To Catch a Highlander (33 page)

"I had to lie completely flat, as the ring had rolled under the table to the other side."

"Ring? Ye said it was an earring."

Blast it
! "One or the other. I don't remember which."

Mary quirked a brow, and Sophia sighed, feeling like a child who'd been caught with crumbs on her chin during a missing-cookie hunt. "Mary, do you think I might have a bath?" She untied the ribbon at her neck and began to push the gown down her arms.

Mary came to help, whisking the gown away and bringing a robe. "I don't mean to complain, miss, but ye've been acting strange since we arrived." She held the robe open for Sophia. "Ye're fortunate I didn't brain ye with my dust pan when you came in, fer ye scared me to death. What with there bein' a thief in the house and all, ye should be careful."

"How do you know there's a thief in the house?"

Mary lifted a brow. "Yer jewels are gone, aren't they?"

"How did you know that? I didn't tell anyone."

"I heard it from Sir Reginald Barksdale's valet in the servants' hall. He asked if ye'd found yer missin' jewels. I tried to tell him ye'd never lost them, that Lord MacLean must be holdin' them fer ye, but the bloke wouldn't listen. Finally, the housekeeper tol' me she thought he was tellin' the truth."

Sophia frowned. "How did Sir Reginald's valet know my jewels were missing?"

"I don't know, but he did. Kept asking me this and that about the diamonds, where ye got them, and if ye knew where they'd come from." Mary leveled a hurt gaze on Sophia. "It was a bit embarrassin', not knowin' they was even gone."

Sophia winced. "I'm sorry, Mary. I should have told you, but Lord MacLean and I were hoping to discover who took them. We thought that the fewer people who knew, the better our chances."

The maid nodded, looking slightly mollified. "I can see that. Is anything else missing?"

"The deed to MacFarlane House."

"Gor! Both the deed and the jewels are gone? At the same time?" Mary whistled, then picked up the dusty gown. "I don't know what the world's comin' to. Ye can't even leave a piece o' paper without someone takin' it into their heads to steal it, and—Miss? What's this? It was in yer pocket."

Sophia looked at the small bag in Mary's hand, a faint memory stirring. Ah, yes. The bag from the trunk in Sir Reginald's room. "Let me see that."

Sophia undid the tie to the small pink satin bag and pulled out the contents. Inside was a much crossed-out note that appeared to list the various houses belonging to the earl of Ware. Beneath it was the velvet pouch that had once held her mother's jewelry.

Sophia smoothed it between her fingers.
Sir Reginald
. Finally, she had proof that he had taken the jewels. But what about the deed? And why was there a list of the earl of Ware's houses? That made no sense at all.

She supposed she should tell Dougal. But every time they were together, they succumbed to the passion that flared between them. And each time, it seemed as if he stole more of her precious resistance.

She couldn't afford to lose much more, or when the time came to leave, she wouldn't be able to do it; she'd soon be in love with him.

Sophia bit her lip to keep it from quivering and pulled the robe tighter. She had to stop the continuing intimacy between herself and Dougal; all it did was deepen the feelings she was already fighting. Though he was right when he said it was pleasurable—she couldn't think of anything more so—that didn't make it a good idea.

Still, she couldn't help thinking wistfully of his warm bed, a bed that was now officially off limits.

Sophia closed her eyes against the wave of painful longing.

"Miss? Are ye ill?"

Sophia forced her eyes open. "I'm fine. I was just thinking…" She pulled her thoughts from Dougal and back to the velvet pouch clutched in her hand. It was difficult to care about her jewels and the deed, though everything seemed to have lost its flavor.

She caught Mary's worried gaze. "This came from Sir Reginald's room. I wonder if he'd run off if he realized I know he took my jewels?"

"Don't ye worry about that. He wouldn't stir a step without Gilbert, his high and mighty valet." Mary crinkled her nose. "I was glad to see
him
leave this morning."

"Do you know where he went?"

"Aye. He was complainin' that he had to ride to Prestonhall, outside Edinburgh, and return in the morning with a note of some kind."

Sophia looked at the list in her hand. The second residence for the earl of Ware read "Prestonhall." And there was a distinctive tick mark to the side. "Did Gilbert say what he was to do there?"

"Nay. He was actin' all important-like, until I pointed out he should be miffed to be used as a courier." Mary smirked. "That got to him, it did."

Had Sir Reginald sold her jewelry to the earl of Ware? Or was that where he was traveling next and he was merely confirming an invitation?

It was a pity she couldn't discuss this with Dougal. She glanced at the closed door and sighed.

"I'm going to take your gown downstairs and have one of the maids brush it clean. While I'm there, I'll send up yer bath."

"Thank you." Perhaps after the bath, she'd feel more herself. Right now, she longed for peace and quiet and a return to her normal spirits. Anything rather than this horrid emptiness that weighed her down.

Mary opened the door, then hesitated. "Miss? How long do ye think we'll be stayin'? Angus is anxious to return home."

"We'll leave as soon as we find the deed. Send Angus to my father in the morning, and let him know we'll be here another day or two."

The maid nodded. "I will."

As the door shut behind the maid, Sophia paced the floor. As soon as she'd bathed and dressed, she'd send word to Dougal to meet her in the sitting room—with the door open, of course. There, safe from temptation, they'd discuss their strategy for confronting Sir Reginald.

They'd have to act quickly, for he might leave as soon as the valet returned from his mysterious errand. That was probably the only thing holding him here—except, perhaps, the charms of the enthusiastic Miss Stanton. Sophia could understand that, now knowing the power of Dougal's manifest charms.

The thought of never seeing him again, returning to MacFarlane House alone, seemed wrong and sad and—She blinked back tears and paced more quickly. Without Dougal, everything lost its color and flavor. Yet lately, she felt equally lonely when she was with him, because she wanted far more than he wished to give.

For him, excitement would always be over the next hill, around the next bend in the road, behind the next deck of cards. For her, peace and contentment meant home, wherever that was.

Yet now that she'd tasted true passion, how was she to go back to her old life? And how was she going to find the strength to walk away from Dougal MacLean?

Dougal awoke with a start. The room was still bright, but something was missing. He blinked sleepily, trying to think what was gone, why he was in the bed in the middle of the day.

Sophia.

He lifted himself on one elbow and looked at the empty bed beside him. The pillow still bore a faint impression of where she'd been, and he placed his hand over it as if he could still steal some of her warmth. Damn it, why hadn't she stayed? He sighed at his own foolishness and rested his cheek on the linens that bore the faint scent of her perfume.

Sophia MacFarlane was a remarkable woman. He thought of how furious he'd been when he'd seen her hiding beneath Sir Reginald's bed. Now that she was safely away, he found himself smiling at her surprise when she'd seen him there. No other woman was as intrepid as his Sophia.

His smile faded.
His
Sophia? Where had that come from? Certainly, he was enjoying her, she was beautiful and winsome and had enough spirit for three women. She also ignited his lust with a mere glance from beneath those thick lashes. Remembering the passion they'd just shared, a jolt of hunger racked through him, so raw it almost hurt.

He'd never lusted so much for any woman. That was because it was more than just lust; it was—He frowned. What was it? Certainly, it was admiration. And caring. And… what? It couldn't be love. He would never fall for a woman like Sophia, whose attachment to MacFarlane House was so deep. He knew she loved that house and would have no desire to live anywhere else. Which was why her gift of the deed meant so much.

He absently slid a hand over the pillow, thinking of the softness of her skin, the silkiness of her hair. She was more than merely beautiful. There was a gentleness to her, an aura of comfort that made a man wish for things like warm beds, quiet dinners by a roaring fire, the peace of a home—

Bloody hell! He pushed himself upright. He knew what would happen if he cared too much, how his sometimes tenuous control would be weakened. He couldn't give in.

Earlier, Sophia had asked his reasons for wishing her to remain with him. He knew what she'd really been asking, for it had been plainly evident in her expression: she wanted to know whether he cared for her.

He'd almost said something he would have regretted, when he'd chanced to glance past her to the window beyond. Through the rain-streaked glass he'd seen his sister's beautiful tea garden, ripped apart by his temper. The roses had been scattered, their tattered petals strewn over the garden path, while huge limbs hung broken from the trees. Worse, Fiona's ornate fence was tilted precariously to one side, a blacked gash showing where lightning had struck.

The sight had painfully reminded him why he could not afford to care more for Sophia than he already did.

Scowling, he swung his feet over the side of the bed and rubbed his face, aware of a deep desire to get up and leave forever, never looking back.

He smiled bitterly. He had that thought a million times a day lately, but every time, it was followed by another—that he would stay just one more minute. Or hour. Or day. It was his last time with Sophia, and he never wanted it to be over.
Weak fool
!

The murmur of a man's voice arose in the hallway, followed by a woman's lilting laugh. Glad for the respite from his unwelcome thoughts, Dougal listened closely. It was Sir Reginald, talking to Mrs. Kent. Sir Reginald was quite the philanderer.

Dougal stood and washed, then glanced at the clock: three in the afternoon. He was starving, having missed lunch. Had Sophia eaten already? He hoped so; she seemed so pale of late, and—

Damm it, Sophia was old enough to take care of herself. She'd gotten along fine before she'd met him and would do equally well afterward.

He had no doubt that one day, some country bumpkin would woo her until she succumbed. No doubt, the fool would spend his days blessing the heavens for his good luck, too.

Irritation simmered through Dougal as he grabbed his boots and stomped into them. He should be happy that Sophia wouldn't languish without him. Instead, he felt a burning resentment toward the mystery country bumpkin, a hatred deeper than any he'd ever felt. Dougal pulled a fresh shirt over his head and tucked it in, pulled on his coat as he left the room.

In the empty hall, he paused outside Sophia's room. He bent, leaning close to the door. All was silent. Then he heard the unmistakable splashing of a tub of water.

Sophia. Naked and wet. Water dripping over her bare skin, trickling down her neck and over her shoulders to caress her full, round breasts. Her blond hair would dip into the water, the wet strands clinging to her shoulders, curling around her delicate neck—

"Damn."

The splashing ceased. "Dougal?" Her voice was husky and hesitant.

Dougal straightened, his blood pounding in his ears. He reached for the knob, then stopped. He shouldn't do this. He should walk away.

But every muscle in his body yearned otherwise, and the memory of Sophia in the tub in his room, her skirts floating about her, her wet gown clinging to her breasts, her nipples hard and—

"Odd, I thought Fiona had put you in the blue room."

Dougal turned to find Jack leaning against the the wall, watching him with amusement.

"What the hell do you want?" Dougal snapped.

"Your sister was surprised you didn't join us for lunch. She thought perhaps you were ill."

"I'm fine, as you can see. I merely took a nap."

"That's good enough for me," Jack said. "Unfortunately for you, Fiona will wish to hear it from your own lips."

Dougal stalked past his brother-in-law, taking the steps down two at a time. He found Fiona in the foyer, speaking with the housekeeper. She left the woman as soon as she saw Dougal and hurried up to him. "Where have you been?"

"Sleeping."

She frowned, her green eyes wary. "Dougal, I wish to speak to you. Jack, would you mind giving us some privacy?"

Jack looked Dougal up and down. "Are you going to berate him?"

"No."

"Chastise him?"

"No."

"Kick him out of our house?"

"No."

"Then I don't mind leaving." Jack turned a bland gaze to Dougal. "Be careful of listening at keyholes, old man. Some of these locks are rather rusty; you could cut yourself." He retired to the library, where no doubt a bottle of port awaited.