A Rake for All Seasons: A Regency and Victorian Romance Boxset

by Samantha Holt

  She skimmed her gaze over him. “Ye know, as much as us ladies appreciate a braw highlander, ye need no’ wear yer kilt everywhere. Perhaps people would receive ye better if ye dressed more…civilly.”

  He narrowed his gaze at her, and her eyes widened a little. He did not necessarily mean to be intimidating, but he had more than had enough of her.

  “I’ll dress how I wish, especially in my own home on my own land.”

  “Of course.” That smile flickered on her lips again. “I only mean to help. Naturally, I watched Malcolm fulfill his role and if anyone knows what it takes to be a laird, it’s me.”

  Hamish could not disagree with that. No doubt Marianne did watch him carefully. He noticed she watched everyone carefully. Calculating and clever were two words to describe Marianne, which was why he had to be careful.

  “I appreciate yer offer, Marianne, but a man must learn to stand on his own feet. Ye’ll not want to remain here forever, locked away in a castle on yer own, so I cannae rely on yer assistance. It wouldnae be right.”

  “I hardly feel locked away.” She gave a light laugh. “This is my home, Hamish.”

  “Was yer home, Marianne,” he said tightly. “It is mine now and I’d ask ye to remember that.”

  “Surely ye dinnae want rid of me already? Ye would be so alone here. And poor Malcolm.” She drew out a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed her eyes. “He would have so hated for me to have to leave the place that has been my home for so long.” The handkerchief vanished back into her mourning dress, and her smile turned seductive. She sidled closer so that he could smell the sickly fragrance of violets upon her.

  Hamish cast his gaze down her. In spite of the black dress, Marianne’s figure was spectacular. Her breasts were plump against the fabric and her hips were perfectly rounded.

  He ran his gaze up to her lips. Marianne was a good decade his senior and the years were beginning to show. Creases lined her lips and her eyes. This perhaps would not take away from her chestnut beauty had she been a nicer person but, alas, once he had discovered—very quickly—the sort of person she was, any remanence of attractiveness vanished.

  “Would ye no’ rather I keep you company, Hamish? Ye must have been alone, without a woman, for a long time during the war.”

  He had, it was true. Aside from the occasional French or Spanish woman looking for company, he had barely felt the touch of a woman during those harsh years of fighting.

  Her hand came to rest on his chest. His heart beat hard, and he prayed she did not think it was for her. Because, in spite of all her efforts, his mind had managed to swing to the first woman he had touched since his arrival home.

  The sleeping beauty.

  There had been not an ounce of seduction in her and even less civility, yet he could not deny that moment she had touched him had been the most significant touch of his life.

  Damnation, if he could not erase her from his mind now while the scheming Marianne attempted to seduce him, would he ever?

  There was only one thing for it. He’d have to find the lass again.

  “Actually, Marianne, ye can help me.” He moved away from her touch.

  “Wonderful. I knew I could help ease yer burdens. What would ye have me do, Hamish?”

  The way her voice dropped low left him in no doubt she was waiting for an offer to take her to bed. That was never happening, no matter how desperate he got.

  “Do ye know the residents of a house to the west on the other side of the forest?”

  She scowled. “Yes. There’s only one house there. It’s Heath House. Why should ye care?”

  “They are my neighbors, are they no’?”

  “Well I suppose…”

  “There’s an older woman there and a young girl, I believe.”

  Her hazel eyes darkened. “A crazed old lady and some strange young girl, yes.”

  “Did Malcolm no’ spend time with them?”

  “He visited occasionally. He was a charitable soul. Goodness knows they needed it. The house is big but they are without money or connection. Hardly the sort of people ye should spend yer time with, Hamish, not whilst ye are trying to make yer mark on the world.”

  “What are their names, Marianne?”

  “I dinnae see…”

  “Their names, please.”

  “Mrs. May Merriweather and her niece, Miss Rose.”

  Rose. It suited her. Simple yet pretty. “Excellent, thank ye.”

  “Ye are not intending to see them, are you?”

  “I need to visit my tenants tomorrow. I dinnae think it impertinent of me to call on them if the lady of the house is home.”

  Marianne gave a huff. “They’re not worth ye wasting yer time on, I can promise you that. Malcolm frequently invited them to dinners and balls but they refused. Of course, Mrs. Merriweather likely understood that neither of them were suited to the social events here at the castle. They could hardly compete with the excellent company we keep here.”

  “Aye, well, I dinnae think even I can claim to be able to compete with them, so perhaps we shall get on just fine.”

  Her expression grew bitter. “Ye should think more carefully, Hamish. There are many expectations upon ye now. Yer no longer a soldier. If ye are to make friends, ensure ye choose them carefully.”

  “I plan to. I assure ye of that.” He gave her a cold look.

  She huffed again and threw her chin up in the air. “I am going to prepare for dinner.”

  His cousin’s mistress headed back upstairs and he watched her strut along the balcony to her bedroom. How much longer he had to feed and house her, he did not know, but he would talk to his lawyers and get a settlement written up as soon as he could. Unfortunately, that would mean travelling to Edinburgh, and he simply did not have the time as yet.

  A door slamming echoed through the castle. He shook his head to himself. Marianne was the sort of woman who expected to have everything given to her because of her looks. Unfortunately for her, they were fading fast and she could no longer rely on them. Given that she was hardly a pleasant person to be around, he doubted she would be able to entice any other man to look after her. What had Malcolm been thinking, he often wondered.

  But, then Malcolm could not have been so very foolish. After all, he never married the woman.

  Hamish took the spiral steps up to his bedroom and began to change for the evening. This was something else that would take some getting used to. He was used to remaining in the same clothes for days on end. Now he had someone to pour his baths and Jefferson, his valet, was becoming increasingly frustrated with his insistence that he dress himself.

  But damn it, he was a grown man, not a child. He did not much like the idea of anyone other than a woman undressing and dressing him.

  One woman in particular.

  Rose.

  He smiled at the thought of her.

  He would call on her tomorrow and try to be a little more charming than on their first meeting. Perhaps she would still loathe him but if they were to be neighbors, it was the right thing to do.

  Grinning at his reflection, he unbuttoned his waistcoat. Aye, the right thing to do. Visit the crazed old aunt and introduce himself. Perhaps even invite her and her niece to dinner. Let the beauty shoot daggers at him over the dinner table. It would be a lot more pleasant than sitting alone with Marianne and the butler watching his every move.

  Besides, maybe he could convince her he was more than just a rough highlander.

  He eyed himself in the mirror, from his stubble chin and tousled hair down to his hairy chest and thick legs. Perhaps not, but either way, it would be amusing.

  Chapter Five

  Rose blew a strand of hair from her face. The past few days had insisted on being breezy and cool. After a morning in the garden, she likely looked like a haystack. Pausing to admire her work, she stood and gathered the bundles of herbs, ready for hanging.

  Before she could head into the storeroom, Miss Taylor hurried down the garden path
toward her. Rose scowled. From the look of her face, something terrible had happened, and Miss Taylor rarely looked so harried. None of the women in Aunt May’s house were the calmest of ladies, but the housekeeper was usually the one most likely to keep her head.

  A knot of dread tangled in her stomach, and she hurried to meet her. “What is it?”

  The housekeeper took a deep breath. “Miss Rose, there’s—there’s a gentleman here.”

  Rose opened her mouth then closed it then opened it again. They never received visitors. No wonder Miss Taylor was in a flap.

  “Who is it?”

  “A-A man in a kilt,” she hissed. “I think it’s the laird. I heard tell he’s a highlander.”

  All the blood seemed to rush from her face and fill her boots. Miss Taylor’s expression turned frantic. “Miss Rose, is all well? Should I send him away?”

  She waved a hand. “No, no, all is well.”

  The housekeeper gave a relieved nod and patted her grey-streaked dark hair and smoothed her plain black outfit. “He is in the drawing room at present. Your aunt has joined him.”

  The blood refused to come back to her face at the thought of her aunt and that man in the same room together. Rose was never sure if it was because of some previous experience with men but Aunt May did not like strange men, particularly well-to-do ones. Her husband had died after a brief marriage, and Rose suspected it had been more of a relief than anything.

  She was surprised her aunt had not tried to chase the highlander out with a broomstick, but then he was the laird. Even Aunt May would not be so scandalous as to chase such an important man away.

  But what was he doing here? She pressed a hand to her stomach and caught Miss Taylor looking at her quizzically.

  “Come then, we had better meet with this laird,” she said, more to herself than anything.

  Horribly aware her hair was scattered and she was likely an awful mix of pale and blush, Rose scuffed her boots against the boot scraper by the rear door before stepping into the house. The housekeeper untied her apron and bundled it up, but unfortunately, the garment had not protected her gown fully. There were streaks of mud on the bodice and the hem.

  She took a breath. What did it matter if she was a little muddy? The laird had already seen her with wild hair and a creased gown. And he should not have called unexpectedly. It was his fault she was having to meet him in such a state.

  Once outside the drawing room, she took another long breath and held it in whilst forcing a delicate smile to her face. She opened the door, and the breath left her lungs.

  She had wondered if she had begun to enhance his handsomeness in her mind. If a few days away from meeting him had enabled her to embellish how thick those thighs were, how intense his eyes could be, or how the cut of his jaw was like that of sculptures.

  Apparently she had not lied to herself. In truth, it seemed she was guilty of downplaying his attractiveness. He filled the fragile chair, his large body looking out of place in the delicate blue decor. Here was a man who belonged on the mountains with rocks and heather as his only decor.

  He stood and she took in the sight of him in his kilt, waistcoat, and jacket. The long socks merely drew one’s eye up those tree trunks of legs and the buttons of his waistcoat dragged her gaze higher, higher, until their gazes locked. She swallowed.

  The laird bowed and Rose managed a shaky dip.

  “My laird, this is my niece, Miss Merriweather. I believe you met by accident the other day,” Aunt May said.

  Rose hardly looked at her aunt. How could she when the strangest smile sat on the laird’s lips. It was a smile that she would have thought would be reserved for people he was truly fond of. Not a great, big beaming smile, but a tender one that gently curved his mouth.

  “It’s a pleasure to be formally introduced,” the laird said. “I’m Hamish McTavish, Laird of Baleith.”

  Hamish. It suited him. Strong and straightforward. At least now she would no longer have to think of him as just the laird or the man in the kilt or the devastatingly attractive highlander.

  Not that she had ever thought of him as that.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you properly, my laird. What brings you here?”

  She sat next to her aunt on the sofa, finally aware of the way her aunt watched her closely. She would have to be careful. Aunt May had already expressed some disapproval of the man and had not been keen on meeting him. Not that she was overly keen, of course, but they had to at least be polite.

  “I’ve been meeting with my tenants today.” He smiled at Aunt May. “I’ve been trying to get to know all of them though, of course, there are many, so it’s quite a task.”

  Rose glanced at her aunt to see a strange sort of shock on her face. Perhaps her aunt was also taken in by the incredible presence of him. She had been aware he was quite the man when they had met but there was something about having him in a small room that increased his presence, as though he should not be contained in four walls.

  “Anyway, I thought it prudent to visit with my nearest neighbors. My estate manager tells me ye had quite the friendship with my cousin.”

  “Oh, I would not say it was a friendship as such. More like pleasant acquaintances.” Her aunt flicked open her fan and waved it in front of her face.

  Aunt May’s cheeks had reddened. They normally did when she was not quite telling the truth. They were not great friends with the late laird but Laird Malcolm had been good to them, bringing them fresh eggs and meat on occasion. He had been keen to keep a good relationship with his neighbors as did Hamish, it seemed, so why would her aunt want to dissuade that idea?

  “Well, I should very much like to cultivate a friendship between us. I’m new to the area and in need of guidance. I have no doubt ye know most of the families here. Ye are certainly well spoken of.”

  The fan began fluttering at a furious pace. That was a lie too, though she could not say she knew that from Hamish’s expression, as it was entirely open and charming—quite unlike the man she had met a few days ago. However, whilst Aunt May was well-liked and everyone was pleasant to them, they were considered odd—these four women tucked away by the forest, only coming out to buy books and fabric and never socializing with the good people of Baleith.

  If Hamish had been asking about them, he would know this.

  “I am sure a man like yourself does not need help,” Rose put in as her aunt searched the room with her gaze as though the right words might pop out from behind the curtains.

  “All men need help, whether they want to admit it or no’,” he said with a grin.

  “Well, I am sure we will try our best, but my niece and I do not spend much time with the local families. We like our own company. I fear we would be frightfully boring to you.”

  Aunt May finally spoke the truth, but Rose could not help cringe inwardly. Hamish must think them the oddest people. In truth, there was many a time she questioned their existence. Was she to spend the rest of her days learning from books and pottering around the forest? Whenever she suggested that her life was a little dull, Aunt May grew extremely upset and thus, Rose rarely complained. After all, she could not be more grateful to the woman who had raised her.

  He glanced at the book Rose had carelessly left on the drawing desk. “Ye like history, Mrs. Merriweather?” He noted the title and a smile tugged his lips. Inwardly, Rose groaned.

  Her aunt shook her head. “That is Miss Merriweather. She is usually keen on Greek history, but it seems she has decided to take more of an interest in local history.”

  Rose lowered her glance to her lap. “One should always learn about the country in which they live,” she said quietly.

  “Aye, though I would have thought Lowland history would have been more intriguing to ye.” Her gaze shot up to his and she knew then he understood why she had been interested in Highland history. It was because she had been intrigued by him.

  “I—”

  Hamish held up a hand, a crease appearing between
his dark brows. “Do ye smell smoke?”

  Rose straightened and took a sniff. “I do.” She stood to open the door to the drawing room and a cloud of grey smoke flew in. She gasped.

  “Good God, a fire.” He stood. “Come, ladies, out of the house now. I shall investigate.”

  “Oh no, I am sure there is no need. You had better leave, my laird. We shall see to this.” Aunt May tried to usher him out.

  “Not at all. I wouldnae leave ye in such a time.” He motioned to the door. “Out with ye now.”

  Aunt May opened her mouth to protest but as the smoke continued to billow into the room, she finally stood.

  “Come on, Aunt,” Rose urged, taking her arm. She could not fathom why her aunt would not wish to leave immediately. She only hoped Miss Taylor and Mrs. Shaw were safe.

  They piled outside and she sucked in a grateful gulp of clean air. Glancing around, she could not see either the housekeeper or the cook. The gardener peered at the house, his eyes wide.

  “What’s happened ‘ere?”

  “Have you seen Miss Taylor or Mrs. Shaw?”

  He shook his head. “Is it a fire?”

  Hamish nodded. “These women, they’re in the house?”

  “Yes,” Rose said, gripping Aunt May’s hand.

  Her aunt waved her free hand. “I am sure they are fine.”

  “We must be sure,” Rose insisted. Why was her aunt not more concerned? Why was she not fretting that their house may burn to the ground?

  “Aye, we must.” Hamish tugged off his jacket and looked to the gardener. “I’ll investigate. Gather some water—and sand if you have some. If we can tackle it, we must.” Pulling free his neckcloth, he covered his mouth and darted back into the house.

  “Be careful,” Rose called but she did not think he’d heard.

  For many anxious moments, they waited. Rose’s heart beat hard in her chest while she watched the door for any sign of them. She whirled at the sight of Miss Taylor coming around the back of the house.

  “Is Mrs. Shaw with you?”

  “No. She was in the kitchen last I looked.”

  The most likely place that the fire had started. Rose put a hand to her mouth. “Oh goodness. What of the laird?” Rose pressed the housekeeper.