter across the moor. Nobody can keep up with me like you—did I mention I was hoping to get a colt-foal out of Carbonel this year? You can come with us to Epsom and—"
Her laughter interrupted him. "That ride does sound tempting, but I'd have to ask Sandy to leave his gardening for an hour and accompany us."
"There's no need to drag the old man from his weeds. Flora will play chaperone to keep everything proper. She's in the stable now."
"Flora?" She tried to keep the distaste out of her voice. "Your daughter did not marry the young painter she met in Dundee?"
"As it turned out, the young painter had a young wife and three young children."
"My goodness," Anne said.
"It's in the blood." He sat forward so unexpectedly that she was forced to lea
n back against the sofa in self-
defense. "We Abermuirs are fools when it comes to affairs of the heart."
"I hardly know what to say, Wallace."
He stared at her intently. He was an attractive man in his fashion, with dark compelling eyes and a solid build. His love of horses was genuine; he bet heavily at the races and employed a private trainer for his thoroughbreds, which he had bought with his pension as a naval officer. Two years ago he'd told Anne he was writing
the
book on the rules of
racing; David used to laugh in the background while Wallace and Anne argued heaves and handicaps at the table. "We are a hot-blooded family, Anne. Do you understand what I am saying?"
"Well, not—"
A thunderous crash beside the sofa all but startled her out of her skin. She and Sir Wallace jumped to their feet and found themselves looking up into Patrick's unsmiling face. A load of firewood lay on the carpet where he had dropped it.
"Really, Sutherland." She pressed her hand to her heart. "You might practice a little more grace when you enter a room. You sound like one of the Titans waging war."
His chiseled jaw tightened. "I was concerned that her ladyship might be cold." He cast a withering look at Sir Wallace. "Of course that was before all the talk of hot-blooded hearts began. You probably don't need a fire now."
"Were you eavesdropping on our conversation?" Sir Wallace demanded, incensed.
Patrick took a step forward. "Why? Were you saying something you'd be ashamed to repeat in public?"
Sir Wallace flushed. "Why, you insolent upstart."
"Take that back," Patrick said, his heavy brows drawing into a scowl.
Anne struggled over the firewood to place herself between the two men. "You are overstepping your bounds again, Sutherland," she said in a clipped voice.
"I'll show you overstepping—"
She nudged him away from the sofa. "Make the fire.
Now."
They glared at each othe
r, the small angry woman and th
e powerfully built man who towered over her, with Sir Wallace watching on in utter bewilderment. "Why don't you just give the blighter the sack, Anne?"
"She's keeping me for sentimental reasons," Patrick said as he bent to heft the wood in his arms.
"Do not refer to her ladyship in such a manner," Sir Wallace said.
Patrick unloaded the wood into the huge stone hearth. "What manner is that, sir?"
"Make the fire, Sutherland," Anne said forcefully. She turned to Sir Wallace, deliberately blocking him from Patrick's view. "You must learn to ignore his idiosyncrasies as I have. He can be a wee bit difficult at times, but he does get his job done. And— he's affordable."
"Difficult?" Sir Wallace said in disbelief. "I don't know how you can stand him."
"She cannot live without me," Patrick muttered from his kneeling position at the hearth.
Anne tapped her foot, seriously tempted to give his lean buttocks a hearty kick. "I am going upstairs to change into my habit. Meet me in the stables, Wallace. I think I will accept your offer of that rousing ride, after all."
P
atrick stared at the soot on his hands in annoyance. Anne had another thing coming if she thought he was going to sweep ashes while the walrus
seduced her. His shoulders squared in determination, he sprang up from the hearth and stalked out of the room. His stormy appearance in the
hall startled a gasp out of Graci
e, wh
o was on her way upstairs with cl
ean bedding.
Anne had already gone up to her room to change. And Sir Wallace had presumably hurried to the stables in search of a groom before she could change her mind.
"Where were t
hey off to in such a rush?" Graci
e asked, her face half-buried behind a hillock of crisply ironed sheets.
"None of your business," he said, debating whether to follow Anne upstairs or not
.