In the Heart of the Highlander (18 page)

The waiter snorted. “Prescott’s a pinch-penny, that’s for sure. I have me mum and sisters to support, and there’s little enough work in these parts.”

“What about Raeburn Court?” Mary asked.

“Work for that murderer? I should say not. Funny thing—he’s staying with us temporarily, and ’twas his suite that had the fire. The Lord’s work, for sure. Bolt of lightning, I bet.”

Mary put her hand on a stunned Alec’s arm. “You didn’t take all his keys.”

Chapter

23

T
he devil. When Alec was allowed back into the building, his stocking feet soaked in dew, he went directly to his rooms with the hotel manager. Not only was the varnish burned off the door and the rug in front of it in scorched ruins, but another fire had been set at the interior ramp door that served as the hotel staff’s service entry. Both egresses from the suite would have been blocked, and Alec didn’t much fancy his chance of survival if he’d been there to jump from his top floor window. Prescott tripped all over himself in apology. After the contretemps last night, it was clear to both of them what had happened.

Mac had not been sleeping in the dressing room, either, thank God. Alec had seen him safe and sound on the lawn, wearing a bedspread wrapped like a Roman toga. He decided he didn’t care whose bed Mac had slept in—it was a mercy they were both still alive.

“I shall of course move you to another suite, even if it means rearranging some other guests,” Prescott said, rubbing his hands nervously.

“That won’t be necessary—the Ardens and I are leaving this morning. And it wouldn’t do much for the hotel’s reputation to inconvenience anyone more than they’ve already been inconvenienced. You were lucky someone caught the fire in time. I’d like to speak to her, if I may.”

“Of course, of course. One of our girls was on her way up with an early breakfast tray. The staff is well-trained to respond in case of emergency. She did everything right.”

Including removing the tray she must have dropped when she put out most of the fire with a bucket of sand in the hallway. There were only a few grains remaining on the wet rug to show anything had ever been there.

Alec fished for his room key. The doorknob was still warm to the touch. The sitting room was just as he’d left it before the card party, an unfinished glass of Raeburn’s Special Reserve on the table. Mac had been buttling the party and must not have come back to clean up before he sought his own adventure.

“Notify the hotel garage to ready my car and bring it to the entrance at ten. We’ll need a carriage for the luggage and my manservant and Miss Arden’s brother as well. My Pegasus only seats two, and I don’t want them here any longer than necessary.”

“Of course, my lord.”

“You will tell me if Bauer turns up to make more trouble.”

Prescott nodded vigorously. “We’ll bar him from the grounds. I don’t want any difficulties with the authorities, Lord Raeburn. This fire is bad enough to unsettle the clientele. We’ve taken every precaution so that our guests feel safe. I don’t know what’s come over the man to do something like this.”

“This is the least of it. He’s been compromising his female patients since the hotel opened, probably before that, too. A bit of burnt wood is nothing to the ruination of a woman’s reputation. He preyed upon his victims, then blackmailed them to keep silent. You know he drugged Miss Arden to get her to be cooperative. I’ll see him stripped of his medical license if I can.”

“Just as you should, just as you should,” Prescott said, radiating obsequiousness. “But if you can avoid implicating the hotel—I had no knowledge of his activities, I swear. The hydrotherapy end of the operation was entirely in his hands. I don’t know where we’ll get another physician on such short notice. The nurses can act in his absence, I suppose. They know the procedures.”

“I don’t give a damn how you solve your staffing problem,” Alec replied. “Now if you’ll excuse me? Send that maid up so I can reward her. A breakfast tray, too, please. And make sure Miss Arden and her brother get something to eat before they go.”

Prescott hurried off. The fellow looked like he was coming down with a splitting headache. His day would probably not get better with more than one hundred excitable and sleep-deprived guests to placate. Society was fickle and spoiled and expected first-class treatment at a first-class resort. June was just the beginning of the hotel’s season and if word got out of any difficulties, an avalanche of canceled reservations would result. The consortium wouldn’t like that after their massive investment.

Mac returned in his toga, looking sheepish, and got straight to packing them up. A tentative knock on the door brought the heroine maid and his breakfast tray. Alec handed over a fistful of his winnings and made an offer of employment, which she blushingly refused. She’d heard he was a murderer, too.

Alec shared some of his breakfast with his valet, feeling just a touch nervous about the next couple of days. At a quarter to ten, the porter arrived for his belongings. He’d traveled lightly, being only two miles away, and visiting his house almost daily to get whatever he’d forgotten. The refurbishment was still ongoing, and Alec resigned himself to the sound of hammers and piles of sawdust.

He’d sent no word of Mary’s arrival, for he really had no one to send word to. One of the remaining kitchen maids was ostensibly in charge of feeding the rest of the servants, and might be persuaded to expand her repertoire. The bedrooms were mostly shut up—if he had to, he’d remove the Holland covers and prepare them himself. He’d promised Mary respite, and he didn’t think she’d want to be saddled with a broom and bucket.

Maybe he could borrow his brother Evan’s housekeeper. She didn’t hold him in too much aversion and had a rather easy job looking after his little brother. Evan was so consumed with the distillery he was hardly ever home, and never noticed what was put in front of him as long as it was hot.

The phone rang. Mac picked up the receiver before Alec had a chance to move.

“That was Prescott himself. You’ve put the fear of God into him, I reckon. The car’s downstairs, and the hotel carriage is loaded and ready for Mr. Arden and myself. Shall we go, my lord?”

Alec looked around the handsomely appointed room. He wouldn’t miss it. “Yes. I did what I came to do. We’re meeting the Ardens downstairs.”

Mac wrapped his arms around his too-narrow chest in a pose that was nevertheless intimidating. Alec sighed. “What is it?”

“If that doctor fellow tried to burn us out up here, what’s to stop him from coming to Raeburn Court?”

Alec felt a sudden chill. “He wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, wouldn’t he? You’ve got the woman he wanted. You’ve wrecked his career. What’s he got to lose?”

Damn. Mac was right. There were too many doors into Raeburn Court, and, God knows, too many windows and too few men on the estate to protect them all twenty-four hours a day. The nearest magistrate was in Pitcarran. Alec would have to go talk to him once Mary was settled. No doubt Bauer had friends at the hotel who could help him hide. He didn’t trust Prescott an inch.

He should have gone with Bauer last night to make sure he left the area. Driven him down to Edinburgh himself. But he’d wanted to get back to Mary.

“You make a good point. What do you suggest?”

“Take Miss Arden somewhere else.”

“Where?” Paris might be lovely this time of year, but he didn’t think Mary would agree to be his public mistress.

Mac clapped his hands. “What about the north gatehouse? No one lives there.”

“And hasn’t in donkeys’ years. The place must be encrusted in dust. And it’s so
small.
” Alec had been looking forward to showing Mary his house. Even in its partly renovated state, it was imposing. The gatehouse was its exact replica, save for the fact it was a tiny fraction of its size.

“I could take care of that for you. No one would think to look for you there. We can put it about that you’re still at Raeburn Court until Bauer is caught. I’m sure Mr. Arden would be game.”

So that was where the wind blew. Alec had suspected his valet was attracted to Oliver at the card party. There had been a few smoldering gazes, which fortunately the other gentlemen present had overlooked. “Are you now?”

Mac blushed. “He seems like a fine fellow.”

“And you look good in his bedspread.”

“Och!” Mac was scarlet now. “You can fire me if you want.”

“Now why would I want to do that? As long as you remain professional with me—such as you are, you cheeky devil—I have no objection to what you do in your off hours. But I fancy myself a modern man. There’s no telling what other people might think. Or do,” Alec warned. He’d been made to read his Bible along with his brothers and been to public school. Society was not in the habit of forgiveness when it came to transgressions of a sexual nature. Alec was probably going to Hell himself for the variations he’d enjoyed as a young cub.

Mac looked at his feet and spoke softly. “Don’t you think I know that? I’ve had to hide my true self all my life.”

“I’m sorry for it. But be careful with Oliver. He’s younger than you are, and a bit impetuous. Miss Arden wouldn’t want any harm to befall him, that I’m sure of.”

“Yes, my lord.” Mac gave him a wobbly smile.

He had been with Alec since before his marriage. Not a lifetime, but the valet had served him well and knew his likes and dislikes. This morning’s confession had not really come as a surprise, but it might make things awkward with Mary. Oliver might be her pretend brother, but there was real affection and concern between them.

But maybe she already knew. She did seem to know everything. Mary Arden had a wise head for someone as young as she was, almost as if she’d traded places with her elderly aunt.

He and Mac chose the stairs instead of the elevator. Oliver was pacing across the lobby floor while Mary sat serenely in one of the plush chintz-covered chairs, the picture of a late spring day. One would never know to look at her that she’d been drugged, attacked, and evacuated from a burning building in the space of twenty-four hours. She was in one of her demure white dresses, a straw bonnet pinned with pink roses atop her pale red hair. A gloved hand rested upon a white lace parasol.

“Ah! There you are, Lord Raeburn. How kind of you to run me down to the station for my return to London,” Mary said in a carrying voice. A few heads turned in their direction.

Alec extended his arm. “Are you worried that Bauer will come looking for us at Raeburn Court?” he asked softly. “Mac is.”

“I confess it crossed my mind. He shouldn’t suspect me, but I fear you must be careful if he’s still in the vicinity. The fire business wasn’t well-planned, but he’ll have time to get more creative.”

“I should have had him arrested,” Alec said as he led her down the steps to the waiting car. “In fact, I’m going to Pitcarran later today to lay charges, at least for the arson, even if I don’t have proof. I’ll try not to involve you in anything.”

“I don’t mind being involved. What he did was—was—was most ungentlemanly.”

“That’s a bit of an understatement.” He tipped the mechanic and settled Mary in the passenger seat, giving her white dress a long look. “I’m afraid you’re going to get dirty. The road to Raeburn Court is not oiled. Hang on a minute.” He rummaged around in the storage box and came up with his duster and a two pairs of goggles.

“Here, put these on.”

The coat swam comically around Mary’s petite figure. “Should I take off my hat?” she asked, as she rolled back the sleeves.

“If you value it at all.”

Mary removed her hat, tucked it under her feet, and pulled a silk scarf from her handbag. She tied it under her stubborn little chin, looking oddly fetching, something like a Russian orphan with her wide forehead and high cheekbones. “I’ve ridden before, you know. George—I mean, an acquaintance of my aunt’s is the owner of the Pegasus Motor Company.” She strapped on the goggles, still managing to look adorable.

George, was it? A hot flush of jealousy swept through Alec. “Have you? I shall endeavor to drive as well as he.” Alec turned on the petrol, switched on the ignition, checked the commutator and lubricator. The engine started up with a satisfying blast. He moved the speed lever from the out-of-gear notch, and they were off down the long hotel drive in a cloud of dust.

Goerge. Alec racked his brain, trying to remember the man’s last name. Some sort of industrialist who had his fingers in a lot of pies. Surely he was too old for Mary, even if he was rich as Croesus and forward-thinking. The automobile was the wave of the future. Drivers might be considered hobbyists now, but eventually motorcars would be available to everyone. Alec was thinking of investing in the company himself. He owned two models already. His car in Town had room for more passengers, but he was glad to be private with Mary now.

She said something, but he couldn’t hear her over the roar of the engine. He released his pressure on the driving pedal and slowed. “Pardon?”

“I said,” shouted Mary, “do you think you could give me driving lessons?”

Driving lessons? A woman behind the wheel? He knew all about Dorothy Levitt, that madcap motorina who was busy breaking records in boats and automobiles, and he couldn’t approve. Next the woman would be taking up aeroplanes. Even if she were instructing the Queen and her daughters, a woman wasn’t meant to drive—it was unnatural. Mary Arden probably didn’t know the difference between a pair of gas pliers and a pair of cutting pliers. There was much more to driving than holding the steering wheel and going forward. It was a dirty, dangerous, complicated business.