To Catch a Highlander (34 page)

"Just ignore him, and come into the sitting room." Fiona turned, and he followed. She closed the door. "Did you find anything in your search?"

"No."

Her shoulders slumped. "Oh. I wish you had. Lunch was quite awkward. Sir Reginald must have asked me a million questions about Sophia; I think he suspects something."

"That we searched his room?"

"No, that there's something between you two. Mrs. Kent was especially vocal about neither of you being present for lunch."

Dougal didn't reply.

Fiona sighed. "We'd all have to be blind not to notice, Dougal. The second she comes into a room, you gravitate toward her like a moth to a flame. If it were any other man, I'd say you were besotted. But since it is you, I'd say instead that you are just playing." She looked at him pointedly. "Are you?"

No, he wasn't. But neither was he marking her as his own for all time. "That's none of your concern."

Fiona placed her hand on his arm. "Dougal, it's clear you find Miss MacFarlane attractive. I had hoped it might be a different sort of relationship for you, but I haven't seen any evidence that that's so."

"How do you know how I feel for So—Miss MacFarlane?"

Fiona gave him a reproachful look. "If you cared for her, you would have been more cautious of her reputation."

Her words pinned him in place, causing a sinking sensation in his stomach. His sister was right.

He'd been so taken up with pursuing Sophia that he hadn't taken care of her reputation, or her safety, either—or she'd never have ended up under Sir Reginald's bed.

It was totally unlike him and showed all too clearly the problems with dallying with innocents.

Regret burned through him. Had he been thoughtless? In many ways, he supposed so. But he couldn't seem to help it. She tantalized him with every breath, and he was as mad as a youth with his first love to have her.

"Dougal, are you listening? You must stop pursuing Sophia."

He knew Fiona was right. Yet, desperate to get away from the emotions bubbling to the surface, the thoughts he'd tried to hold back, he walked toward the door, "I'll think about it."

"Dougal!"

He looked back at his sister.

"I know you and Sophia both wish to find the missing deed and the jewels, but you must have a care with her reputation. She's a good, beautiful woman, and she deserves all of the opportunities that will give her, including a good marriage."

Dougal rubbed a hand over his eyes. When he opened them, his sister looked at him with a stunned expression.

"You do care for her!"

Dougal scowled. "It doesn't matter what I might feel. I can't afford to care for her, Fiona," he said bleakly.

"You have to stop blaming yourself, Dougal. We were all angry when Callum died. You don't know that you were the one who caused that storm."

"Yes, I do."

She sighed. "You're not going to tell her how you feel?"

"No." He paused, silence weighing him down. "But you're right, I have been selfish. I wanted to keep her here, so I—" He shook his head, his heart aching in the oddest way.

"What did you do?" she asked softly.

His throat suddenly seemed too tight, and he had to swallow before he could continue. "I should have sent her home right away, but I didn't wish her to leave."

Fiona took a step closer, her voice quiet. "Why is that, Dougal?
Why
didn't you want her to leave?"

Because I love her.

The thought crushed down upon him like the weight of a million bricks. For a second, he couldn't breathe, couldn't think. He loved her. Oh, God, when had that happened? And what in the hell was he supposed to do about it?

Once she had the deed and her missing jewels, she'd be on her way back to the home she so loved. And he would return to London and… nothing.

But nothing was better than guilt, which he'd feel every time he grew jealous or lost his temper, and the storms came.

Damn his greedy heart!

Fiona placed her hand on his arm. "Dougal, surely there's something you can—"

"No." He placed his hand over his sister's. "I should have left the second she arrived, but I knew it would be the last time I'd ever see her. The last time I'd ever
allow
myself to see her."

She sighed, her shoulders slumping. "Dougal, I'm so sorry."

"So am I." He gave Fiona a brief hug and, unable to speak, left. He was halfway across the great hall when the butler caught up with him. "Excuse me, my lord."

Dougal turned. "Yes?"

"A note, my lord. From Miss MacFarlane."

Dougal looked at the folded note for a long time before he opened it.
Meet me in the sitting room at five. I must speak with you
. She'd signed it with a delicate flourish that caught at his heart.

"Will there be an answer, my lord?"

Dougal tucked the note in his pocket, his fingers lingering on the place she'd signed her name. "Inform Miss MacFarlane that you could not find me."

"Of course, my lord."

Dougal left for the barn. A good, hard ride would stiffen his resolve, and when he returned, he'd make certain Sophia knew that their lively lovemaking was at an end. That's all he had to do.

Yet as he walked to the barn, his steps lagged, matching his spirits. He knew then that no amount of riding would make him feel better. The question was, would anything?

The weight of his heart said no. As if in agreement, black clouds gathered on the horizon, ominous and heavy, yet strangely quiet.

Ah, to be the one woman to make a man burst into the fury of love
—
that's the magic o' it all
!

Old Woman Nora from Loch Lomond to her three wee granddaughters one cold evening

Sophia paced the sitting room. Dinner was but an hour away, so Dougal should be coming back from his ride soon. She had to tell him about her belated discovery from Sir Reginald's room. Why had he gone riding at such a time? It was maddening.

She paused by the window and looked out. Dark clouds hung over the horizon, but there was no wind. She shivered and turned away; she could smell the coming storm, the air tingling with anticipation.

A movement by the hallway caught her attention. Had Dougal come in through the back? She crossed to the door and peered out.

Sir Reginald stood in the hallway, handing his hat to a footman. Dressed in a riding coat and breeches, the white tops of his boots decorated with gold tassels, he appeared the epitome of fashion.

Should she try to find out more? Blast it, she wished she'd had the chance to speak to Dougal. Biting her lip, she stepped behind the edge of the doorway so Sir Reginald wouldn't see her.

As she did so, a man hurried into the hall from the servants' door, crossing toward Sir Reginald. Was this Gilbert, the valet? Small and wizened, he carried himself with an air of great importance. He bowed to Sir Reginald in an exaggerated manner.

"There you are!" Sir Reginald said impatiently. "Well? Did you bring word?"

"Yes, my lord. His lordship wrote you a letter." He glanced down his nose at the impassive footman. "Shall I await you in your chambers to—"

"No, no! Just give it to me now."

The valet, obviously unhappy to be deprived of his planned drama, produced a small envelope.

With eager hands, Sir Reginald opened it and scanned the letter quickly. "Excellent." He tucked the letter into his pocket. "Thank you, Gilbert. That will be all."

The valet bowed again. "Shall I prepare your evening clothes?"

"Yes, please. Lay out the blue and silver waistcoat."

"Yes, my lord." The valet bowed yet again and left, though it was plain he thought he'd been poorly used.

Sir Reginald stayed where he was a moment more, his hand in the pocket where he'd placed the letter, his brow furrowed in thought. Finally, looking around as if just awakening and realizing he was still in the hallway, he turned and walked toward the stairs.

He couldn't leave! Sophia just knew the letter was proof of Sir Reginald's perfidy, doubtless an agreement regarding the sale of her jewels to the earl of Ware. If she could just get her hands on it, all would be proven. Impulsively, she stepped forward. "Sir Reginald?"

Sir Reginald started at the sound of her voice, his hand straying to his pocket. But he dutifully smiled and bowed. "Miss MacFarlane! How are you this afternoon?"

Smiling, she beckoned him forward. "You are just the man I wished to see. I must ask you a great favor."

"Of course," he answered gallantly. "I am yours for any service you might request."

"I knew I could count on you!" She gestured to the sitting room. "Shall we step in here? My request is of a personal nature."

If she could get close enough to him, she could take the missive from his pocket. Her heart raced at the thought.

His brows rose, but he said, "I am the soul of discretion."

"I am certain of that." How would she maneuver close enough to be able to reach into his pocket undetected? "I, ah, need your opinion about an important matter concerning… Well, it's about—"

"Hold one moment, and allow me to close the door," he said smoothly. "It will set your mind at ease." He crossed to the door, making a show of looking outside to make certain no one was nearby to see him close the door.

She frowned, realizing he thought she wished to begin a flirtation. Sir Reginald's opinion of himself was extreme, indeed, although… perhaps that was the way to get her hands on the letter. She could pretend to flirt with him and, when he was distracted, take the letter. Dougal would be astonished at her daring. She was, too, if she thought about it.

She turned away to smooth her gown and tighten the sash that tied beneath her breasts, then frowned. Though she'd thought her gown madly fashionable when she'd had it made, her stay here had proven that she was woefully out of fashion. Mrs. Kent's gowns were of much finer materials, the necklines more revealing, her shoes of a completely different cut from Sophia's.

Perhaps she should lower the neckline slightly. She gave a quick tug. That was better. Yet even as she had the thought, the neckline rose back into place.

Sophia frowned and jerked the gown again. This time, it went farther, and not only were the tops of her breasts visible but the lace of her chemise as well.

Sophia bit her lip. Well, that was certainly racier. She straightened her shoulders and lifted her head—and found herself looking straight into the reflection of Sir Reginald's eyes, watching
her
reflection in the window glass.

Oh, God. He'd seen her adjust her gown. Her cheeks flooded with color. But there was nothing for it; she either faced him now or later over dinner. Now would be better, since there was no one else around, especially Dougal with his eagle gaze and refusal to leave well enough alone.

Sophia smiled and turned to face Sir Reginald, then dipped a curtsey. "Thank you for being so gallant in attending me."

He inclined his head in return, his gaze never leaving her. "I am always at your service, Miss MacFarlane, no matter what." His gaze flickered over her, resting a moment on her lowered neckline. "Perhaps more so now than ever."