Claimed by the Laird
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Lucas hoped he did not look as incredulous as he felt. If Kilmory was more comfortable than Forres then Forres must be practically uninhabitable. From what he had seen, half of Kilmory Castle was a ruin and the other half was medieval; a squat, ugly edifice that felt as though it had barely changed for centuries. Scotland had many beautiful castles. This was not one of them. Jack had been right about that.
What Jack had not known, though, was how much of a home Kilmory seemed to be. It had a welcoming warmth about it that was more important than superficial elegance. The room in which they were sitting, for example, probably the second-best drawing room, had charm in the slightly rickety chairs with their faded cushions. There was a vase of flowers bright on the mantel and several magazines and papers tossed carelessly on the table. Lucas read them upside down—the Caledonian Mercury from three weeks before, the Lady’s Monthly Museum, the Edinburgh Review.
He wondered if it was in fact financial considerations that had led the duke to close Forres Castle. Kilmory would be cheaper to run. But that would be at odds with the reputation of the Duke of Forres as the richest peer in Scotland. Even so, it was worth investigation. A man would often pretend to riches when he lacked them, and it would be useful to know the truth of Forres’s financial affairs in case he, too, were involved in the whisky trade.
“It is Lady Christina MacMorlan who runs the estate on behalf of her father,” Mrs. Parmenter said. “In practical terms, she is the head of the household.”
Lady Christina.
Lucas felt a flicker of elemental awareness along his skin. Christina MacMorlan. Was she the woman he had met the previous night? It was becoming increasingly likely. A woman who was capable of running an estate would have all the skill, efficiency and contacts to operate a whisky-smuggling ring. And if Mrs. Parmenter was right, then Lady Christina might not only run Kilmory but she might also have knowledge of what had happened to Peter. Lucas felt his pulse speed up and schooled his expression to polite indifference.
“It is the land agent who runs the estate,” Galloway corrected. “It would not be appropriate for her ladyship to work.”
Mrs. Parmenter gave a snort, quickly smothered. It was quite clear whom she thought did all the hard work at Kilmory. Lucas’s interest in Christina MacMorlan sharpened.
“Speaking of work,” Galloway added, with a repressive glance at the housekeeper, “we would require you to turn your hand to almost any task were you to come to work at Kilmory, Mr. Ross. Some footmen have ideas of what is beneath their station.” His tone made it clear that such militant modern views were quite distasteful to him. “We are too small a staff here to tolerate such vanity.”
“I would be happy to help with any task, Mr. Galloway,” Lucas said.
Galloway nodded. He studied the papers lying on the table in front of him, frowning as though something was troubling him. Lucas was puzzled, but he couldn’t work out what was holding Galloway back.
“Your testimonials are impeccable.” The butler said slowly. “You are entirely suitable for the post.”
Lucas inclined his head. Sidmouth’s clerks had indeed done a good job in concocting a set of references that were strong and convincing without gushing too much.
“Excuse me,” Galloway said abruptly. He gathered up his papers and strode from the room. Lucas caught Mrs. Parmenter’s look. She smiled automatically at him, but there was uneasiness in her eyes. They chatted for a while about Edinburgh, where the housekeeper had relatives, but it was clear that she was distracted. After a couple of minutes she, too, excused herself hurriedly and went out.
Left alone, Lucas waited a moment and then stood up and trod cautiously across to the desk. The drawers were packed with account books for Kilmory going back several years. He did not bother to sift through them. He doubted that Lady Christina kept the recipe for distilling the peat-reek handily in her desk, still less anything that might link her and the whisky gang to Peter’s death. If he was caught poking around the house at this stage it would look as though he was a thief and he would be thrown out.
He returned to his seat, stretching his long legs out in front of him, sitting back and allowing himself to appreciate the room’s warmth and comfort. It felt very unlike the town house he possessed in Edinburgh. That was no more than a set of rooms, expensive rooms, elegant rooms, but with no character or heart. The very untidiness and lived-in quality of Kilmory attracted him, though he felt disconcerted to realize it. He had never in his life wanted somewhere that was more than simply a roof over his head.
Ten minutes passed. A suspicion started to seed itself in Lucas’s mind. He was almost certain that Lady Christina MacMorlan was a step ahead of him. She had warned him off the previous night, but he suspected that she had also taken the precaution of warning Galloway not to employ him.
He got up and crossed quietly to the door. Mrs. Parmenter had left it ajar and Lucas pressed his ear to the gap. He could hear the faint sound of voices out in the hall. Galloway was speaking, urgent, agitated.
“Lady Christina, I must protest. There is nothing in Mr. Ross’s application to suggest that he would be unsuitable for the job. On the contrary, he seems precisely the man we are looking for. I do not understand your objections, ma’am. You must see that I am in a dilemma—”
“I understand very well the difficulties of attracting suitable staff to Kilmory.” Another voice, female, crisp, edged with authority. Lucas tried to work out if this was the woman from the previous night. He strained closer to the open door.
“In this instance I must ask you to accept my assurance, Galloway,” he heard Lady Christina say. “I do not want Mr. Ross employed at Kilmory. I am sorry if that poses problems for you. Thomas Wallace will do the job just as well and his family needs the money. We must let Mr. Ross go.”
The dust motes stirred, dancing in the shaft of sunlight from the window. Lucas stepped back hastily from the door as someone walked past. He caught a quick flash of damson muslin and a faint breath of perfume. It was the scent of bluebells. Recognition slammed through him and he only just managed not to push open the door and confront her.
By the time that Galloway and Mrs. Parmenter reentered the room, he had resumed his seat and turned a blandly innocent face toward them.
Galloway closed the door with a snap. Color high, he held out a hand to shake Lucas’s. “Thank you, Mr. Ross,” he said. “That will be all.”
“Oh,” Lucas said. Then, feigning a note of perplexity, “I was hoping to hear the outcome of my interview immediately...” He broke off. Galloway was looking as stiff as an old soldier. Mrs. Parmenter looked flustered and upset.
“Would you like me to wait for word at the Kilmory Inn?” Lucas asked.
“That won’t be necessary, Mr. Ross.” Galloway was shepherding him toward the door. “Thank you for your application. We are sorry that you have not been successful and we wish you well in the future.” He sounded as though the words were stuck in his throat.
Score two to Lady Christina MacMorlan. Lucas’s lips twisted into a rueful smile. She had trounced him last night and now she thought she was rid of him for good. He needed to raise his game.
Galloway escorted him out onto the front steps with the air of a man seeing him safely off the premises. It was a glorious early-summer day, the sky a radiant, cloudless blue, the wind from the sea carrying a hint of salt and with it the soapy scent of gorse. Across Kilmory’s beautiful sweep of lawn, Lucas could see three figures standing in the shade of a vast cedar tree. One, gray-haired, slight and leaning heavily on a stick, he thought must be the Duke of Forres himself. He looked small, diminished in some way by his age. Lucas could see why it was his daughter who had a firm hand on the running of the estate.
The other two figures were women, one fair and slender, very young, the other woman older, tall and elegant in a gown of damson muslin. She had seen him and there was an air of sudden stillness about her as though she was holding her breath.
Lucas glanced at Galloway, who was waiting with an attitude of polite impatience to close the door behind him.
Without hesitation he set off across the broad swathe of grass to confront Lady Christina MacMorlan. Since he had nothing to lose, he might as well try blackmail.
CHAPTER FOUR
“WHO THE DEVIL is that?” Allegra asked.
Christina had been listening vaguely to her father’s plans for a twenty-foot-high Italianate fountain in the middle of the lawn whilst simultaneously wondering what she might spare from the dairy to take on her visit to Mrs. McAlpine in the village that afternoon. The poor woman had just given birth to her sixth child—all boys—and her husband had died in a storm that had taken his fishing boat only eight weeks before. When Allegra stopped walking abruptly and stood staring across the grass toward the castle entrance, she practically tripped over her.
“Language, Allegra,” Christina said automatically. She had known that having Lachlan around with his blunt conversation would be a bad influence. Gertrude would have the vapors if she heard her daughter speaking like an Edinburgh dandy. And that was another problem; Christina had no idea what she was going to do with Lachlan. He needed a swift kick up the backside to send him back to his wife instead of sulking here at Kilmory.
“Ladies do not use that phrase,” she said. “It is shockingly vulgar.”
“They use it when they see a sight like that,” Allegra said. “Who is he?”
Following her niece’s pointing finger, another sin against etiquette that Christina simply did not have the energy to correct, she saw the tall figure of a man framed in the castle doorway.
Lucas Ross.
Her heart began to race. Her breath felt tight in her chest. Suddenly the sun was too hot and too bright.
“Damnation,” she said involuntarily.
Allegra giggled. “Aunt Christina! How shockingly vulgar.”
“Sometimes,” Christina said, “ladylike language simply isn’t forceful enough to express one’s feeling.”
And staring at a man might also be improper, she thought, but there were times when it was impossible to resist. No man had the right to be as indecently handsome as Lucas Ross.
In the half-light of the smugglers’ cave the night before, Lucas had looked spectacular enough with his strongly marked black brows, his firm cleft chin and tumbled black hair. There was something about him, an air of arrogant distinction that was innate but powerful, setting him apart from most other men. He had height and a broad-shouldered physique that exuded masculinity of the type Christina had never come across in the airless ballrooms or rarefied libraries of Edinburgh’s academia. Her sisters’ husbands both had something of that charisma and intensity. Christina remembered that she had looked at Lucy and Mairi and felt more than a little jealous of them. But now she thought that such ruthlessness, such uncompromising strength in a man would be too much to handle.
It seemed ludicrous that Lucas Ross was a servant. He was too tough, too in control to be at the beck and call of others. She pictured him more as a soldier, or a sailor, an adventurer, someone who gave orders rather than took them. He was a man born to lead, not follow. But she was being fanciful. A man could not choose his station in life, nor could he necessarily change it.
A shiver skittered down her spine. Lucas had descended the castle steps and was striding across the lawn toward them. He looked very purposeful, and she suddenly felt a desperate urge to run away. It was ridiculous, but even so the panic clogged her throat. He had not followed her instructions from the previous night. That should have told her something about the man he was and she should have thought twice before refusing to allow Galloway to appoint him.
Well, it was done now, and Lucas would simply have to accept it. She was the Duke of Forres’s daughter and she did not expect to be confronted by a servant or be required to justify her decisions. All the same, as Lucas approached the three of them, the breath caught in her throat and she had to stop herself from pressing a hand against her bodice where her heart was tripping crazily, as though she had run too far, too fast.
Suddenly Lucas was standing directly in front of her. His physical presence was so powerful that Christina took a step back even though there was nothing remotely threatening in his manner. Their eyes met. His were so brown they were almost black, dark as a winter’s night beneath those straight black brows, his expression impossible to read. The rest of his face was equally daunting. There was no warmth or softness in it. It was all hard angles and darkness. He held Christina’s gaze; she tried to look away and found that she could not. She was floored by the same physical awareness, fiercely intense, that had possessed her the previous night.
Then it was over, as though it had never been, and he bowed most elegantly.
“Lady Christina?” he said. His tone was deferential, in contradiction to the expression in his eyes, which was anything but respectful. “My name is Lucas Ross. I do not believe we have met, unless you have the advantage of me....” He let the words hang for a moment and Christina’s heart gave a wayward thump.
He had recognized her. He knew she was the woman he had kissed the previous night.
She straightened her spine. “No,” she said coldly. “I have not had that pleasure, Mr. Ross.”
A spark of amusement gleamed in Lucas’s eyes as though he was remembering just how pleasurable it had been, how she had melted in his arms, her lips opening beneath his as he had kissed her with heat and skill and passion. She felt a flash of that same sensual heat low in her belly. Damn him. The only thing she could do now was to act the aristocratic lady, disdainful, dismissive—even if cold was the very last thing she was feeling.
“This is very irregular,” she said. “In what way may I help you, Mr. Ross?”
Lucas smiled, quick, appreciative. It transformed his whole face, giving it warmth for one brief moment.
“I applied for the footman’s post,” he said. “Unfortunately my application was not successful. I wondered if you would be good enough as to explain why?”
“The appointment of servants is Mr. Galloway’s job, Mr. Ross,” Christina said. “You would need to apply to him for an explanation. Now if you will excuse me—”
“But you were the one who refused to offer me the post,” Lucas said. “I heard you tell Mr. Galloway not to appoint me.”
There was a sharp silence, during which Christina ran through any number of unladylike epithets in her head. She had not realized that they had been overheard.
“I am sorry, Mr. Ross,” she said eventually. “I am not in the habit of explaining my decisions to anyone.”
The quizzical lift of Lucas’s brows was very close to mockery. “I see,” he said, and Christina blushed to realize quite how arrogant she had sounded. “But how am I to improve if you will not tell me the areas in which I am lacking?”
Galloway came puffing up at that moment. “Mr. Ross! How dare you approach Lady Christina in such a ramshackle manner?”
“I meant no disrespect,” Lucas Ross said. His gaze had not moved from Christina, and she felt her face heat. “I merely asked to know the reasons why my application was rejected. Do I not deserve that?” He spoke directly to Christina so that only she could see the hidden amusement in his eyes. She felt trapped, flustered. Lucas knew perfectly well why she had rejected him and she had a disturbing feeling that unless she changed her mind he would be quite prepared to share the reason with everyone. Allegra was looking from one to the other with speculation. Even the duke was looking mildly interested. As for Galloway, he was avid to know her reasons since she had refused to give him any.
She was not sure which was worse, the fact that Lucas could expose her as a whisky smuggler or the fact that he could disclose that the previous night he had tumbled her in the heather. The first might land her in jail and the second would ruin her reputation.
She was trapped.
“I expect,” Allegra drawled, unexpectedly coming to her rescue, “that Aunt Christina rejected your application because you are too handsome, Mr. Ross.” Her blue MacMorlan gaze was drifting over Lucas with undisguised appreciation. “My poor aunt has to consider the smooth running of the household, you know. Your looks would cause havoc below stairs and scandal above.”
“Allegra!” Christina snapped, torn between relief and embarrassment at her niece’s intervention.
“What?” There was a hint of childish petulance in the way that Allegra shrugged one slender shoulder. “You know it’s true.”
Lucas smiled easily. He addressed Christina rather than Allegra. “It has always been a terrible disadvantage to me to look like this, I confess.”
Christina was almost tempted into an answering smile by his dry tone. “I am sure that your plight garners a great deal of sympathy, Mr. Ross,” she said, equally drily. “It must be a terrible burden to be cursed with such good looks.”
Appreciation sparked in Lucas’s eyes. “Oh, it is. But I scarcely think that is the reason you dismissed me, Lady Christina. Do tell us your real explanation or I shall be obliged to speculate.”
Christina took a deep breath. That was a clear threat and she was not going to be intimidated. Lucas Ross needed to understand that he could not expect to blackmail her into giving him a job.
“I think that would be a mistake, Mr. Ross,” she said. “Think carefully before you say something you might regret.”
Lucas’s eyes danced, daring her to call his bluff. “Are you afraid of the truth, Lady Christina? Do you not want it to come out?”
The man was a scoundrel. He deserved all that was coming to him.
“Well,” Christina said, injecting what she hoped was sincere regret into her tone, “I was thinking only of protecting your reputation, Mr. Ross, but as you are so monstrous persistent I can see that nothing but the truth will suffice.” She took a deep breath. “I am afraid that there was a problem with one of your references.”
She could see that Lucas had not been expecting this. A shade of wariness had come into his expression. Good. He was far too sure of himself.
“I was hoping not to have to raise this,” Christina said, warming to her theme. “I imagine it is an uncomfortable topic for you, Mr. Ross....” She risked another glance at Lucas and saw that he was watching her with so much wicked amusement in those dark eyes now that she almost forgot what she was saying.
“On the contrary, Lady Christina,” he murmured, “you find me positively agog to hear what you have to say.”
“I am a little acquainted with one of your previous employers, Sir Geoffrey MacIntyre,” Christina said. “Your reference from him was most generous—positively glowing. However—” she gave Lucas a look of limpid innocence “—I understood from him when we met last winter in Edinburgh that he had in fact sacked his footman for gross impropriety. I am therefore obliged to doubt the veracity of your references, Mr. Ross.”
For a second Lucas looked completely taken aback and it gave her the most immense satisfaction. Then his lips twitched. “I do believe you are accusing me of faking my testimonials,” he said.
“I would do nothing so crude as to accuse you of fraud,” Christina corrected. “I merely point out that this raised some concerns in my mind.”
“What sort of impropriety?” Allegra piped up. She was looking enthralled. “Did you run off with Lady MacIntyre, Mr. Ross? How wicked of you!”
“I am sure that Lady Christina will tell us precisely what impropriety I have committed,” Lucas murmured. His gaze challenged her. “Well, Lady Christina?”
“I am afraid it was financial impropriety,” Christina said solemnly. “I am sorry, Mr. Ross—” She flicked him a sympathetic look. “I imagine this is very difficult for you.”
“It is not what I expected, certainly,” Lucas said. “However I am afraid there has been a misunderstanding. I have never been accused of financial impropriety in my life. Perhaps you have confused me with another of Sir Geoffrey’s footmen?”
“I doubt I could ever confuse you with anyone, Mr. Ross,” Christina said, with perfect truth. “You have made sure of that.”
Again she saw that flash of amusement in his eyes. “I am flattered to think so,” he said.
“You should not be flattered,” Christina said. “I hope you will understand, however, that no amount of...persuasion...will convince me to change my mind.”
Their eyes met, cool blue and unreadable black. Christina could feel her heart racing. Then Lucas inclined his head. “I apologize,” he said. “It was a misjudgment on my part.” His tone had changed. It was respectful, practical. “I can offer other testimonials. The Duchess of Strathspey will vouch for me. She knows me well and will assure you of my honesty.”
Christina raised her brows. “Are you giving me orders now, Mr. Ross?”
Lucas smiled again. It was difficult to resist that smile. It was so wicked it made her feel quite hot all over.
“Merely a suggestion,” he murmured.
Then, unexpectedly, the duke spoke. Christina had almost forgotten that he was there. He had been staring vacantly out across the gardens as though his mind had been fixed on his latest academic project or ridiculous architectural design, but now his pale blue gaze swung back to focus on her. He smiled benignly.
“Hemmings and Grant need help in the gardens, my dear. Some sort of assistant, an under gardener, what?” He turned to Lucas. “You’d be ideal, young fellow. Since my daughter don’t seem to want you in the house, you’d be better off outside.”
“Papa!” Christina was mortified, torn between fury that her father was undermining her and embarrassment that he made Lucas sound of no more account than the horses in the stables.
“Thank you, Your Grace.” Lucas accepted swiftly, undermining her further. “I would be delighted to accept.”
“Good, good,” the duke said absentmindedly. “You’ll find Hemmings in the hothouses. He’ll tell you what to do.”
“Papa,” Christina said again. “You cannot simply appoint Mr. Ross as under gardener on a whim!”
The duke turned his pale blue myopic eyes on her. “Why not? It’s my garden.” He sounded like a spoiled child.
Christina repressed another sharp retort. It was only her father’s estate when he decided on impulse that he wanted to do something. The rest of the time, when he was closeted with his academic papers, it was very much her responsibility.
“I know that both Mr. Hemmings and Mr. Grant are elderly and need some assistance in the gardens,” she said carefully. “But Mr. Ross applied for a job as a footman. He is not qualified—”
“He looks qualified to me,” the duke said irritably. “How difficult can it be?”
“I am most grateful, Your Grace,” Lucas said, ignoring Christina’s fierce frown. “I am very eager to acquire a job at Kilmory and am happy to take whatever is on offer.”
“Splendid, splendid,” the duke said, beaming again. He slapped Lucas on the shoulder and strolled off toward the house.
Christina shut her mouth with a snap. She could see Lucas’s lips twitching as he tried not to laugh. She was neatly outmaneuvered.
“Well, then,” she said, masking her irritation. “As the duke quite rightly said, you will find Mr. Hemmings in the glasshouse, Mr. Ross. He will give you instructions on your work and find you a place to live. The outdoor servants have accommodation in the stables cottages, but they take their meals in the servants’ hall.” She waved a dismissive hand. “Mr. Galloway can advise you on anything else you need to know. Galloway—” she turned to the butler “—pray send to Strathspey Castle to request a reference for Mr. Ross from the Duchess of Strathspey.”