In the Heart of the Highlander (5 page)

Chapter

5

M
ary sat fuming and drinking as Lord Raeburn told Aunt Mim about the evening and his encounter with Bauer. Well, not
all
about the evening—he did not mention how he ogled her bosom and said inappropriate things to her as if she were a Florodora Girl. It was obvious he thought she was no better than she should be, but Mary was damned how she could convince him otherwise. She was posing as a seductress, after all, although it didn’t seem to take much to get in Josef Bauer’s good graces. Sunday!

The smarmy, smirking lout.

Mary was not exactly sure to whom she referred. Bauer, she supposed. She could see where his courtly Viennese manners might sway a susceptible female, but he’d left her quite cold. Lord Raeburn, on the other hand, had made her feel itchy and warm. Those butterflies in her stomach had picked up speed and had battled and batted away through seven courses. If wine had been served, she would have tried to drown them.

No, she’d better keep her wits about her. She and Aunt Mim always shared a bedtime brandy as they discussed agency business, but she put the glass down and tried to relax without it. She looked out the window at the darkening mountains and counted a sprinkle of stars in the pearl-gray sky. She estimated the number of studded nails on the ottoman where Aunt Mim’s foot rested. Mary looked everywhere around the room except where she wanted. She would not meet Oliver’s eye, for that scamp must know exactly what she was thinking. Oliver was sensitive to changes in atmosphere after being the youngest of six brothers. He’d escaped many a beating with his good instincts.

Damn it all. Despite Lord Raeburn’s warm language and untoward familiarity, she was . . . smitten. Under all his wickedness, she knew he was vulnerable. And much too handsome for his own good.

It was only because she lacked sufficient experience, she assured herself. The last time she’d worn a regular dress, it had been covered with a capacious grocer’s apron. None of the customers—most of them women or servants—had noticed her femininity, and her brother, Albert, had discouraged her from walking out with any young gentlemen, not that there were many who had asked. It suited Albert to keep Mary occupied with the store or his household, and she had no choice, not having finished her education or having any money of her own. If she left her brother’s employ, she’d only have to drudge for some stranger.

When Aunt Mim had written, Mary didn’t have to think twice. But the freedom she had hoped for in London never materialized. It was remarkable how much time it took to solve other peoples’ problems, and how little was left at the end of the day, brandy or not. Mary kept meaning to go to plays or concerts, but somehow the opportunity never presented itself. When she did leave Mount Street, it was always for business—to straighten out some domestic tangle, for which her Mrs. Evensong uniform was necessary.

She brushed her silk skirts with a fingertip. Her gloves had been discarded first thing, and the feel of the material was heavenly. How delightful it was to have bare hands, and how delicious it would be to bury them in Lord Raeburn’s beard.

Where had such a thought come from? She didn’t even
like
beards. Mary kicked herself, a real, true kick of right kid shoe to left stockinged ankle.

“What do you think, Mary?” Aunt Mim was looking at her sharply over her spectacles.

“I—I’m afraid I was appreciating the view and lost track of the conversation.”

“It’s for your own good, lass. Get in, get out, and then you’ll be safe and can go about your business, whatever that is. Young Oliver and I will be hiding in his room, with anyone else we can round up.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Saturday night. Cards. Drinks,” Oliver said, enunciating as if she were deaf.

“You are having a p-party?”

“What we’ll be having are witnesses. You invite Bauer to your room, then scream a little and young Oliver here will burst in through the connecting door to save you.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Mary said. “Surely Dr. Bauer wouldn’t attempt a liaison with a roomful of gentlemen next door.”

“Nothing would fuel his lust more, to have you helpless and at his mercy. He’d never think you’ll raise your voice to object. The girls he victimizes are too cowed to cry rape,” Lord Raeburn said with bitterness.

Mary faltered. “H-he’s a
rapist
?”

Lord Raeburn flushed. “Nae. They’re willing enough. Needy poor wee things. He sweet-talks them until they can’t think straight, then turns around and asks for money so he won’t talk anymore. All he has to do is threaten to diagnose them as hysterical—as nymphomaniacs—and their families will lock them up with no hope of hotels or anything else in their futures. He’ll say
they
made advances to
him.
Either way, he makes money.”

“Bastard,” Oliver spat.

“Mind your language,” Aunt Mim said, “though I quite agree. Mary, had I known the risks of all this, I would have put my foot down. This is no place for a sheltered young woman such as yourself.”

Lord Raeburn’s head turned, eyebrows raised. “I was under the impression Miss Arden had some experience.”

“Nothing prepares one for these precise circumstances,” Mary said quickly. She was not going to allow Aunt Mim to forbid her to go forward. It was only two days’ work, after all, and a hefty, nonrefundable fee even if she wasn’t successful. “I think we should coordinate the evening. It’s very possible I won’t be in any position to scream, you know.” She pictured Bauer’s long-fingered hands over her mouth and shuddered. “And if I do, you may not hear me if your new friends are drinking and playing cards with any sort of animation. The men we sat near tonight would not have heard a bomb go off at the next table, they were so foxed. We shall have to set a time for my ravishment.”

“An excellent idea, Miss Arden. Though you will
not
be ravished.” Lord Raeburn was scowling precisely as he had in all those newspaper photographs.

“My attempted ravishment, then. We will fix the hour amongst ourselves closer to Saturday evening—Dr. Bauer may not be available.”

“Oh, trust me, he will cancel all engagements to ensure that he is and can best me. To seduce two of my women will be too tempting.”

“I am not your woman, Lord Raeburn,” Mary said, not as firmly as she should have.

“He doesn’t need to know that. Tomorrow I shall make a fool of myself over you.” He pantomimed a lover-like pose, thumping his hand to his chest. He’d better do more than that tomorrow and the next day—he looked like an imbecile.

She raised an eyebrow. “I hope that won’t be too much of a hardship.”

“Fishing for compliments, Miss Arden? You won’t get any until they count. I’ll be moonstruck enough in front of the guests at the hotel. All will believe I’ve fallen hopelessly in love.”

Aunt Mim coughed. “If I might make another suggestion, Lord Raeburn. No one in their right mind would believe you to be a man who falls in love easily. In lust, yes. You have had that reputation since you were in short pants—or no pants, as the case may be.”

Mary slapped her hand over her mouth. Aunt Mim always got to the heart of the matter.

“Dr. Bauer will be much easier to play if you involve him in a wager—which one of you can breach Miss Arden’s defenses first? That will give you an excuse to find yourself in her company without attracting his suspicion. There need be no talk of love—you are still in mourning, are you not?”

Lord Raeburn was so still Mary wondered if he was breathing. Was he insulted about the reference to his rakish reputation? Angry at the mention of his dead wife?

And then he laughed. She’d seen him do so once before, when she’d admonished him as they walked into the dining room. He’d stopped himself then, but now he sat, like a merry bear, roaring and snuffling until tears leaked from his dark brown eyes. He was completely overset, and Mary had a moment of panic. What if the man was unbalanced?

What if he really had murdered his wife?

Oliver handed him another brandy when he stopped for air, which he swallowed in its entirety. When he caught his breath, he winked at Mary, then turned to Aunt Mim. “I was told you were a miracle worker, but no one said how very blunt you are, Mrs. Evensong. You are absolutely correct. I will not be falling in love with Miss Arden or anyone else—I’m past all that nonsense, and no doubt Bauer knows that. So, fine. I shall play the great lecher to egg Bauer on. That is a role I know how to play, as you pointed out.”

A role he’d been playing all through dinner, Mary thought. He had taken flirtation to greater heights—and depths. It had been all she could do to ignore his “accidental” touches and outré remarks.

Mary Arden was supposed to be a naïve spinster, but Mary Evensong—spinster that she might be—was not really naïve anymore. Had she ever been? Wrapping up legs of lamb and dispensing bottles of Oxo had cured her of any romantic flights of fancy she had harbored as a schoolgirl. Treading between up and downstairs folks these past four years had nearly soured her on the human race altogether. Drunken footmen and dissipated dukes were two sides of the same coin. Most people did not know enough to get out of their own way, and it annoyed her that she was often hired to solve problems that were simply beneath her considerable skills.

Not this time. Lord Raeburn’s difficulties would not be solved even when Dr. Bauer was exposed. What he needed was not hers to give.

Mary couldn’t give him physical comfort. And anyway, he had enough of that sort of thing from his chorines. She was not at all in charity with the late Lady Edith Raeburn, who’d made him frustrated enough to betray his marriage vows, and now engage in this absurd game to avenge her death.

One didn’t usually fall out of one’s own bedroom window. Had she been pushed?

Or did she jump?

Mary wouldn’t ask. She wasn’t quite as blunt as Aunt Mim.

“Well, now that we have our stories straight, I propose to meet you after my examination tomorrow so you may begin to work your charm on me. Shall we have elevenses on the veranda?”

“Tomorrow morning canna come soon enough.” Lord Raeburn stood, his color ruddy. “Please excuse my behavior this evening at dinner. I didna realize—”

“That I’m a respectable woman? I took no real offense, my lord. In fact, it was good practice for me. Dr. Bauer’s blandishments can appear to go straight over my head. At least until Saturday.”

“I have a feeling nothing much gets by you, Miss Arden. Goodnight, Mrs. Evensong. Oliver.”

“Pleasant dreams,” Aunt Mim said, smiling up at him. Even after the sitting room door closed, her aunt was still smiling.

“I like him.”

Mary rolled her eyes. “You’ve only just met him, Aunt Mim.”

“He doesn’t know that. Handsome devil. Tortured soul.”

“I like him, too,” Oliver piped up.

He would. Oliver had a fatal weakness for a handsome face. His wealthy father had tossed him out of his house when he discovered Oliver in the arms of the household’s dapper French chef. The French chef was still employed, for how could Mr. Palmer forego the man’s fabulous foie gras terrine? But Oliver, as the youngest of six sons, was entirely expendable.

If he wasn’t careful, he’d wind up just like poor Mr. Wilde. Mary could not bear to see that happen; she had come to look on Oliver as a real younger brother. He certainly was much more amusing and loyal than Albert, and deserved his happiness wherever he could find it.

She made a pretense of yawning and stretching. “I’m so tired! I’m sure as soon as my head hits the pillow, I’ll be out. Come, Oliver, be a good brother and escort me down the hall.”

“Yes, Mrs. Evensong. I mean Mary.”

Aunt Mim chuckled. “Poor boy. Things just aren’t what they seem, are they? Better to get used to that.”

Chapter

6

Friday, June 10, 1904

M
ary had played dumb. Dumber than dumb. She made no objection when Dr. Bauer dismissed his nurse, and pretended not to notice that his fingers strayed from his stethoscope to her left breast for a few seconds longer than absolutely necessary. She concentrated on keeping her eyes wide, yet unseeing, willing herself to blush.

It was one of her few feminine skills—she had practiced blushing with the other girls at Miss Ambrose’s Academy for Young Ladies before Albert removed her to work the new cash register. Mary had several particular things she thought of to bring the color to her cheeks, and now that she’d made Lord Raeburn’s acquaintance, he was being incorporated into her system. It was not difficult to think naughty thoughts about him—in fact, it was difficult not to think about him all the time. The man seemed to preoccupy her far more than her other clients.

Every question was answered in shy, breathless syllables. The symptoms she recited to Bauer were nonsensical. If he had been a proper doctor, he would have told her she was just suffering from “nerves” and sent her packing. Instead, he nodded sympathetically and smoothed his hands all over her white-gowned body. He prescribed scented baths and his own elixir. Mary was fairly certain after one whiff the alcohol content in it was high—really, the hotel should just give up the temperance ghost and let its guests get drunk the old-fashioned way.

He scheduled her for an herbal bath and massage in the afternoon. Unfortunately, he said, he would be seeing patients and unable to perform the task personally. Mary was relieved. The man had touched her quite enough for one day. She had to give him some credit, though. He was gentle. Tender. His blue eyes were guileless, his blond curls cherubic. Satan came in many forms, she reminded herself.

So now she sat in a padded wicker chair, waiting to “bump into” Lord Raeburn. A little white china teapot sat in front of her with a plate of iced biscuits. She’d been too nervous to eat much breakfast before her appointment with Dr. Bauer, so she bit into one of them just as Alec Raeburn came up behind her and tapped her on the shoulder. Her entire body grew warm from just his fingertip.

“May I join you, Miss Arden?”

Mary nodded, swallowing hastily. Her tongue swept over her mouth to clean up any crumbs. There was nothing worse than being caught with something in one’s teeth. “G-good morning, my lord.”

Lord Raeburn dragged a chair closer and waved at one of the young aproned waitresses to order his own pot of tea. “Well, how was it?” he asked leaning forward so his knees almost touched hers.

She thought for a moment. Bauer had been smooth, yet his very smoothness set off all the alarms she’d learned about at Miss Ambrose’s. “I can see why a woman might succumb.”

“But not you.”

Mary shook her head. “Oh, no. Even if I didn’t believe your charges against Dr. Bauer, he’s not my type at all. I do not care for beards.”

Lord Raeburn’s hand flew to his jaw. “Really?”

Had she offended him? She couldn’t help it; she was honest to a fault, when she wasn’t lying for a good cause. “It is a quirk of mine. I do not even like mustaches.”

“The king has a beard. It does not seem to prevent his success with the ladies,” Lord Raeburn said, looking affronted.

“That may be true, but it has no bearing on my feelings.” Edward was notorious for his string of mistresses. Poor Alexandra—Mary would never put up with infidelity from her husband, even if he was a king. Not that she was likely to have a husband. In a few days she’d be back in London slaving over her files and the adventure at Forsyth Palace Hotel would be just a distant memory. She picked up a biscuit and snapped it in half with some violence.

The waitress delivered another little tray of tea for the baron. A light luncheon would be served in two hours, here in the glassed veranda or under tented tables on the lawn. The afternoon meal was much less formal than the night’s dinner. Many of the guests had picnic baskets packed by the hotel kitchen so they could explore the property’s trails or get back quickly to stand in their gaiters in the river. If lunch was inadequate, they wouldn’t be hungry long—an elaborate tea was set for four o’clock. Mary would have to let out her new dresses if she had to stay for the full week.

She watched Lord Raeburn bite into his biscuit. Despite her hunger, she was suddenly shy to do the same and put both her pieces back on her plate.

He glared at her. His eyes were the darkest brown, nearly black, fringed with long thick lashes. “Why are you staring at me? Do I have food stuck in my horrible beard?” he asked.

“I was not staring.” And his beard wasn’t so horrible, really.

“You were.”

“I wasn’t. Well, I mean, you’re right here next to me. Where else am I to look?” Mary asked reasonably, not feeling reasonable at all.

Lord Raeburn pointed toward the window with one long finger. “The view is generally conceded to be the attraction here.”

“Fine.” Mary turned her head, unmoved by the grandeur of the mountains. She’d rather look at the man in front of her, but she kept her eyes fixed to a faraway peak.

“So, what did he do?”

Was that an eagle? No matter. If she wanted to see an eagle, she could go to a zoo. Or America. “Who?”

Lord Raeburn sighed. “Bauer, Miss Arden. Did he remove all your clothes and make advances?”

She would not look at him. Would not. “I wore a hospital gown that covered me from neck to ankle. If the man is overly fond of bare toes, he showed no evidence of it.”

“Did he promise to see you again?”

“He arranged for a hydropathic treatment this afternoon, but one of the attendants will do it. He is, as you know, sitting with me tonight at dinner.” Mary was not looking forward to it, but she had to earn the generous fee somehow.

“I’ll be there, too.”

“I cannot stop you from eating, but I implore you to keep your distance.”

She heard him take a sip of his tea. He did not slurp.

“I sent him a note this morning as Mrs. Evensong suggested.”

She couldn’t help herself. She turned her head a fraction and saw the spark of mischief in his dark eyes. “And what did you say in it, my lord?”

“Only that I’d decided to best him at his own game. That I had intentions of introducing you to the pleasures of the flesh as quickly as possible. That the best man would win.”

Mary’s mouth was dry, so she took her own sip of now tepid tea. “Indeed. And has he replied?”

“He has. I don’t expect him to play fair, so be on your guard.”

“Wh-what do you mean?” Was Bauer going to lurk in the corridors and snatch her away to some dark private room? The hotel was vast, a rabbit warren just as Lord Raeburn said. She’d never be found. Mary might have to resort to using her hatpin, another thing she’d practiced at Miss Ambrose’s. Her school days were so far behind her, she hoped she remembered how.

“Expect a roomful of roses from the hotel’s hothouse, or something equally banal. Bauer doesn’t have much imagination.”

“There’s nothing wrong with roses,” Mary said with relief. Receiving roses was preferable to being kidnapped.

Lord Raeburn simply snorted, then ate the rest of his biscuit.

“When is your treatment?” he asked once he’d fingered his beard for any errant bits.

She should never have said anything about his beard. Aunt Mim would lecture her. The clients were always right, even when it was clear they were wrong. It was none of Mary’s business if Lord Raeburn had a beard down to his bottom.

Well, that was anatomically impossible. It would go down his front, right to—

“Miss Arden, I am speaking to you.”

“I beg your pardon. The treatment is scheduled for two. I’m not sure what to expect.”

“I believe they make you soak in a tub until your skin prunes up, then rub you down with some sort of muck. Edith would come here for the day. She said the baths relaxed her, but now I know more than hot water was involved.” Lord Raeburn spoke lightly, but Mary wasn’t fooled.

“I can meet you again for tea and tell you all about it,” Mary said, feeling bold.

“That would suit me—that way the busybodies will see us together twice. Word will get back to Bauer. What is Oliver up to today?”

“He’s playing golf. He hopes to strike up the acquaintance of some gentlemen to join him for cards tomorrow night. You were generous to offer your supply of liquor. Not everyone remembers to bring their own libation and find the hotel’s rules against alcohol most troublesome. I understand Raeburn’s Special Reserve is the big draw. “

“The family business, don’t you know. Or at least my brother Evan’s. It’s one of the smallest distilleries in these parts, but also the best. I’m sorry to say I have nothing to do with the enterprise except drink its product on occasion.”

“Sorry? You mean you’d sully your hands in trade?”

“There’s nothing wrong with honest work. I’m not one to sit on my arse and wait for the coins to roll in. I manage my estates to the best of my abilities, sometimes even working with my tenants. Are you surprised?”

Mary saw him in a field, stripped to the waist, his broad chest glistening with manly sweat from manual labor. She felt the tell-tale tingle on her cheeks. “Um, no. Very little surprises me, I’m afraid.”

“And yet you are an innocent.”

“One can still be a virgin without being vacuous, my lord.” She felt heat spread beneath the tight lace collar of her shirtwaist.

“Indeed. There is something very pert about you, Miss Arden. May I call you Mary?”

“That wouldn’t be proper.”

“All the more reason to bedevil Bauer. You must call me Alec, of course.”

Alec
. Fancy being on a first-name basis with a peer of the realm. Even when she’d stopped Cristobel Burke’s elopement, Lord Burke had not asked her to call him Percival.

“Very well. Alec.” She liked the way her tongue rolled about her mouth when she said his name. “You said you had two brothers. Evan runs the distillery. Is your other brother involved with that as well?”

“Nick? Och, no. I’m not quite sure where he is at the moment. He’s a traveler, our Nick is. An artist, or trying to be. Seems to think Raeburn Court is the dullest place on earth and can’t find his inspiration. And he didn’t much care for Edith, so I couldn’t keep him home.”

Mary met his eyes. “Can you tell me a little about her, or is it too painful?”

He did not avoid her scrutiny, and stared right back at her. “There is not a lot to tell. I married her when she was seventeen. Aye, she was much too young for me—I was almost twice her age. But she was a beauty, and I had to have her. Who would dream she’d go before me?” He looked down at his large hands, hands that looked very capable of tossing a frail young woman out a window.

“How did you meet?”

“Mary Arden, I didn’t hire you to investigate
me
. It doesn’t matter—I made a fool of myself and am still paying for it.” He sounded more exasperated than angry.

“I’m sorry if I pried. I do tend to ask too many questions.” And for some reason, most people answered them, at least when she was in her elderly woman guise. Alec Raeburn was not aware he’d told her his marriage had not been consummated—that surprising confession went to Mrs. Evensong. What a blow that must have been to him. He exuded male vigor—the air on the veranda practically crackled with it.

Or maybe it was just because she was so close, so aware of his size, his scent. He had, if she was not mistaken, taken a nip of Raeburn’s Special Reserve already. He wasn’t impaired, not by any means. And there were other aromas—warm wool, Blenheim Bouquet, a faint trace of cigar. But it was early in the day to be drinking. Men did such things out of boredom or despair.

He stood abruptly, snatching her hand from the tea table. “I’ll take my leave now, my dear Mary.” He bent and kissed each fingertip. “Until this afternoon.” His ungloved hand cupped her cheek and he gazed down at her in a lover-like manner.

Mary sat, her mouth agape as he maneuvered between the wicker chairs and table. And then she realized the reason for his display. Dr. Bauer had entered the room and was heading straight for her.

She didn’t have to make herself blush—she was sure she looked as if she’d been set on fire.

“Miss Arden. We meet again.” The doctor sat in the vacated chair without invitation. “I do hope you don’t think I’m overstepping my bounds, but I warned you last night about Lord Raeburn’s reputation. It does you no good to be seen in his company.”

“W-we met here quite by chance.”

The doctor frowned at the second teapot on the table. “Has he tried to make an assignation with you?”

“An a-a-assignation? What do you mean?” Mary stuttered, sliding into her dim innocent routine.

“He is a brute with women. I will be frank—someone with your tender sensibilities cannot be expected to understand his motives. You know, don’t you, that he killed his wife?”

“No!” Mary breathed.

“The local authorities are a bunch of bumblers. The man should have swung by now. I feel a responsibility to my patients, Miss Arden, and I cannot allow that man to make you his next victim. You must be protected.”