The Husband Hunt (20 page)

"I was worried when you didn't come back to the house," he said quietly. "Where were you, anyway.  Not off dropping stones in the pond to cure Howard's headache?"

"Am I forbidden to do so?"

"Not at all." He broke into a grin. "Drop to your heart's delight. I was really afraid that Alistair might have been lurking in the woods, waiting to abduct the innocent young maiden."

"Except that he's too late."

"Hmm. It's a shame, isn't it?" He pulled her closer, locking his arms around her waist. "Poor fellow has dreadful timing. Perhaps I ought to send him a polite note, just to let him know you're mine."

She felt a flush of heat go through her where their bodies touched. "That isn't a very polite look on your face, though. It's—predatory."

He threaded his long fingers through her hair. "You'd better get used to it, Lady Rutleigh. I'm not sharing you with anyone." His heavy-lidded gaze moved over her, not missing the worry on her face. "But you never did answer me. Where have you been while I was almost murdered by my own sister?"

"Where was I?" she repeated.

"That's what I said."

"Where could I have gone?"

"That is a good question." He arched his brow. "Now, answer it."

She glanced away. Knight's eyes narrowed at her faint hesitation, but he waited patiently for a reply. Where would she have gone? he wondered. What trouble could she possibly have gotten into in such a brief time? Lord, was this what love did to a man's state of mind?

"I had to hide in the woods," she said slowly. "Mrs. Evans was posted on the bridge. Is everyone asleep?"

He relaxed slightly. Going to drastic lengths to avoid his housekeeper made perfect sense. "Marigold is snoring fitfully outside your door," he said. "Wendell said he practically had to climb over her to remove the rope you left dangling from the window."

"What about Olivia?" she whispered.

"My sister exhausted herself trying to kill me with a shovel."

"Oh, dear." So that was the crash she and Murdo had heard in the woods. "I don't think I want to hear the details."

"No doubt you will, anyway, at the breakfast table." He started to laugh, thinking how absurd it was for Olivia to try to stop him. "She called me a monster of immorality."

She bit her lip, looking horrified. "You didn't tell her that we—"

"I didn't say a word to her." His hands moved down her back to her bottom, gripping her gently. It was going to take more than family or any earthly force to keep him away from Catriona. "I don't think I fooled her, though. I am so desperately in love with you that I can't hide it. Damnation, I don't
want
to hide it," he said huskily. "Come upstairs to my room. I want more of you tonight."

"Your room?" she whispered, already melting at the thought.

He brushed his jaw against her cheek. "She can throw another shovel at me in the morning if she likes. Sleeping with you is worth it. Come on."

He drew her back, catching her hands in his. She looked at his large figure and shivered, dangerously tempted. Arabella was right; Catriona knew she was completely in his power.

"No," she whispered. "Not again tonight."

He gave a low, devilish laugh. "Yes. Please."

"No. Oh." Her gasp evolved into a helpless giggle as he swung her over his powerful shoulder only to lower her slowly back to the floor.

"Um, perhaps you're right." he said in a strained undertone.

"Right about what?" she whispered in confusion.

He cleared his throat again. "Perhaps this isn't the best time to read those Shakespearean sonnets."

"Shakespearean sonnets? Knight, have you lost your wig? I—oh." She looked around his huge frame to see Mrs. Evans at the bottom of the stairs, arms folded disapprovingly across her chest. "Yes, I see exactly what you mean."

He carefully edged away from Catriona, whispering, "She must have been assigned the graveyard watch."

"Graveyard is right," she whispered, giggling helplessly. "She looks as if she wants to put you in one."

"May I bring you something, my lord?" the housekeeper asked in a crisp tone.

He cleared his throat. "We, ah, we were looking for something to read. In bed."

"Alone," Catriona added, frowning up at him. "I mean, later. After we read together. But not in bed."

Knight rolled his eyes. "Could you dig that grave any deeper, darling?"

"I only meant that we aren't going to read together. In bed, that is."

"I always read in bed," Knight said, leaning back against the railing to enjoy this.

Catriona wanted to pinch him, the unprincipled rogue. "Not with me."

His smile was diabolical. "Not yet."

"May I suggest the Bible as a source of moral inspiration?" Mrs. Evans asked dryly.

He stared down at the housekeeper, his look clearly drawing the line between servant and employer. "And may I suggest that everyone mind his own business where my morals are concerned?"

"Your morals are quite clearly beyond redemption," Olivia said from the darkened landing above. "Catriona's are not, or at least I assume so." She gave the sash of her dressing robe a firm yank. "Come upstairs, young lady. We shall discuss your behavior in the morning."

Knight winked at Catriona. "It seems as if our discussion on the sonnets will have to wait until tomorrow, too. Shame. I was so looking forward to it."

She sighed, lifting her skirt to obey Olivia's summons. But as she turned from Knight, the gust of violent wind that rattled the panels of the front door caused her to freeze in her tracks.

The dances I would teach you are of the divine, of mastering the elements.

Oh, of all things. Was that queer old uncle of hers trying to prove a point, or was the wind only a coincidence? After all, there
had
been a breeze earlier in the evening. She was on pins and needles now, half expecting her meddlesome relative to come bursting into the entrance hall at any moment, worrying about James's daughter, if that was who she had seen. What good did it do to know the girl was in trouble if no one could find her? Where could she be?

"That's quite a strong wind," Olivia exclaimed, rubbing her arms. "Hurry up, Catriona. You'll catch a chill, you in that thin dress and no shoes again."

She nodded, pausing as Knight stepped down beside her, to whisper boldly in her ear, "I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry your first time had to be in the summerhouse. I didn't plan it—well, I hoped it would happen—and I also wanted to tell you, in case I didn't make il clear before, that I love you."

She glanced up, staring into his eyes as an enormous clap of thunder resounded above the roof.

Olivia jumped back a step. "What on earth was
that?"

Catriona compressed her lips, gazing up past Knight's face to the ceiling.
No, Uncle Murdo,
she thought angrily.
Go away. You will not impress me with your owls and loud noises. This is where I belong, not on some windswept hill casting spells with an awful old man.

"Storm by morning," Mrs. Evans predicted, domestic matters apparently taking precedence over internal affairs. "I'd best have the gardener cover my seedlings before they're blown away." She turned, then paused to glance up at Catriona. "Sutherland," she said, right out of the blue.

"Sutherland?" Catriona said slowly. For some reason, the distant look on the housekeeper's face sent a shiver down her shoulders. "What do you mean?"

Mrs. Evans sounded embarrassed. "Sutherland is in Scotland, isn't it?"

Cat nodded. "Yes, but not where I came—"

"Oh, never mind," the housekeeper said, her cheeks red. "The name just popped into my head, but never mind. 'Tis the Welsh in me again. I'm sure it means nothing."

"Sutherland is in a rather remote area of Scotland," Knight said, watching Catriona's face. "Do you know someone there?"

"I don't think so," she said, shivering again. Could Gaela possibly be in Sutherland? Could Mrs. Evans have received the message that Catriona was straining to hear?

"Enough of this nonsense," Olivia said. "Upstairs, Catriona. Now."

For a few moments after she awakened
the next morning, Catriona lay in bed savoring her precious memories of the night before. Aside from the tenderness between her thighs and a general glow of well-being, she really noted no difference in her body; she hadn't sprouted wings or anything, but oh, how lightheaded and hopeful she felt, what rapture to be in love and to be loved in return by her wicked English viscount.

Everything was perfect, romantic, exciting. She had packed a bag for their elopement and had hidden it at the back of the wardrobe. The journey to Devon from the Borders, so grim and arduous with Thomas, suddenly took on heart-stirring possibilities in the reverse. Sleeping in a remote hillside inn with Knight seemed more like an adventure than an ordeal. What did discomforts such as lumpy mattresses and wrinkled sheets matter when one woke up in those protective arms? How grand to show him off to James, who, if he were not too angry or drunk to recognize her, would be grateful for Knight's financial help. She only wished she knew what that troubling glimpse of James's daughter meant, and if Mrs. Evans's comment about Sutherland was inspired. If the girl could be found, James might have a reason to live again. It gave her hope.

And then she remembered Murdo and that nonsense about the stone's curse and his mention of her childhood nemesis Lamont Montgomery. Well, the stone wasn't in her possession anymore so how could it hurt her? Let Murdo drop it back into the well if that was where it belonged.

She dressed in a demure primrose-yellow muslin day gown and practically floated downstairs. She really ought to wipe the grin off her face and look suitably repentant for Olivia's sake before she confronted her at breakfast. Where was everybody, anyway? The house seemed unnaturally quiet—

And then she knew. She sensed the troublemaker's presence in the house.

Uncle Murdo had come.

She walked woodenly to the blue formal drawing room, her heart lodged in her throat. The door was partially open, and she slipped inside to see Murdo seated in the corner, Aunt Marigold pouring him tea. Knight was standing by the window, his face drawn in deep lines of displeasure. Olivia, perched beside Wendell on the sofa, looked up at Cat in distress, as if to say,
Well, this is the final straw. Even I cannot undo the sort of trouble you are facing now. He is your uncle. I am only a distant cousin-in-law.

"This—this  
person  
claims   you   are   his   niece, Catriona," she said in a bewildered tone. "He has just informed us that he's come to take you home."

Knight stared at his beloved, one dark eyebrow raised in amused speculation. Well, at least he wasn't angry, but the almost imperceptible, helpless shake of his head told her that he was perfectly willing to let her handle this little mess by herself. It wasn't fair, she thought. How was she to know a relative she had assumed dead would reappear to cause problems at the happiest time in her life?

She pretended to study Murdo in great astonishment, widening her eyes at his warm smile. "There must be a misunderstanding," she said. "I have never seen this man before in my life." And then, in an inaudible whisper, not wishing to be caught in another lie, she added, "Well, at least not since I was six years old."

Knight watched the scene unfold with an air of resignation from the window. While he felt like scolding his betrothed for withholding yet another secret, he was too deeply in love with her to let the matter come between them. So this was what, or, rather, who had unsettled her last night, and could he blame her for not sharing such a peculiar uncle with the world?

He couldn't decide what to make of Murdo himself, with his slightly pointy ears and scraggly silver-red beard. He resembled some sort of domesticated gnome, a brownie in threadbare tartan who might at any moment leap up from his chair and disappear into the mist.

"Her mother and I had a falling out over her foolish infatuation with a nobleman," Murdo was saying, with a meaningful look at Knight in case he was dense to draw the parallel.

Knight frowned. A suitor he could toss out on his ear. An insulting uncle was another matter entirely.

"It was ever so much more than a falling out," Catriona said, settling stiffly into a chair, "and her love for him was more than infatuation."

"A love that was never returned," Murdo said. "My dear sister wasted her precious life on that scoundrel. He never visited once after the day he ruined her."

"How would you know?" Catriona asked, sitting forward to glare at him.

Knight came up behind her chair, placing his hand on her shoulder like an anchor. He did not want this man upsetting her with reminders of what could not be changed. "What part of Scotland are you from?" he asked conversationally.

Murdo hesitated. "Our family is originally from the Highlands, sir, but I have recently returned to Peebles."

Aunt Marigold covertly adjusted her wig before passing Murdo a plate of raspberry tartlets. "Is that anywhere near Aberdeen?" she asked. "I have an old friend there myself."

"No, madam," he answered, gracing her efforts at kindness with a brief smile, "but I hear it is a charming city, and so, that a friend of yours should settle there is no surprise to me."

"Hmm. Yes. Yes, well." She took a bite of her tart to divert attention from a blush, nodding intently as if he were the most fascinating visitor she had ever entertained. What a shame the unpleasant matter of Catriona's father came between them, this earl who bore a distant relationship to Lionel, thereby also connecting Marigold to his behavior. But then, every family suffered its black sheep. One only had to take a look at Knight, for example, with his taciturn manner and amorous nature, to realize that fact.

"I suppose that one has no choice but to forgive in such circumstances," she said, her blush deepening as she realized she had spoken her innermost thoughts out loud. "Family entanglements are so complicated, aren't they?"

"Indeed they are." Murdo smiled at her again before directing a frown at his wayward niece. "But the point I wish to emphasize is that young people these days think they know better than their elders. Times may have changed, but human nature has not."

"How true," Marigold said.

Catriona heaved a loud sigh, earning a scowl of mild rebuke from Marigold. "What is true," she said, "is that I am no longer a child, a fact my uncle has obviously forgotten. But then, having spent the last decade or so pretending that my mother and I did not exist, his lack of attention should not surprise me."

Knight gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "She is of a legal age to marry without consent. In Scotland, I believe, this would not be an issue."

Murdo shot him a look. "I believe it would. There is more to a marriage than legal consent."

"Indeed there is," Knight said heartily, wondering what this was leading to. He tried to catch Wendell's eye, to gauge his friend's reaction to the situation, but Duke, he realized with a sting of shock, had not stopped staring at Olivia all morning. In fact, now that Knight thought about it, his old friend always seemed to be staring at her these days.

He straightened his shoulders. Could it be? Wendell and his sister? He didn't know whether to knock Duke's head off or shake his hand. Olivia? The victim of Wendell's boyhood pranks, imprisoned in the Meacham manor attic with a skeleton, its skull backlit with one of the old duchess's beeswax candles? Some chance of a love match there. Olivia and Wendell knew each other too well. Olivia was three years older than him. Wendell had loved Lionel, too.

But what
had
Wendell been doing the night before while he was supposed to be diverting Olivia? Knight's eyebrows drew into a scowl of brotherly concern.

Olivia's cultured voice, a quaver of uncertainty beneath the coolness, entered the conversation. "Of course, you are absolutely right about the matter of marriage, which is why, not knowing Catriona could count on your assistance, Marigold and I took it upon ourselves to find her a suitable husband."

Murdo glanced disapprovingly at Knight. "Him?"

Olivia's lips tightened. "That depends on whom you ask. Actually, there are a few other local candidates, two of whom must be given serious consideration."

"You have obviously gone to great trouble on my niece's account—"

"My sister has wasted her time," Knight interjected, "not to mention my money."

"It was all quite unnecessary," Murdo said. "I have already found the perfect match for Catriona, a young man more than equal to her… talents. In fact, before her mother and I quarreled, we privately agreed that he would be a desirable mate."

"Who the devil are you talking about?" Catriona asked, held in place only by Knight's hand on her shoulder. "I don't remember any of this—this mating business."

"Well, of course not," Murdo said. "You were only a bairn, and Lamont was nine—"

"Lamont? Lamont Montgomery?" This time, she did fly off the chair, shock draining her cheeks of color. "That awful, that wicked—"

"So you do remember him," Murdo said in approval.

"He set the village kirk on fire," she exclaimed. "Everyone talked about it for years afterward."

Murdo smiled fondly at the memory. "That was a long time ago, before Lamont had his abilities under control. He's quite a success now. Besides, a lightning rod hit the kirk, or so the story went."

"And what was Lamont doing on the church roof during the sermon?" Catriona asked.

Marigold pursed her lips. "My, you seem to remember this young man quite well yourself. I don't suppose he has a title?"

"Not in this world," Murdo said enigmatically.

Knight folded his arms over his chest and said, rather rudely, "Well, if he was that interested in marrying her, you'd think he would come in person at least to renew her acquaintance, if not to propose himself."

Murdo glanced up at him. "Did I forget to mention that we traveled from Scotland together? Lamont had to stop for some business at Annan, but he should arrive here by dinner tonight."

"By dinner tonight," Wendell said, smiling across the room at Knight. "What do you think of that? The Husband Hunt has yielded some rather interesting quarry."

What Knight thought of this controversial figure from Catriona's past could hardly be expressed in polite company. But whoever Lamont was, he was certainly not going to interfere with the elopement, which reminded Knight that
he
had no business standing there with plans to be made before the journey north.

"Excuse me," he said to the room in general. "Wendell and I have some business matters to discuss. We'll be in the study should anyone require our company."

"Oh, your study," Olivia said, not quite catching herself before Knight saw her sneak a look at Wendell and blush.

So he was right. Something had gone on between the two of them. While he and Catriona had been making passionate love in the summerhouse last night, Wendell and Olivia had been in the study— doing what?

Catriona threw him an annoyed look as he left the room, no doubt wondering why he was abandoning her to this social torture. He gave her a beguiling smile from the door, then mouthed, "Tonight."

"I bet you'd forgotten that the manufacturing chemist from Bristol is due to arrive on Friday," Wendell said as they walked down the hall to the study.

"No," Knight said. "I hadn't forgotten."

"Well, I'm not sure I should be the one to interview him," Wendell said, pausing outside the door. "After all, you're the one with the scientific mind. At least, until recently."

Knight looked at him. "Shall we take this conversation inside my study? I believe you feel quite comfortable there."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Wendell asked.

"I don't know." Knight brushed past him. "Why don't you tell me?"

Wendell followed him into the room, looking perplexed. "Someone clearly did not have a good night's sleep. I think we'll all be glad when you get married and settle down. What do you want me to do while you're gone?"

Knight removed a leather portfolio from his desk drawer, deliberately not looking up. "Everything the chemist needs to know about the porcelain works is in these papers. Take him for a tour, if you like, ask his opinion on whether it's worth digging for china clay. As far as other matters, well, it's obvious you know how to keep yourself occupied."

Wendell sat down on the couch. "What?"

"How long have you been in love with my sister?"

Wendell paused. "Probably since I was seven. Why?"

"Oh, I don't know," Knight said wryly. "Just curious, I suppose. Not that it's any of my business—you didn't seduce her in here last night, did you?"

"I wouldn't tell you if I did."

Their eyes met across the desk. "I don't suppose you'll tell me how she took it, either," Knight said after a long silence. "Or am I the only one who didn't know?"

Wendell shifted his shoulders back against the chair and stared up at the ceiling. "I don't think she knew how to take it. In fact, I've probably shocked her. But"—he glanced down at his friend—"it's all your fault, anyway."

"My fault?" Knight said, his large hands folded in a tight knot over the portfolio. "Kindly explain that remark."

"Well." Wendell sighed. "It was all the romance in the air, the way you and Catriona stole glances at each other at the dance, and sneaking out to the summerhouse. No one is going to be surprised if, nine months from now, there's a bouncing baby in the family cradle for the proud parents to gush over. It made me sad and envious. And impatient. I'm twenty-seven next month."

"Olivia and Wendell." Knight broke into a devilish grin. "You poor fool."

"Do you think Lionel would mind?" Wendell asked anxiously.

"I can't see that Lionel has much of a say in the matter." Knight tapped his fingers against the portfolio. "It's Olivia you have to convince."

"What about you?"

"What do I have to do with it?"

"That's exactly what I mean," Wendell said. "Before you met Catriona, we wouldn't have gotten two minutes into this conversation before you killed me for touching your sister."