In the Heart of the Highlander (20 page)

“I’m sure something can be found.” Mary only hoped it hadn’t belonged to the golden Edith Raeburn.

Chapter

26

A
fter their quick and very basic lunch of cheese, pickles, and bread, Mary sent Oliver to the bowels of Raeburn Court to interview its skeleton crew to assess just how many maids and footmen might be required to give polish to the place. She wondered when Alec would return. He had taken his horse instead of the car, which was still parked below in the courtyard, gleaming in the sunshine. It was tempting her to go down and do some assessing of her own, but mindful of her limited time, she shut the library door, wrote a brief letter to Aunt Mim telling her to expect more details from Oliver, and opened up the bottom desk drawer.

Mary knew it was wrong. It was one thing to break some rules gently on behalf of her clients—a white lie, a judicious omission—but this time she was abusing Alec’s trust. He’d left her in his library, his favorite room in the house. He did not expect her to go mining into his past.

The perfect painted image of Edith Raeburn taunted Mary; the mystery of her death intrigued her. She avoided the dog’s censorious eyes as she sat at Alec’s desk and opened the journal.

And then she blinked. It appeared to be nothing but a long list—an inventory of Edith’s possessions in elegant copperplate script. Perhaps this was not the diary after all. Fox stoles, diamond clips, Worth gowns. Thirty-one in all, if Mary counted correctly. Thirty-one Worth gowns! They must have cost a fortune.

Worth was not the only fashion house that was well-represented in Edith’s closet. There were a host of other French designers, including Doucet and Poiret. Several of Monsieur Poiret’s controversial kimonos had been purchased just before Edith’s untimely death. The list went on for at least thirty double-sided pages, with the dates of each newly acquired bit of frippery, starting from just before Edith married Alec. He had showered her with engagement gifts, and had not seemed to stop once she was his wife. Almost all the entries had been marked “from Alec.”

Mary felt a sour stab of jealousy—he had been inordinately generous to his young bride, even when he was in London with all his demimondaines. His wife had been in his thoughts while he was in bed with other women. Had it been guilt that inspired such expensive gifts, or something else?

She fanned through a few blank pages, ready to return the journal to its dark hiding place when fresh writing appeared.

Today I visited the new spa hotel with Mummy. It was their Grand Opening, and some of her friends are staying there. What a bore. Nothing but old sick people and fishermen, and I am bored enough at home. But we met the handsome doctor in charge, and he gave us a tour. He tells me the special baths are ideal for people who live on their nerves as I do. Mummy says I should give the place a try, and since it is so close, I just might. I am so tired of her lecturing me about my duty.

Mary warred with herself. She should shut the book right this instant. But instead, she skimmed Edith’s beautiful writing.

That is to say, her penmanship was elegant. What she had to say in it was rather puerile. Mary reminded herself that Edith was barely twenty-one when she died, a veritable child. A spoiled child, from the paragraphs she penned, endlessly complaining about the servants, her parents, the weather, Alec’s brothers, Alec himself.

Mary remembered herself at that age—she was busy working for her brother and sister-in-law and minding her nephews when she was not. She hadn’t had time to keep a diary, and would have had nothing interesting to write down anyway.

She continued to read. It had taken precisely two weeks from their first meeting before Josef Bauer flirted with Edith and flattered her into bed.

Her golden bed in her golden bedroom right here at Raeburn Court, Mary discovered, the same bed she would not invite her husband into. And at the spa, in spare hotel rooms, once even on a blanket in a sheep meadow on the doctor’s afternoon off. Mary became less impressed with Edith by each sentence.

Mary had to race through the gushing by the poor deluded girl. Knowing Bauer’s proclivities now as she did, Edith hadn’t stood a chance. But even so, it was jolting to read of her bad judgment, knowing the hurt it had caused Alec and the ultimate price she paid.

The little dog had been quietly sitting under the desk, but he suddenly ran out and started barking and spinning around in circles. Mary shut the book and shoved it into the desk drawer just in the nick of time.

“Alec!” she said brightly. “I didn’t expect you back so soon.”

“My horse cast a shoe and I had to walk him back at a snail’s pace. I suppose the visit to the magistrate can wait until tomorrow.” He looked disheveled and weary. “Down, Beowulf!” he said to the dog, swatting him away from his riding boots with his gloves. The little dog leaped to bite the leather fingers. Alec won the tug-of-war.

“Beowulf!” Mary giggled. “He hardly looks like a hero.”

“I didn’t name him. He looks like he’s been rolling in an ash-heap again. No one’s looked after him properly since Edith died. He was her baby.” He gave the dog an absent pat.

Should she tell Alec she’d already seen their portrait together in Edith’s room? He had invited her to look over the house, but probably did not expect her to pick a lock to gain entry.

“He seems very protective,” Mary ventured.

“Aye. He thinks he owns the place. I can send him to the stables if he bothers you.”

“Oh, no! I like dogs. We never had one, living over the shop.” She clapped her hands, and Beowulf trotted over, wagging his tail. She scratched behind his lop-sided ears and he appeared in ecstasy.

“Did you write your letter? I can post it tomorrow when I go to Pitcarran.”

“I did. Actually, I’ve turned over the hiring task to Oliver. He was raised in an upper-middle-class household, and is very suited to determining your staffing needs. His family is very well-to-do.”

Alec raised an eyebrow. “Are they? Then why is Oliver working for your aunt?”

Mary did not want to betray Oliver’s secrets. “He had an unfortunate falling-out with his father.”

“I wager I know why.”

Mary looked at him, startled.

“Do you think you’re the only soft-hearted person in the world? I suspect my valet and your aunt’s assistant have a great deal in common.”

“And you approve?”

Alec shrugged. “Only God knows why people are made as they are. It’s not up to me to sit in judgment—I have enough troubles of my own. Come, I promised you a tour of the house, and a tour you shall have.”

Mary rose from the desk. “You don’t have to, Alec. I’m sure you’re tired.”

“I may be tired, but you’ll not deny me time spent in your delightful company, will you?”

He probably would not think her delightful at all if he knew she’d been reading his late wife’s diary.

“All right.”

Alec took her arm. “I’ll show you where I would have put you were we staying here. You’re likely to be very disappointed with the gatehouse—it’s quite a comedown.”

“You realize you are talking to a woman who was raised over a corner store. The gatehouse will be lovely. It wasn’t until recently that my brother bought a house separate from the business.”

“Doing well, is he?”

“I suppose. He doesn’t tell me much.”

“You are an observant young woman. You must know.”

Heavens, Alec thought she was still employed in the shop and just on some sort of temporary working holiday with Aunt Mim. She should tell him the truth.

But the last thing Alec Raeburn needed was another woman who lied to him. Mary swallowed her conscience and made suitably appropriate comments as he showed her around. He took her by all the vacant bedrooms she’d already seen, then turned left at the end of the hall to another set of stairs.

Mary looked across the landing. “Where does that staircase opposite to this one lead?” She knew very well.

“That room is locked, and I don’t have the key with me,” Alec said, being vague.

Mary had forgotten to lock Edith’s room after being caught out by Beowulf. If he went up there later, she hoped he’d think one of the workmen had neglected to secure it. She followed him up a short flight of stairs to another wing of bedrooms.

“Here,” he said, throwing open a door, “our best guest room.”

The wallpaper was fresh, an Arts and Crafts pattern that suited the dark woodwork. It was handsome but not overly luxurious.

“You are too polite to say so, but I can see you’re not impressed. What’s best about it is that my room is right next door.” Alec grinned.

“Oh.” Mary knew she was blushing.

He tugged her through a connecting door to his own room, a masculine lair with a lingering aroma of Blenheim Bouquet and old books. No one had been up here to pick up after him for quite a while. There were papers and books strewn across a table by the window and stacked precariously at his bedside. “Mac isn’t happy with me—I won’t let him tidy up. He has to satisfy himself with organizing my dressing room.”

“Was this your room when you were a child?” Mary asked.

“It was. I moved back here when things were at an impasse with Edith. She moved, too. Lord knows, the house is big enough to house a dozen unhappy married couples. Musical rooms, as it were. That guest room used to be my brother Evan’s room. He lives in the dower house on the estate now.”

Mary pictured two young boys slamming doors and giggling, up all hours making mischief. “What about your other brother?”

“Nick? We never let him come down from the nursery, so he decided to thumb his nose at us and just enjoy it up there. Said the light was good for his painting. But he’s been away since I married. I worry about him.”

“You should get him to come home. At least to London.”

“Do you think I haven’t tried?”

“He needs an inducement. Leave it to m—Mrs. Evensong’s Agency. Aunt Mim will come up with some scheme to get him back here.”

Alec laughed. “And what will that cost me?”

“Not a penny. I’ll—we’ll do it as a favor. After all, you’re doing me a favor soon, aren’t you?”

“Not soon enough,” Alec murmured, and took her in his arms. Mary was aware of the large bed nearby and the insistent heat of Alec’s body. He smelled of leather and horse and sweat, which should have been off-putting but wasn’t. How could anyone’s lips be both soft and firm, teasing yet steady? She forgot that she’d breached his trust by snooping, forgot that Monday was tomorrow. Mary wanted him, without layers of clothing and secrets between them. She tiptoed up to clasp her hands around his neck, her knees weakening with every brush of his tongue to hers.

She was near to slipping to the floor when he stopped kissing her and nuzzled her earlobe. “I don’t want to wait, Mary.” Alec searched her face for her answer. She’d washed the smudges off, but was certain he wouldn’t care if she’d rolled in an ash-heap like Beowulf. Desire danced between them, etched with urgency. He wanted them to leave Raeburn Court, go to ground in case Bauer was still determined to make him pay.

“It’s—it’s daylight,” Mary stuttered.

“All the more reason for us to do this now. I want to see what’s under that boned collar and corset.”

“I don’t know if I’m ready.”

Mary had been thinking of perfumed baths and loosened hair brushed one hundred strokes, but Alec misunderstood. “Of course. I’m a bloody idiot. I promised to give you time to get over your ordeal.”

Mary put a finger over his mouth. “It’s not that. I wanted to wear my best nightdress. Brush my teeth.” Goodness, she’d eaten a pickled onion at lunch—how could he even bear kissing her?

“You little darling. You’re pretty perfect just as you are.” He strode to the doors and locked them. “The gatehouse won’t be stocked and ready until later, and tomorrow morning I’ll have to make another attempt to get to Pitcarran. Let’s make good use of the hours we have.”

He looked at her with such hopefulness, she simply could not say no.

Chapter

27

A
lec did not know why it was so important for him to bring Mary Arden into his boyhood bed. It wasn’t like him to be sentimental or so impatient. God knows, he’d spent enough of his youth’s dark nights imagining a willing woman in his bed with a hand on his cock, but he hoped he’d outgrown that by now.

She was counting on him to introduce her to lovemaking—she depended on his alleged skill and experience. She trusted him. Alec wasn’t used to such a misplaced honor. He wanted to fumble with his falls and push up her skirt like the imaginative boy he’d been.

Finesse
, Alec, he reminded himself.
Seduction
. She was an innocent, for all their brief sensual encounters over the past couple of days. Apart from last night, he doubted any man had seen her naked save the doctor who delivered her.

He’d only seen bits and pieces of scented white skin, but he knew what she tasted like, how slight she felt in his arms, how her russet lashes fluttered as he kissed her. He wanted to unwrap her as a present to himself, something to ease the edge of the misery of these past months. He had thrown himself into the giddy theater crowd, and the actresses had not been the only ones pretending.

His clumsy fingers caught on a thread-covered hook. It was the devil to release it from its eye, and there were a half a dozen more to go before he even got to a decent-sized pearl button. Mary stood breathless as he worked his way down the back of her dress. How had she managed to get into it without a maid this morning? His Mary Arden was a resourceful woman.

Her dress dropped to her hips, and he spun her gently around. She must have fastened her corset from the front—more damned hooks—and he unfastened them with more difficulty. His hands betrayed him at every inch, shaking as they were. She wore a lacy shift, more white against the cream and gold of her skin. There were tiny freckles on her collarbone and across one shoulder, and Alec bent to kiss them.

She reached behind her back, tugging at her sash. Her batiste dress dropped to the floor, and she was left shivering in her petticoat and slip.

“Are you cold?” Alec asked.

“Just nervous. You are currently overdressed, my lord.”

He wished her hands were upon him doing the same things as he did to her, but that was expecting a lot. “Get into the bed, sweetheart.”

“With my shoes?” she asked impertinently.

“Sit,” he ordered. Mary sidestepped to the bed and sat, her hands folded in her lap like an apt pupil. He was on his knees in an instant, taking her kid boots off. A stocking snagged on his rough hand as he detached it from the garter.

Damn. He was rough even when he was trying to be gentle. He unrolled the silk from her legs, smoothing his hands over the pale gold fuzz. She was absolutely still, her womanly scent washing over him. He was so close—why not? There would be time for the main event after a few well-pleasuring minutes.

Alec pulled her to the edge of the bed and worked his way up from her dainty toes to her thigh, dropping butterfly kisses on her fragrant skin. She guessed his intention, and opened herself to him.

Alec buried his tongue between her rosy folds. She grew even more rigid, a sharp cry escaping. He feasted until her nails dug into his shoulder blades and her thighs trembled. She was drenched in honey, almost ready for him.

But he was, as she’d pointed out, overdressed. He tore his clothes from his body as if they were on fire. In the meantime, she had shyly untied her petticoat and pulled her undergarments over her head and the pins from her glorious hair. She was pale and exquisite, her breasts full, apricot-tipped. He feasted there, too, tipping her back on his bed amidst the crumpled worn quilt.

Her breaths came faster as he brushed his fingertips across smooth skin, then silenced her with a solemn kiss. Did she hear his silent pledge to make this good for her? It was not really possible to wait much longer.

Her eyes were wide and questioning, the recent daze now absent.

He took her hands in his. “You’re sure, Mary? There will be no going back.”

She nodded once.

One finger sought her center, gently parting her. She was so tight—all of her was much too small, really. He was apt to crush her. And then it came to him. She had wanted to be taught, but perhaps she should take the lead, establish the pace. Last night, she had nearly been Bauer’s helpless victim. He wouldn’t do the same thing to her today. No woman should feel robbed of autonomy, unless that was what she wanted, of course. Somehow, Alec couldn’t see Mary abandoning all control.

Mary was opinionated, and Alec wanted to discover all the things she craved. She probably didn’t know yet herself, but he’d give her the opportunity to find out.

He rolled to his back and settled her plump body over his. Her hair tickled his chest and he held her tight.

“What are you doing?” she croaked, blushing at him.

Alec didn’t want her to be embarrassed. He gave her what he hoped was a most appreciative smile. “I’m turning the reins over to you, my love. We shall go as slowly as you wish. Or as fast, although I do hope we can savor our time. It’s apt to hurt in the beginning.” He guided his finger in again, then out, steady yet with the lightest of touches. She was not ready to be stretched any further, though his patient strokes seemed to be having a gratifying effect.

Mary groaned. “I want more.”

“Not yet, my greedy girl. Relax.”

“When people tell me to relax, it only makes me less so,” Mary said crossly.

“But you must relax, else this will be uncomfortable. Do you feel how snug you are? We’ll want another finger inside before we try anything else. Feel me, Mary. I’m a bit fatter than two fingers.”

Her hand touched his cock. Even her inexpert contact gave him joy.

“Does one talk through this? That seems very odd.” She curled her small hand around him and he prayed not to spill into it.

“One can talk. One can even laugh on occasion. Of course, the best times are when one is so swept away, one canna think.”

That is how this afternoon should be unfolding—he should have kissed her senseless all over. There should have been champagne. Strawberries. Feathers, perhaps. Feathers were fun. Och but he was four kinds of a fool.

Mary’s eyebrows knit. “How long will it take to improve me?”

“Hush. Ye need no improvement, my love. Rise up on your knees and straddle me, then sit back.”
And stop thinking.

He kept his hand fast at her center, circling her clitoris with his thumb and dipping his finger deeper inside her. He fisted his cock with the other. Her lovely bottom brushed against his thighs. She stared down to where their bodies met, her back straightening, her nipples hardening. She was flushed from her hairline to her navel.

Then her eyes moved up his torso to his face. “You’re looking at me.”

“Aye, and you’re looking at me. At us. What a beauty you are, Miss Arden. Copper hair and pearl skin and emerald eyes. Do you know they’ve flecks of gold in them, too? You’re like a jewel box come to life.”

“You don’t have to say such silly things.” She gave him a nervous smile. Did she really not know how perfect she was?

“Do you doubt my sincerity? You shouldna. I don’t know when I’ve seen a prettier sight. See what you’ve done to me? Nay, don’t look away. This is for you.” He spread the gleaming drop of fluid around the head of his penis. He was hard as stone.

Damn. He should have put a condom on. There were some in his trunk, but it would rather spoil the mood if he leaped up now. He’d just have to go carefully later, lift her away before—

Would it be so dreadful if there were consequences? Alec had not allowed himself to think of any sort of normal future in years.

A wife.

A family.

But he barely knew Mary, and she barely knew him. Maybe she wouldn’t want to be saddled with a gorilla for a lifetime. He’d have to be happy with a few days of delicious sin.

A second finger slowly joined his first, and Mary shut those glittering green eyes.

“Does it hurt?”

“Not exactly. I just
feel
you.”

“I should hope so.” He looked at her arms, hanging idly at her side, and had an idea. “Where else do you want me to touch you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Your breasts look lonely.”

Her lips twitched. “Don’t be ridiculous. Breasts can’t get lonely.”

“Och, but they can. Why don’t you touch them? I’d love to see that.”

Mary’s eyes snapped wide open. “M-me? That wouldn’t be proper.”

“Come now. I can’t think of one proper thing about what we’re doing, can you? You’re watching me stroke myself as my fingers move inside you. I’d love another pair of hands right at the moment to get more accomplished, and guess who has two with nothing to do? Have you never touched yourself?” Alec knew he was being wicked.

Mary rolled her emerald eyes in exasperation. “Not with anyone watching me! You tell me to relax, but I don’t see how I can!”

“So you
have
touched yourself.”

“Alec,” she said with fraying patience, “I am twenty-nine years old. A modern woman. My curiosity did not suddenly rise to the fore when you walked into my office. I’ve seen other men in kilts before, and you know the saying.”

Her mouth dropped open in sudden dismay at her words, and he stilled his hands. “What? What do you mean?”

“Oh! Never mind. Keep on keeping on, please.” In a frantic gesture, she grabbed her breasts and squeezed. It looked more painful than pleasurable.

It couldn’t be. But she was so like her aunt, and knew so much about the Evensong Agency. They were about the same height. The same size. Hell, they even sounded alike. Had she played him for a fool all along? Taken advantage of
him
, after he confessed to the coldness of his marriage? Like an idiot, he’d poured his heart out to the old woman.

“Mary Arden, do you have something you want to tell me? Something important?”

“No. Nope.” She shook her head and pinched a nipple halfheartedly.

Alec rolled her off his lap. “I canna stand dishonesty, Miss Arden. Even my mistresses know better than to lie to me. I pay them for truth. And it seems to me I’ve paid you, too. Quite a shocking sum for your services—or should I say your niece’s services?”

“Blast,” Mary muttered.

He waved an arm between them. “I don’t understand this. Who are you really?”

“You know who I am! Mary Arden . . . Evensong.”

The last was said on a whisper. Alec’s hand went to the beard that wasn’t there, then he slapped his own face.

“Say that again.”

She studied her fingernails as though they were diamond-tipped, refusing to meet his eyes. “I—I didn’t mean to deceive you in particular. I’ve been deceiving everyone. My aunt has been ill, and I stepped into her place.”

Alec was dumbfounded. The Evensong Agency was known far and wide as the preeminent employment agency in the country. Of course, they solved other sorts of problems, too, but somehow he couldn’t see shy little Mary Arden . . . Evensong doing all the things her crafty old aunt was reputed to do.

“For how long has this masquerade been going on?”

“F-four years.”

Alec felt his eyebrows fly up. “Four years? Does that mean it was
you
who went to Viscount Burleigh’s father-in-law and—”

Mary’s face was scarlet, as it should be if she had been mixed up in
that
affair. The old man deserved whatever punishment she had meted out, and Lady Burleigh was safe at last. “Yes, yes! But the gun wasn’t even loaded. Drat, I never divulge the exact nature of my arrangements with our clients. Some of them are not quite so tricky, you know.”

“Tricky? I’ll say it was tricky! Good Lord! And here you’ve convinced me you’re pure as a Scottish snowstorm.”

“I am! Or I was before I propositioned you. I’ve never wanted to bed a client before. It’s not at all professional,” she said with no apparent irony.

He was suddenly conscious that he was stark naked. Mary had had the good sense to wrestle a sheet over herself after her fingernails must have proved satisfactory.

“Four years. You’ve been pretending to be an old lady for four years? I suppose the grocery store nonsense is all a myth.”

“Oh, no! It’s perfectly true. My brother runs the family business now, and I was trapped, and terribly, terribly bored, if you must know the state of my mind. When Aunt Mim suggested I come to London to help her, I jumped at the chance.” Mary was sitting straight up now, her stubborn little chin jutting out. Her nipples, too, under the worn sheet.

Alec turned away. “Help her! The things you’ve seen and done . . .” He was quite overawed, if they were telling the truth to each other now.

“Well, I had to! Her business would have suffered irrevocably if word had gotten out she’d turned it over to her ignorant twenty-five-year-old niece. She has dealt with rather delicate matters since well before the turn of the century. I had the agency’s mission to fulfill.”

“‘Performing the impossible before breakfast,’” Alec quoted back to her. “I’ll be damned. So it was you under that horrible hat all along. What a little actress.”