Jack brought up his hand to stroke the curve of her cheek very gently. “All I want,” he said, “is to have you in my bed again.”
Mairi gasped. She was trembling even more now. His gentleness confused her, mixed as it was with such stark desire. The confusion kept her still for a moment, enabling him to move the last foot to take her in his arms.
He kissed her, his lips moving against hers with a possessive demand that stole both her breath and her resistance. When he finally drew back, her emotions felt so shaken up that she could feel the tears prickling her throat. It was essential that she protect herself before Jack saw how vulnerable she was. Panic clawed at her. She felt so exposed. He could not know how he had made her feel.
“We are going over old ground,” she said. “Good night, Mr. Rutherford.”
She stepped back and saw his arms fall to his side. Saw the expression in his eyes dissolve into blankness. She turned and hurried up the stairs. She was still shaking when she reached the safety of her room. She wished Jack Rutherford had not come back into her life.
* * *
T
HE
S
HEEP
’
S
H
EAD
alehouse in Edinburgh’s Candlemaker Row had seen its fair share of miscreants over the years, and when a tall, dark man clad in a ragged jerkin and trews slid inside at close to eleven on a rainy night, no one spared him a glance other than to growl out an order to shut the door and be quick about it. The newcomer brought with him a strange mix of scents: fresh rain-washed streets, the smell of tobacco and the stench of prisons, but that too was not unusual in the Sheep’s Head. The landlord cast him a sharp look and jerked his head toward a door at the back of the taproom. The man nodded and slipped through it, silent as a ghost.
“Cardross.”
The gentleman who was waiting for him did not stand to greet him, nor did he extend a hand, which was a sign of how far the former Earl of Cardross had fallen. His title stripped from him, his estates confiscated, the fugitive former earl was a shadow of the fine lord he had once been. He knew it and he resented it fiercely, but feral cunning prompted him to play this hand carefully. It was the only one he had.
“Do I know you?” Cardross asked, taking the chair opposite the other man and resting his elbows on the battered table. He appraised his companion. An ordinary-looking man, large, fair, not remotely dangerous in appearance and probably all too easily underestimated as a result.
“No,” the man said. “Though we have...friends...in common.”
Cardross grinned. “Was it your friends who sprang me from the jail?” he asked.
“Perhaps,” the other man said.
Cardross waited, but it seemed that silence was a quality his companion was comfortable with, for he said nothing else, merely letting his gaze, pale and thoughtful, rest on Cardross’s face. After a moment he snapped his fingers and a servant, lurking in the shadows, brought a tankard of ale and a plate of cold mutton pie. Cardross fell on them like the starving animal he was while once again his companion was silent, watching him eat.
“Do you want revenge, Cardross?” the man asked idly. He toyed with his empty glass as he watched Cardross’s face.
Cardross felt a flicker of cruelty gleam within him and then fade. It was not that he had lost his appetite for viciousness, far from it. It burned as hungrily as ever. But revenge, while a tempting concept, was also ultimately a pointless one. Revenge would not give him back his lands or his title. The king had taken those when he had been attainted for treason, and they were gone forever.
“I want no revenge on that whey-faced little bitch who stole my lands,” he said. His voice was harsh. “Crushing little Dulcibella Brodrie would be a waste of time. Aye, and that man milliner she calls husband.”
The other man’s mouth twitched into a smile. “I like that about you, Cardross,” he said. “You see a bigger picture.” He pushed the ale jug toward the other man, then sat back and watched as Cardross slopped the contents into his tankard.
“If not revenge,” he said softly, “then what do you want?”
“Money,” Cardross spat out. He wiped his mouth on his filthy sleeve. “Money to buy a new life.”
The man nodded. “I can help you there.”
Cardross’s lip curled. This man was no benefactor. There would be a price. “What do you want in return?” he said.
His companion smiled, shifting in his chair. He did not answer at once. His gaze was fixed on the fire. Then he raised his eyes and Cardross felt his body jolt in recoil from what he saw there. Hatred. Bitterness. A violence that was so sharp and cruel he had seen nothing to match it before.
“I want your cousin, Lady Mairi MacLeod,” the man said. “She has something that belongs to me by right. When I have Lady Mairi—and her fortune—you’ll get your cut. Enough to buy a new life.”
Cardross stared at him hard. “You want to
wed
Mairi?”
“I didn’t say that,” the other man said easily. His gaze was shuttered now. That flash of unspeakable ferocity had vanished.
A queasy curiosity stirred in Cardross’s veins. He felt no loyalty to his cousins. Mairi’s sister Lucy and her husband, Robert Methven, had been instrumental in bringing about his downfall. Yet there was something about this stranger with his soft ruthlessness that was utterly chilling.
“You’re not the only one who wants Lady Mairi,” Cardross said. “Or her fortune.”
“So I hear,” the man said. “Michael Innes wants the money.” He shrugged. “He’s a lawyer, not a fighter.”
Cardross laughed, harsh as grating metal. “Innes will still fight dirty in the courts. I hear rumors he’ll raise old scandals as well as traduce Lady Mairi’s reputation.”
The other man’s gaze was suddenly razor-sharp, all indolence fled. “You heard talk of that even in jail?”
Cardross shrugged, draining his tankard, banging it down on the table and letting out a long belch. “Prisoners talk,” he said. “Jailers talk. Everyone says Michael Innes will claim Lady Mairi is a whore. He’ll swear black is white if it means he gets his hands on Archie MacLeod’s money.”
He saw the other man relax infinitesimally. “And the old scandals?” he questioned idly.
“Something to do with Archie MacLeod.” Cardross was annoyed that he did not have more information to trade, but there was no point in pretense. He shrugged again. “Some say there was a grand scandal years back and the old laird of MacLeod hushed it up. I know no more than that.”
“Let us hope no one else does,” the other man said thoughtfully, “including Michael Innes. Or I might just have to kill him.”
There was an odd silence, skin-prickling in its intensity. Cardross found himself staring again. The other man’s light eyes were completely empty of emotion.
He repressed a shudder. Not many things scared him these days, but this soulless executioner made him feel slightly sick. He had no doubt, not a shadow of it, that the man had killed before and would do so again.
He cleared his throat. “So you want Mairi,” he said, “and I am to bring her to you?”
The other man nodded. “She is traveling to Methven for her nephew’s christening. There should be ample opportunity for you to abduct her on the road before she gets there. You set out tonight.”
Cardross looked wary. “She has people to protect her.”
The other man shrugged. “Frazer’s clan. An old man and some pretty boys. They’ll be no match for you with the men I have found for you.” He leaned forward, suddenly urgent. “She is not to be hurt, Cardross. Do you understand me?”
That took the fun out of it. Cardross gave an exaggerated sigh. “Not even a little?”
“Not even a little or the deal is off.”
Cardross drove his hands into his pockets, sitting back. “Why should I trust you to keep the deal anyway?”
“You can’t,” the other man said. He shrugged indifferently. “Take it or leave it. There are soldiers out there looking for you even as we speak. You know that. I can get you out of the city, hide you in places they’ll never find you.”
Cardross thought about it. It was not much of a bargain and there were no guarantees, but the alternative was to skulk in low taverns and tenements for the rest of his life. He’d be running, hiding from the law, with no money and no future, and the certainty that one day someone would sell him to the authorities for no more than the price of a loaf of bread.
He nodded. “If I need to contact you—”
“I’ll find you.”
That, Cardross thought, was scarcely reassuring.
He nodded again. “And should I fail...” He was not sure even why he asked other than that some touch of fear breathed down his neck. Failure was not an option.
The other man smiled for the very first time. “Don’t,” he said.
CHAPTER SEVEN
M
AIRI
HEARD
J
ACK
leave early the following day and was glad that he was now ahead of her on the road. There were no other routes to Methven through these wild mountains, and she did not particularly want to stay overnight in the same inns as Jack for the rest of the journey. She was far too aware of him, far too vulnerable to him. She needed to keep her distance. Not that it was likely that they would come across each other again now; on the dark bay stallion Jack was a great deal faster on the roads than she and anyway, she had planned to spend the next couple of days at Dornie Castle, where the Highland Ladies Bluestocking Society were holding a meeting. She had been a member of that exclusive club for ladies since she had first been wed, and though she had missed most of the meetings in the past three months, she was keen to attend this one where the program included lectures on botany and mechanics according to the Newtonian method. There were also some decidedly less cerebral entertainments planned. The Highland Ladies met every month in a different location and they prided themselves on the variety of their repertoire. They were readers and writers, open to new intellectual interests, and very proud of their achievements in a world dominated so frequently by men.
The weather was fine again, a pale blue sky arching overhead, scattered with little white clouds amid the bright sunshine. Mairi watched the scenery unroll beyond the window. It was comfortable to travel like this, but for the first time on her journey she felt dissatisfied as though the carriage were a box, a luxurious prison but one in which she was locked up all the same. She wondered suddenly what it would have been like to ride with Jack over the high mountains and to splash through the streams. A longing locked in her chest to throw aside all the rules that trammeled her life. Jack encouraged a wildness in her that was unfamiliar, but it was very seductive.
It was past luncheon when they arrived at Dornie, and she found the castle abuzz.
“Lady Mairi!” Lady Dornie, elegant in figured red silk and diamonds, came forward to grasp Mairi’s hands as soon as she arrived and to draw her into the group of ladies chatting among the ferns and statuary of the orangery. “How glad we are that you were able to attend our meeting today,” she said. “You have been absent from society so long that we were all starting to be concerned for your health.” Her gaze flickered to Mairi’s stomach, making her implication crystal clear. “I do hope,” Lady Dornie added, her tone heavy with curiosity, “that you have not been in poor spirits?”
Mairi felt a quiver of alarm. More than one lady was casting her sideways glances and a few, like Lady Dornie, were staring with more curiosity than courtesy at her stomach. The inference was plain.
They thought that she was pregnant.
If this was the gossip that Jeremy had alluded to, it was a great deal worse than she had feared.
Lady Dornie was watching her, a slightly malicious smile curving her thin lips as she waited for Mairi’s response. Mairi pulled herself together with an effort.
“My health has never been more robust, thank you,” she said. She accepted a glass of champagne from a footman. “I had a problem with the drains at my house in Charlotte Square,” she added. “A putrid smell. So I retired to Ardglen for a while until it was fixed.”
“Ah, the drains,” Lady Dornie said. “Of course. Such a nasty problem.” She glided away to welcome another newcomer, leaving Mairi to survey the crowd. It was an entirely female gathering. The Highland Ladies was a clandestine society whose meetings were private and whose interests were a closely guarded secret. Men were not permitted to attend unless giving an expert lecture or providing some sort of entertainment.
“Mairi, my dear!” Lady Kenton, a distant relative and godmother to Mairi’s sister Lucy, was hurrying toward her, wreathed in smiles. “How charming to see you here,” Her Ladyship said, beaming. “I was not certain whether you would already be at Methven for Ewan’s baptism.”
“I am on my way there,” Mairi said. “You will be joining us?”
“Alas, I cannot,” Lady Kenton said. “My niece is to be married next weekend in Edinburgh.” She grasped both Mairi’s hands and stood back to look at her. “I am so glad I saw you, though. You are looking very well, my love, and very thin.”
“No more than usual,” Mairi said. She was starting to feel irritated. There was an undercurrent of gossip in the room; fans flickered, the ladies smiled at her as she passed, but their eyes were cold. She had thought that she was among friends, but there was something spiteful edging the chatter. She would have hoped for better from the Highland Ladies.
“You were quite fat at the MacAlmonds’ Ball in April,” Lady Kenton said. “More than one of us remarked upon it.”
“I am fatter at certain times of the month than at others,” Mairi said dryly. “It is a common affliction for ladies, so I understand.”
“Of course, of course.” Lady Kenton was looking at her, a little frown between her eyebrows. She took Mairi’s arm and drew her across to where a couple of chairs were placed in an alcove beneath a laden lemon tree. The faint sweet smell of citrus scented the air.
“Now we can have a private coze,” Lady Kenton said, settling herself amid a jangle of clashing bracelets and a sparkle of emeralds. She leaned forward, fixing Mairi with her wide blue eyes. “I cannot tell you how delighted I was at your sister’s marriage. As Lucy’s godmother, I consider it my greatest achievement.”
Mairi narrowed her eyes. She knew Lady Kenton well enough to know that this apparent change of subject was no such thing. Lady Kenton had a bee in her bonnet and would return to it soon enough.
“I had not realized that you played so great a part in bringing Lucy and Robert together, ma’am,” she said. As far as she recalled, Lady Kenton had been anxious for Lucy to marry their cousin Wilfred Cardross, and that, Mairi thought, would have been a match made in hell rather than heaven.
But Lady Kenton had conveniently rewritten history, at least in her own mind. She waved a hand to dismiss Mairi’s comment.
“Oh, as soon as I saw Lucy and Robert together, I knew they were meant for each other,” she said. Her eyes were misty. “And look how well the matter has turned out. Two children already and wed less than three years. Your dear mother would have been so proud.” Her gaze sharpened and fixed on Mairi’s face. “But what about you, my love? I wish you could find the same happiness. I hear rumors, unsavory ones, I fear.” Lady Kenton fidgeted with her glass. “There is no getting away from the matter, Mairi, my love. You are considered at best to be a fast widow and at worst...” Lady Kenton paused, dabbing at her lips with her handkerchief. “Well, people are saying...” She broke off, clearly uncomfortable.
“Please be frank, ma’am,” Mairi said. She felt another chill ripple of anxiety. Her night with Jack had been private, and for it to be picked over by the gossips felt intolerable. She wanted to believe this was only because it had been a terrible mistake. Yet the hollow feeling beneath her breastbone did not only stem from dread of what the gossips were saying. It felt disturbingly as though they were trying to cheapen something that had been important to her.
Madness.
That was complete madness. There had been nothing special about her night with Jack. She swallowed hard and tried to concentrate on what Lady Kenton was saying.
“It started with that wretched girl Dulcibella,” Lady Kenton said. “Oh how I wish your brother had not eloped with her! She is quite the most unpleasant creature, all smiles and sweetness on the surface and as vicious as a snake underneath!” Lady Kenton glared at her champagne glass. “She has always been jealous of you and she commented to Lady Dornie a few months ago that you were looking rather plump.”
“I remember the occasion,” Mairi said. “It was a fancy dress ball. Those Roman drapes billowed a great deal in the wind.”
“Indeed they did,” Lady Kenton said. “And then there was the wrap-over pelisse you wore at the Grahams’ supper. The colors were divine, but the cut made you look as though you were hiding an entire family of orphans beneath your skirts.”
“I can see where this is taking us,” Mairi said a little grimly. The hollow sensation in her stomach was spreading. “There was also that huge muff I carried during the snow in March. I did like it and it was in the height of fashion—but it was immense.”
“Sufficient to conceal a bump,” Lady Kenton lamented. “Then...” She fidgeted. “Well, there was Lady Durness’s masked ball.”
A chill shiver touched Mairi’s skin.
“You left with a gentleman,” Lady Kenton whispered. She leaned forward, dropping her voice still further. “You were
seen.
”
It was the cardinal sin. Discretion was all. Mairi knew she could be as licentious as she chose as long as she did not get caught. And she had been, fair and square.
Hell and damnation
.
“I’m not sure he was a gentleman,” she said.
Lady Kenton gasped. “You mean the gossip was true? All of it? The affair? The pregnancy? The
child?
”
Mairi stared at her in disbelief. “Of course not—”
“You have been out of town for three months,” Lady Kenton hissed. “You were seen in an
intimate situation
with a man. You were getting fatter. And now you are thin. First fat, now thin!” She fixed Mairi with a plaintive gaze. “You can imagine what everyone is saying, my love. They imagine an affair that has been going on for some time, they have seen you with a lover and they are sure you have borne a child to him!”
Mairi gulped down some champagne. This was all far, far worse than she had imagined. She needed time to think. Most of all she needed time away from the spiky glances and the scandalous tongues, but there was no chance of that, not in Lady Dornie’s orangery with all the members of the Highland Ladies Bluestocking Society waiting to pounce on any scrap of information. That was the trouble with bluestocking writers. If there was a gap in their knowledge, they would simply fill it with fiction.
“People have too much imagination and too much time to gossip,” Mairi said. “To have built so much on so little.” She looked at Lady Kenton, who was cravenly avoiding her gaze. “Dear ma’am,” she burst out, “surely you cannot believe this nonsense?” Then as Lady Kenton did not immediately reply: “What else are they saying? That I gave the baby away?”
Her voice was rising with anger, but inside she felt a wash of desolation. She would have given anything to have a child. The very last thing she would ever have done would be to give her baby away.
She saw Lady Kenton cast a swift glance around and gesture her to be quiet.
“It’s nonsense,” she said again, this time keeping her voice discreetly low. “You know it. I might have spent the night with a lover, but that is all.”
“Of course,” Lady Kenton said, effortlessly changing her tune. “Dear Mairi, of course! And there is no question of you being ruined by this. You are not a debutante. You are a widow and more importantly you are the daughter of a duke. Your status alone ensures that people would never give you the cut direct. And you are rich. Which means that no one will ever speak of you as more than an outrageous flirt.”
“An outrageous flirt,” Mairi said. “How charmingly euphemistic. And all over something so minor it hardly merits mention.” Jack, she thought, would not like to hear his lovemaking dismissed so carelessly. Not when he thought he was the best lover in Scotland, and for all she knew, he probably was.
“You know how it is with rumors, my dear,” Lady Kenton said unhappily. “They take on a life of their own. The truth becomes irrelevant and even the smallest transgression...” She let her voice trail away.
Transgression.
Mairi supposed that her night with Jack had been more than just a small mistake. The timing had been bad, the fact that she had been seen leaving the masquerade with him, worse. Jack had been a monumental error and now she was paying for it.
“There has been comment in the scandal sheets, some of it very nasty,” Lady Kenton said unhappily. “They refer to your
energetic
social life and everyone knows that is code for running a stable of lovers. And of course that ghastly girl Dulcibella has stoked the fire by saying you had quite retired from society to somewhere more private in order to indulge your interests.”
Mairi resolved to throttle her sister-in-law the next time she saw her. That should enliven the family gathering at Methven.
“I had not realized,” she said. “I’ve seen no papers since I left Edinburgh.”
She tapped her fingers on the table, an irritable tattoo. The rumors about her romantic life had run ahead of her ever since Archie had died. She had disguised her loneliness and misery well under a veil of hedonistic excess, a whirl of parties, balls and flirtations. It was no wonder if her reputation had suffered. And she had not really cared what people were saying. She had been too cocooned in unhappiness to care. The irony of it was that she had never once taken a man to her bed until that night with Jack Rutherford, when she had been so lonely that she had sought to forget her despair for a short while. And now people were talking and she was swamped in lurid rumors and she felt utterly miserable. For a second she felt the same despair sweep through her that had overwhelmed her at Ardglen. She felt so very alone.
“Of course a woman has certain needs,” Lady Kenton was saying, sipping delicately at her second glass of champagne. A flush had come into her cheeks. “I do understand that. A lusty man in her bed...” She took another mouthful of champagne, her eyes glittering with a combination of wine and prurience. “Tell me, my love...” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “Who was he?”
“My lips are sealed,” Mairi said. If that was one piece of information the scandalmongers did not possess, she was not going to supply it. And not out of loyalty to Jack, but out of sheer annoyance.
Lady Kenton, however, was made of sterner stuff. “Was he...good?” she whispered, eyes gleaming.
“Exceptional,” Mairi agreed, straight-faced. “Lusty, vigorous and very talented.”