The Gilvrys of Dunross

He’d been right. She didn’t like it one bit. ‘Indeed.’

‘I expected someone older. More—’

More what? Better dressed? He’d worn comfortable clothes for travelling first by boat and then on foot. He could imagine the sort of dandified gentlemen she was used to. ‘I am sorry if I disappoint.’

She gave him a look askance that he could not interpret. Annoyance, probably, because he did not have a silver tongue like his brothers. He always said what came into his head.

He kicked at a pebble. By all accounts, where females were concerned, honesty was not the best policy.

The silence had been going on for some time now, he realised. She was looking at him expectantly. No doubt waiting for him to say something witty or charming.

It wasn’t his style. He’d always felt completely left-footed with teasing and quick repartee. Too much theory and not enough practice, Logan, his youngest brother, always jibed.

The only time he’d ever tried anything of the sort had been at school in Inverness when he’d fallen hard for the headmaster’s daughter. She’d been horrified at the temerity of a lowly third son even daring an approach. He’d never again wanted to go through such a mortifying experience.

Hence his rather cold-blooded courting of Molly. He’d been surprised at the relief he’d felt when her father suggested he look elsewhere.

The woman at his side was still looking at him, waiting for him to say something.

‘It is a fine day for a ride,’ he said finally.

‘Except for the brigands,’ she said, tilting her head and affording him a full view of her face and the teasing curve to her lips.

A smile he answered with one of his own. ‘And the fact that your horse went lame.’

‘And the chill in the wind from the north,’ she added, her smile broadening.

‘And the dust.’

‘In fact, not a good day for riding at all,’ she finished.

He bowed slightly. ‘I stand corrected.’

She chuckled, a sweet soft sound that made his heart lurch as if it had stopped to listen. Inwardly, he shook his head at his odd imaginings. They were most unlike him.

They rounded a bend in the road, the castle, its towers and turrets, reflected in the loch at the foot of its walls. Damn. He’d forgotten just how tall those towers were. He hoped to God his duties didn’t take him to the top.

‘Carrick Castle,’ she announced.

‘I see it.’ Of course he saw it. It was huge. ‘I have been here before.’

Another of those quick glances up at his face and he noticed that her dark lashes were tipped with gold.

‘Not since I arrived last winter,’ she said. ‘I would have remembered.’

Now what did she mean by that? ‘I was last here more than a year ago.’

She stopped and faced him.

As he stared into those clear green eyes fringed with sooty lashes, his chest tightened with painful longing. The kind he’d experienced as a lad when he realised he would never be like his brothers—dashing like Drew, or devil-may-care like Logan. Always analytical, he was the kind to look before he leaped into danger. To weigh the odds, while Logan scoffed at his words of caution. Ian simply made use of his knowledge as it suited him.

And now he wanted what? To cut a daring figure to this lovely young woman? Wouldn’t that be hypocritical?

‘I’d be obliged if you would not say anything to Lord Carrick about what happened today,’ she said.

About the kiss. And a delicious kiss it had been, too. One he would not mind repeating, if she hadn’t been under his employer’s care. ‘I’d be a fool to talk about it, now, wouldn’t I?’

She gave him a blank look, then coloured. She caught her full bottom lip with perfect, tiny white teeth and he almost groaned out loud as his body tightened. A completely unacceptable reaction. He shuttered his expression.

‘I meant the footpads,’ she explained.

Oh, now he saw the trap. She planned to involve him in some web of deceit. ‘I see,’ he said, feeling unaccountably disappointed.

It must have shown in his face because she rushed on. ‘You were right. I should not have gone without a groom. Naturally, I will not do so again.’

That did not explain why she had done it this time. What in the devil’s name was she up to? Was she carrying on some sort of clandestine relationship? He would not put it past a female who would hold three men at bay with a pistol. This was not water he wanted to swim in. He started to shake his head.

She put a light hand on his arm. Her touch seemed to sear right through the wool of his coat to his skin. ‘Please.’

Once more he stared into those green eyes and had the feeling he might drown in their depths. His gaze dropped to her mouth. His body tightened with the anticipation of kissing her again.

‘Promise me, Mr Gilvry,’ she said, tightening her grip on his sleeve. ‘Please. It was a mistake I won’t repeat.’

The touch burned, but it was the pleading in her eyes that made him feel weak. And then there was that kiss. Something he should not have allowed. Something she could have easily held over his head, yet had not. ‘Verra well,’ he said gruffly. ‘I’ll say nothing, provided you keep your promise.’ Damn it all, he sounded like a stuffy older brother. Or a schoolteacher. Which he was, but not hers, for which he should be very thankful.

‘And there is no need to mention I was on my way to town when we met.’

He huffed out a breath and nodded. In for a penny, in for a pound, as it were. ‘All right.’

Her face lit with a smile that left him breathless. ‘Thank you. For everything.’ She danced away.

The girl was a witch. There was no other word for a woman who could twist him around her finger with such ease. He would not let it happen again. His future here was at stake.

He followed her under a stone arch ruptured by the teeth of an ancient portcullis overhead and into the courtyard. He looked about him. The castle wasn’t large by Edinburgh or Inverness standards, but it had served its owners well over the centuries. Its granite tower looked out over the harbour and the town it guarded. A curtain wall encompassed several outbuildings added over the years.

A stable lad took the horse’s reins from his hand.

‘Careful,’ she said looking over her shoulder. ‘He’s quite lame.’

The lad touched his forelock. ‘Yes, my lady.’ He looked enquiringly at Niall.

‘Niall Gilvry,’ he said.

‘You are expected,’ the boy said. ‘You’ll find Mr McDougall in there.’ He jerked a thumb at one of the buildings on the far side the courtyard and walked off, leaving him to find his own way.

Niall turned to bid the Lady Jenna farewell, but she was already mounting the steps to the main entrance on the first floor. She didn’t spare him a backwards glance. She’d extracted a promise and now he didn’t exist. Good thing, too. So why this sense of loss when she was the most irritatingly reckless and undoubtedly manipulative female he’d ever met?

Cursing himself for a fool, he went in search of McDougall.

His assigned room was at the base of the tower, for which he was heartily grateful, and while it had no window, it was near the side door into the courtyard where his office was located. There was little he could do to settle in, since his baggage would come up from the town by cart, so he was glad when he was summoned to meet with Lord Carrick. He headed up one flight of stairs to his new employer’s study and knocked on the ancient arched door bound in iron.

‘Enter.’

A man of around fifty-five, Carrick was still in his prime apart from a little extra fat under his chin and on his belly. The man had a pleasant hail-fellow-well-met look about him, until you looked into his pewter-coloured eyes. They had the power to strip a weaker man’s inner thoughts bare.

Niall met his gaze steadily. ‘You sent for me, Lord Carrick.’

His lordship lowered his brow. ‘Ah, Gilvry. Niall, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, sir.’ Niall kept his expression neutrally respectful.

‘Sit down.’ The older man leaned forwards in his chair. ‘I understand you met my ward on the road today?’

So much for keeping it a secret. He’d known it wouldn’t work. ‘Yes, sir, I did.’

‘And dealt handily with a pack of ruffians, too. You have my thanks.’

How did he know all this? ‘The roads can be dangerous, sir, but Lady Jenna swore she would not go out again without an escort.’ Now why was he trying to defend her?

Carrick sat up, his eyes sharpening with interest. ‘Did she now? And how did you extract that promise?’

By making one of his own, which was clearly futile. He winced. ‘I pointed out the error of her ways.’

Damnation, that sounded pompous, even if true.

‘And here I’ve been thinking a good switching would do her some good.’

Niall’s shoulders tightened at the thought of anyone laying a hand on the girl. He concentrated on not clenching his fists.

‘Is that how you keep order with your students?’ Carrick continued. ‘Appealing to their reason?’

‘In part, my lord. Occasionally I resort to the removal of privileges.’

Carrick’s face brightened. ‘An interesting idea.’ He drummed the fingers of one hand on the desk, his face in a frown as if pondering a difficult decision.

Niall waited, holding his impatience in check.

The drumming stopped and the hand clasped the one beside it. ‘I’m called away to London on urgent business.’

Niall’s stomach dipped. Would he then have no need of extra help? He stood silent, waiting for the axe to fall, wondering where he would go next. He certainly would not return to Dunross. Perhaps he’d find work in Edinburgh while he looked for a lawyer willing to take him on.

‘I need someone to stand in my place during my absence. You seem like the man for the job.’

Niall felt his jaw drop. Carrick was jesting. Had to be. ‘My lord—’

Carrick put up a hand. ‘With Lady Jenna. She needs a firm hand. Someone to keep a close eye on her.’

‘I don’t think—’

‘With my wife at my daughter’s lying-in, there is no one else I can ask.’

He swallowed. ‘I’m not sure I have the right qualifications for such a role, my lord. Lady Jenna is no schoolgirl.’

Carrick raised a hand. ‘No, she’s not. But as my closest relative presently on hand, you will do as well as anyone.’ His last words stung. It was the same thing Ian had said about him being the teacher at the school.

‘Relative is too strong a word, my lord.’

‘Then you will do it because your chief commands it.’

And that was that. ‘As you wish.’ He winced at how grudging he sounded, but he had a strong feeling that Lady Jenna was not going to like this any better than he did.

Carrick rose and went for the bell. A footman appeared within moments. ‘Fetch Lady Jenna,’ Carrick said.

The footman disappeared.

‘I’ll grant you it is not ideal,’ Carrick said, looking at Niall from under his brows. ‘But her companion, Mrs Preston, is as useful as a knife with no blade. Gilvry, if you managed to get the Lady Jenna to agree to anything, you have my undying admiration. She is a determined young lady, as you will discover.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘And you’ll not let me down or your brother can go hang next time he needs cargo space in one of my ships.’

Niall stiffened at the threat, but kept his face impassive. Carrick didn’t really know him. But as Ian would attest, having taken on a task, he saw it through to the end. Which was part of why he’d stayed so long as teacher at the school.

The door opened. ‘Cousin. You asked for me?’

Lady Jenna. Niall rose to his feet, turning to face her. His heart stilled. She looked more ethereal than she had on the road. Or was it the way the sunlight drifted through the window and set flames dancing in her hair that stole his breath? Or the way the emerald gown clung to her figure and skimmed the tops of her breasts? Or simply a case of unrequited lust? Ah, definitely not a thought he should be having when he was about to stand in loco parentis to the young woman. That really would betray Carrick’s trust.

Her eyes widened as she took him in. She swallowed and looked at Lord Carrick, who had half risen and then sunk back down into his seat. ‘I apologise. I did not realise you had company.’

‘Lady Jenna,’ Carrick said heartily—too heartily. ‘I know you had the good fortune to meet Mr Gilvry on the road today. A fortunate occurrence for you, I understand. Since I must travel on business, he will stand in my place as your guardian during my absence. You will defer to his decisions as you would to mine.’

‘What?’ She stared at Niall in surprise before turning her gaze to Carrick. ‘How can this be?’

Carrick frowned. ‘He is a cousin on my mother’s side. There is no one else.’

Her expression shuttered. She lifted her chin with a smile that chilled. ‘I see you have made yourself indispensable already, Mr Gilvry. You are to be congratulated.’

The words had the ring of a compliment, but in truth he knew them to be an accusation. She assumed he had broken his promise to further his own ends. Anything he might say would likely only make things worse. So he did the only thing possible. He bowed as if he took her words at face value and had the doubtful pleasure of seeing hauteur in her expression and a healthy dose of dislike.

As if dismissing him from her thoughts, she turned to Carrick with a bright smile. ‘I had no idea you were planning a journey, Cousin.’

Carrick raised a brow as if to ask why she should be privy to his plans. ‘Since Mrs Preston is apparently indisposed at the moment, would you please make the necessary arrangements for Mr Gilvry to join us at dinner?’ He glanced at Niall. ‘The family dines at five. It will be an opportunity for us to become better acquainted before I leave. That will be all, Jenna.’

She stiffened at the dismissal, then dipped a curtsy. ‘As you wish, my lord.’ But the glance she shot at Niall from beneath her lowered lashes before she left in a soft swirl of fabric and light pattering steps was a far cry from the friendly glances she’d given him earlier. He felt the loss as the soft scent of something spicy lingered in the air. Complex, like her. All bright sharp edges underpinned by subtle femininity.

He didn’t want the job of guardian. It was not what he had been offered. He had been hoping to learn things that would stand him and his family in good stead for the future. Matters of business. And perhaps even of the law. Things that might set his feet on the path to a better future.

‘How did you hear of my meeting with Lady Jenna?’ he asked.

‘One of the lasses hired in from the town was on her way home when she saw a fight on the road and raised the alarm. By the time the message reached me, the pair of you were at the gate.’ He gestured to the window. ‘I watched ye come through.’

The muscles in his shoulders tightened. He eyed his chief warily. What else had the girl seen? Not their kiss, apparently, or Carrick would not be looking so calm. At least that he would keep to himself for both their sakes. ‘What happens with regard to the position of under-secretary? Does Mr McDougall not require my services?’

It was McDougall, Carrick’s secretary, he’d originally been employed to assist.

Carrick rubbed his hands together. ‘I am sure Lady Jenna will take little time away from your other duties.’

Niall wasn’t so sure about that, but he could see he’d been well and truly snared. Two duties for the price of one, when nursemaid to a wilful lass ought to be paid double. Rumour did not lie. Carrick was known to be a man who would not spend a shilling where he could make a bargain for a sixpence. He bowed his assent, as if he had a choice.

Carrick dismissed him with a flick of his fingers. ‘I will see you at dinner, then. That is all.’

Chapter Two

Jenna raked the comb through her tangled curls, her eyes watering with the pain. ‘He gave his word and he broke it. Why?’

‘My lady.’ Mary McDougall, her maid, grabbed unsuccessfully for the comb. ‘I dinna ken who you are talking about.’

‘That mealy-mouthed Scot who came to work with your father. He told Lord Carrick about the footpads when he swore he would not. Currying favour.’ And now Lord Carrick would think her still the hoyden she had been when she first came under his care when her father died, instead of a responsible woman, ready to take up the reins of her own life.

‘It seems to have worked, too. He is to dine with us tonight.’ And replace Carrick as her guardian in his absence. How could he leave now, when he had promised to take her to Edinburgh?

It was as if he was deliberately dragging his feet on the issue of her finding a husband. He had agreed it was the right next step and had promised her a Season. Her estates, her people, had been left without a caring hand for far too long.

Braemuir. Her home. How she longed to see it again. To feel the comfort of knowing she was safe within its walls. She only had to close her eyes to see every inch of it. The grand staircase with the honours of her family going back for centuries. Her room at the back of the house overlooking the park and the hills beyond. The people in their little crofts. The gypsies who had come every year to help with the hay. And she had promised her father to do everything in her power to care for it the way he would have, had he lived.

Only she couldn’t. Not without a husband. Carrick insisted she wed before he would give up his trusteeship. Females did not manage their own estates. Worse yet, there were debts incurred by her father to be paid. And no money to pay them. Leasing the estate these many years had not been enough to pay them off.

She handed the comb to the insistent Mary and stared unseeing at her reflection. Surely it wouldn’t be too difficult to find a husband. She was no beauty, she knew that, but it wasn’t a one-sided bargain. In exchange for paying off the debts, her bridegroom would gain the title of Baron Aleyne, which by ancient charter passed through either the male or the female line. Not to mention the ancient house and surrounding lands.

A fine house for children to grow up in.

She had promised her father she would not let the family name die. Yet here she was, two years beyond her age of majority and still unwed. Not that she regretted these past two years caring for her father’s widowed sister during her illness. The woman had been the mother she had never known. She had taught her how to be the lady of a house instead of a hoyden who liked to ride and fish and all of the other things she’d learned from her father. Jenna had managed Mrs Blackstone’s house almost entirely alone these past few years and it galled her to be treated by Carrick as if she did not have a brain in her head.

‘It is Mr Gilvry you are meaning?’ Mary asked, pinning a stray lock of hair in place. ‘A handsome young man by all accounts.’

Ruggedly attractive and traitorous. The feeling of betrayal writhed in her stomach anew. ‘He’s only out for himself.’

‘Is that right, then? You know so much about him already?’

She knew more than she ought. The velvet feel of his lips on hers. The hard strength of his body inside his clothes. A tremor ran through her. She pushed the sensations away.

‘He is not worth discussing, though I am sure the lasses below stairs will find him charming enough.’ Oh, my word, didn’t she sound spiteful? Most unlike herself. She took a deep breath. ‘That looks lovely, Mary. Thank you.’

The maid smiled. She picked up the dress from the end of the bed. ‘May I put this on you, now? We should probably hurry, or you will be late.’

Lord Carrick hated tardiness and ruled his castle with a rod of iron.

The dress slipped over her head with a whisper of silk. The silver thread in the lace edge of the sleeves scratched up the length of her arms. Why was she doing this? Why had she asked Mary to put out her best evening gown instead of one of those she would normally wear for dinner en famille? Not for Mr high-and-mighty-you-shouldn’t-be-riding-out-without-a-groom Gilvry, that was certain. Tonight her mission was to remind her cousin of his promise to take her to Edinburgh. She really could not afford another Season to pass her by.

Not after receiving a plea six months ago from Mr Hughes, the vicar at Braemuir. He had begged her to return home and take up her duties, before there was no one left on the land.

When she had told Carrick about Mr Hughes’s concerns, he’d been insulted by her lack of trust in his administration. Times were changing, he’d told her. He’d also forbidden any further communication with the old vicar. However, when she pressed the issue, he had grudgingly agreed it was high time she found a husband to look after her affairs. Six months had passed and she seemed no closer to the married state.

She pressed her lips together and smoothed her gloves up her arms. She was determined to wait no longer. Especially in the light of what she assumed was another message from Mr Hughes waiting unread with the tinker in the market because of those wretched footpads.

If Mr Hughes’s pleas had been urgent before, she could only imagine what they would be six months later.

Despite the urge to move, to pace, she remained still as Mary pinned her brooch on her gown—the pearls and diamonds her father had given her mother on their wedding day, with the family motto inscribed in the silver surround: Family Before All. Family meant the people on her estate. People she hadn’t seen for years. It was a promise instilled into her from birth. A promise she had so far failed to keep.

Mary handed her a shawl. ‘Will there be anything else, my lady?’

Jenna gazed at herself in the glass. Was she ready? Was she suitably armed for battle with her cousin and the traitorous Mr Gilvry? ‘Quite ready.’

Two flights down and a draughty corridor brought her to the second-floor drawing room, in the suite of rooms set aside for the lord of the castle and his retinue. Such old-fashioned formality. Outside the great wooden door studded with iron, she squared her shoulders, pinned a smile to her lips and drew on the mantle of a woman aiming to please. The waiting footman opened the door and stepped back to his place like a man who did not exist.

Her cousin and Mr Gilvry were engaged in conversation beside the hearth. They turned at her entry. Once more, Jenna could not but be startled by Mr Gilvry’s towering height, the lean length of him encased in well-fitting evening clothes, his youth and manly figure more apparent beside her portly cousin.

Freshly shaven, his face was all hard planes and sharp angles. He looked sterner than earlier in the day, more remote, as if he had donned armour to keep the world at bay. The face, undeniably handsome in a rugged kind of way, did not seek to set her at ease. And those broad shoulders were just too intimidatingly wide.

She blinked as she got a good look at his waistcoat. Instead of the usual discreet cream or other pastel shade worn by men these days, it was pale green, embroidered with delicate sprigs of heather. It demanded attention. On another man it might have looked effeminate. On him, it only served to emphasise his stark masculinity. Her stomach gave the same odd little jolt it had given when she first saw him on the road. Surprise. It could not be anything else.

The man clearly knew nothing of fashion.

She dipped a small curtsy, acknowledging their greeting.

Mrs Preston, on the other side of the hearth, looked up with a pained smile. She had an unnatural pallor. A peptic stomach again, no doubt. The widow held out a hand. ‘Come, sit beside me, child.’

Dutifully, she did as requested.

The woman lived in fear of her cousin’s opinion. Fear she would be turned off to fend for herself on the meagre funds left her by her husband if she did not appease Lord Carrick’s every wish, though never by word or deed had he indicated he entertained any such thoughts.