The Highland Earl

by Amy Jarecki

  “To which you agreed?”

  “Of course I agreed.” With all the pomp of a duke, Hull strode to the window and peered out. “Henry has never and would never cross me. If he did, he wouldn’t have bothered to report the incident so timely.”

  “And where is this document now?”

  “In my strongbox under lock and key, where I keep all such sensitive correspondence.”

  “And no one other than yourself has the key?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Interesting,” John mumbled under his breath.

  Hull whipped around and jammed his fists into his hips. “Good God, man. I have been robbed of a fortune and you’re asking questions as if I staged the incident myself.”

  “Not at all. I’m only trying to gather the facts.” John made a few notes before he continued, “Where did this crime take place?”

  “In a cove off the coast of Bettyhill.”

  “MacKay territory?” He replaced the quill in the holder. “There’s no place in the mainland of Scotland more remote.”

  “That’s why Captain Henry moored there for needed repairs.”

  John tilted his head back and rubbed his eyes. “That makes no sense at all. Why not call in to Edinburgh or Aberdeen—even Sutherland would have helped, but sail her into a cove where you were likely to be set upon by pirates? With a chest filled with gold? In my opinion, your captain ought to be held accountable—led to the gallows upon suspicion of collusion.”

  “I shall handle my man. But you need to do something to stop these thieves and find my gold.”

  “Of course. I’ll dispatch missives to the corners of Scotland straightaway. But I daresay, the thieves could have gone anywhere—Holland, France, the Netherlands.”

  Hull snorted like an arrogant fop. “I would expect such an answer from you, Mar.”

  Unfortunately, drawing his sword and threatening the duke was no way to alter his father-in-law’s priorities. “How would you prefer I respond? I’ll inform the admiral of the fleet of the incident immediately. But it would take an act of God to sail our warships away from the fighting in the Americas, or divert the ships patrolling the channel during these precarious peace negotiations with France.”

  “Do not patronize me.”

  “Forgive me. I did not intend to come across as condescending. I simply find this state of affairs unbelievable. And the Flying Robin? Never in my life have I heard of a ship named thus and, having been a member of the queen’s cabinet for eleven years, I have committed to memory a great many allied ships both merchant and naval.”

  Waving a dismissive hand, Hull pursed his lips while his eyes slanted sideways. “Her name is of no consequence compared to the fortune lost.” Sniffing, he flicked a bit of lint from his silk doublet. “Should your efforts result substantially in recovering my gold, I shall see to it you are rewarded.”

  John said nothing.

  “Handsomely.”

  In truth, the twice-stolen gold was most likely melted by now, hidden in a pirate’s den on some godforsaken island inhabited by man-eating heathens. “I shall use every source at my avail to track down your thieves. But before you take your leave, I have one more question for you.”

  “Which is?”

  John again reached for his quill. “Did Captain Henry identify the criminals as Scottish? And how many losses did he incur in the battle? What damages were sustained by the Flying Robin?”

  Hull examined his fingernails. “There was no battle. The thieves spirited aboard in the dead of night.”

  “Was anyone killed?” John persisted. “Surely, the master didn’t leave five hundred thousand pounds in gold unguarded.”

  “The guards were bludgeoned. Neither man saw nor heard a thing.”

  “Mercenaries,” John whispered to himself. It is sounding more like MacKays all the time—or any trained Highlanders, for that matter. Sutherland might have a hand in it—or MacKenzie. Perhaps I should have a word with the Earl of Seaforth…

  “What is it?” asked Hull.

  “Just thinking of possibilities. Leave this with me. I’ll dispatch letters and make a few inquiries about Town.”

  “I think it best if you do not implicate me.” So now the duke asks for anonymity. John should have guessed. Spanish gold was obviously pirated by the duke’s trading company. No wonder Hull had offered such a generous dowry to ally himself with a cabinet member.

  “I wouldn’t dream of doing so,” John replied—naturally he’d never implicate his wife’s father. “This matter must be handled with utmost delicacy. I need not speak of the penalty of importing gold, as well as rum and coffee, without paying duties. It might be considered smuggling and such a malfeasance would create a scandal no man could afford.”

  “Indeed.”

  Her heart still hammered like hummingbird wings when Evelyn peered from around the corner of the ingress to the dining hall and watched Mar shake hands with her father. “Tell my daughter I’ve sent Frances and Phoebe back to Nottingham. I’ll be following as soon as parliament goes into recess.”

  “I’ll let her know,” John’s deep voice rumbled. “We’ll be heading north as well.”

  “Soon, I hope?”

  “The queen will call a recess by the end of June for certain.”

  “It cannot come soon enough for me.”

  Once Papa left with Swenson, Mar turned. “Evelyn?”

  She stepped out. “How did you know I was still here?”

  “What woman can resist a scandal?”

  She ran her finger along the wainscoting in the corridor. “Usually Papa insures his shipments.”

  “Aye, though no bank in all of Christendom would honor an insurance claim on plundered gold.”

  She nodded.

  He ushered her into the library, shut the door, and turned the lock. “What do you ken about this debacle?”

  “The gold?”

  “That and the Flying Robin.”

  What should she say? The ship is really the East Indian, reported lost at sea? Explain the pains her father took to avoid paying taxes? What if she went on to speak of how she’d shared the information with Mr. Dubois while Sir Kennan Cameron, captain of the Highland Reel, happened to be present?

  Lord save me.

  Sir Kennan was no pirate. Well, he might be.

  She looked her husband square in the eye. “My father rarely ever shared a word of his affairs with me.” At least she spoke the truth. Everything Evelyn knew she’d discovered through her own efforts.

  Mar’s features softened with his smile. And then his gaze meandered to the plunging scoop of her neckline. “Well, you needn’t concern yourself.”

  She traced her finger along the length of tartan wool crossing his chest. “What will you do to help him?”

  Grasping her waist, he tugged her nearer and gave her a kiss. “Chances are he’ll never see another coin from that shipment. I’ll write a few letters and make some enquiries of my allies.”

  Evelyn dropped her head back as his lips trailed down to the exposed tops of her breasts. “Who are your allies, my lord?”

  “Many.”

  She shuddered as his finger pulled away the damask and he lapped her nipple. “Earls?”

  “Aye.”

  “Powerful clans?”

  He lifted her onto his writing desk and hiked up her skirts. “The most powerful in all of Scotland.”

  If only she could will him to name one. But as his big hands moved up the insides of her thighs, he rendered her powerless to think. “Seaforth?”

  “Mm-hmm,” his deep voice rumbled against her flesh.

  “MacKay?”

  He chuckled, paying far more attention to…

  “Oh, yes,” she sighed while her head swooned to the delight of his magical tongue.

  “Aye, lassie.” He chuckled, licking the inside of her thigh. “This is what you were made for, Eve. Your skin is like satin. And you…dear God, with every breath your sweet perfume makes me rave
nous. Damn the gold, I’ve a mind to plunder you.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  There you are, my lady. You’ll be the most radiant woman at the theater this night,” Lucinda said, standing back and admiring her work.

  Evelyn did as well. Her lady’s maid had outdone herself, using curls and tufts of saved hair to make a tall coiffure, held together by a diamond-studded tiara that had belonged to the Duchess of Kingston-upon-Hull. “You are an enchantress born of the fairies, is what you are. I have no idea how you turned my withered locks into a work of art.”

  “Your locks aren’t withered, but Lord Mar will not be able to take his eyes off you.”

  Evelyn’s stomach fluttered. Every time His Lordship looked her way it had led straight to the bed. “Truly?” she asked all the same. Theirs was such an odd relationship. They had nothing in common, they hardly knew each other, and she was quite certain Mar harbored no love for her. How could he? She didn’t love him. Right?

  “He hasn’t taken his eyes off you for weeks. Why would he do so when you are undeniably ravishing?”

  “Stop.”

  “Beg your pardon, Your Ladyship. Of course, servants never notice things like the state of your bed linens in the morning.”

  “Lucinda!”

  The maid handed Evelyn her fan. “I’m ever so thrilled to see you happy. Remember how you fretted over this union?”

  She snatched the fan and shook it under Lucinda’s nose. She was definitely not about to have a conversation with anyone regarding the morning linens, even if the maid had been with her forever. “Enough. I want you to do something to enjoy yourself this evening. You’ve been working much too hard as of late.”

  Waltzing past with an impish glance, Lucinda opened the door. “Mr. MacVie has invited me to a game of cards.”

  “Mar’s valet?”

  “Yes, he’s a braw Scotsman, too, you know.”

  “All the servants in this house are Scottish.” Evelyn slipped on her gloves as she headed out. “But have a lovely time, my pet.”

  “You as well, my lady.”

  At the landing Evelyn stopped with a sudden catch of her breath. John waited in the entry, his face turned up with a smile. Over the past few weeks it had become increasingly difficult to resist him. Not that she resisted Mar when it came to performing her wifely duties. In truth, it surprised Evelyn how well she’d taken to that part of being married. But since the earl was away at court most days, they were like strangers who met in the boudoir every night and spoke of nothing but passion. And of late, she expected his nightly visits—waited and wondered what new passion their next interlude would bring.

  “You are stunning,” he said, holding out his hands. “Are you ready for our first public appearance as earl and countess?”

  Evelyn proceeded down the final flight. “I hope so. Lucinda performed magic with my hair.”

  “You did not tell me your lady’s maid was a sorceress.”

  “Sh. ’Tis a well-kept secret.”

  He offered his elbow. “Well then. Perhaps I should increase her wages so she never feels the need to leave us.”

  Warmth spread through Evelyn’s breast as she placed her fingers in the crook of his arm. “You would do that for her?”

  “Why would I not? There is nothing more motivating for a servant than to be rewarded for a job well done.”

  Swenson opened the door with a bow.

  Passing, Evelyn gave the butler a nod. “I cannot tell you how refreshing it is to hear you say it, my lord.”

  “Why? Is your father not of the same mind?”

  “Not at all. His philosophy is that serving staff is there to serve the lord of the house and they should be retained at the lowest possible wages.”

  “Hmm. Hull’s opinion is not unusual among the nobility.” John lowered his arm as the footman helped Evelyn up the coach steps. “Perhaps that’s why his coffers are full.”

  She climbed inside and scooted across the velvet bench. “I daresay the few pounds spent if he paid fair wages would do little to reduce the coin in his purse.”

  John took the seat alongside. “You are surprisingly well versed in your father’s affairs.”

  “One would hope the eldest child of a duke would take special interest in the estate, especially when Papa sired no male heir.”

  As the coach headed off, John took Evelyn’s hand and kissed it. Then he pushed her sleeve up to her elbow and ran feathery kisses along her arm. “What else does my Eve take special interest in?”

  “Please, John. How am I to think when you’re doing that?”

  “Who needs to think?” His lips moved to her neck while his hand slid down her thigh. “What, exactly, is addling your mind?” he managed to ask while continuing to seduce her.

  Arching her back, Evelyn sighed. “You are scandalous.”

  “Scandalous,” he repeated in a deep Highland brogue while his fingers slipped beneath her skirts. “Let us be scandalous together, m’lady.”

  “But what will the coachman say? Or the footmen?”

  “Are there any within?” John peered about through the dim light. Then he faced her and waggled his brows. “Nay. Not a one.”

  By the time the carriage rolled to a stop, Evelyn’s garters were exposed with her skirts hiked up all the way to her hips.

  Grinning like a sly rogue, he helped her smooth her gown.

  “We’ve arrived, m’lord,” said the footman, opening the door.

  Evelyn patted her hair, certain Lucinda’s work had turned into a lopsided bird’s nest. “Do I look a fright?” she whispered as John helped her alight.

  “Thoroughly ravished…I mean ravishing.”

  She smacked his arm with her fan. “You’re horrible.”

  “Incorrigible, perhaps. When the opera is over, remind me where we left off.”

  For a moment, Evelyn wanted to climb back into the carriage and return to the town house. But as they proceeded into the vestibule, Mar’s demeanor completely changed. It was as if an invisible wall had been erected around him. His mannerisms grew practiced and distant.

  “Are you the statesman now?” she asked in a whisper.

  He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “Hmm?”

  “As soon as we stepped away from the carriage you became a different person.”

  An usher led them up the stairs to their box, and John didn’t reply until they were behind closed doors. “When in the public eye, a man in my station cannot afford to feed the gossips. My personal affairs are no one’s concern.”

  “But people call you…” She looked out over the parterre—Sir Kennan had returned, and, farther on, Mr. Dubois was looking straight at them.

  “What?” John asked.

  Evelyn pursed her lips. Now was definitely not the time to discuss rumors.

  John held a chair for her, then leaned down and pressed his lips to her ear. “Bobbin’ John?”

  Heat flooded her face. He knew of this mockery? “If you are aware of what people have said, then why haven’t you defended yourself?”

  “Defend myself to whom? Had I not been a member of the cabinet, I assure you, the queen would have squashed Scotland with the scrolling of her quill.” The only sign of Mar’s ire was a twitch at the corner of his eye. “’Tis easy to pass judgment when one is not embroiled in the midst of the adders at court.”

  “I see. So am I correct in saying you are not overly fond of being Secretary of State for Scotland?”

  He shot her a subtle but heated look—one that undeniably said he would entertain no more conversation on the matter. “The orchestra has taken their places. Let us enjoy Agrippina and Handel’s brilliance.”

  The music was riveting, but Evelyn was too riled to follow the plot. There she sat, beside a man who showed her passion beyond her wildest imaginings at night, yet his opinions and his public life were as foreign to her as the Orient. Was he Jacobite, Tory, or Whig? Or did he follow the beat of a mystical Highland drum? What truly mattered
to the Earl of Mar? Family, he’d avowed to. But what else? What in the grander scheme of things? What else beyond the walls of the Scottish island he’d created in his town home?

  With each passing day, Evelyn grew more and more confused. She needed to know why John had made some of the decisions of which he was accused. No matter what he thought, a one-sentence answer did not address even a smattering of her doubts. Yet he’d opened the smallest of windows. Clearly, Mar felt himself lord-high protector in defense of the queen’s quill. But on what issues? If only she could pry just a little more.

  During intermission, John led her to the vestibule, where he was promptly pulled aside by the Duke of Argyll. And no sooner had she accepted a glass of wine from a footman than Sir Kennan grasped her elbow and tugged her in the other direction. “I hear congratulations are in order, m’lady.”

  “Thank you.” She sipped her wine, looking out over the crowd and ensuring no eavesdroppers were about. “I’m surprised to see you, sir.”

  “Moored the Highland Reel at Blackwall. From the port there’s easy access to London, as well as easy escape to the sea if need be.”

  “Escape? That sounds intriguing.” When John looked her way, Evelyn smiled and raised her glass in acknowledgment. “You’d best watch what you say. My father is livid.”

  The corner of Sir Kennan’s mouth turned up in a devious grin. “The coin wasn’t Hull’s to begin with, and now it can be put to use to help James when the time comes.”

  Evelyn tapped a finger to her mouth. “My lips are forever sealed.”

  Sir Kennan lowered his head as if he didn’t care to be seen. “I’d best make myself scarce.” He bowed. “If ever you should need assistance, I trust you will call on me.”

  “Why should I—”

  “Good evening, m’lady,” Kennan said, casting a heated glare beyond her shoulder before he turned on his heel.

  “Lady Mar.”

  She recognized Mr. Dubois’s voice as he stepped around her, grasped her hand, and plied it with a peck. “It seems marriage becomes you.”

  Astonished at what she’d just witnessed, Evelyn ignored the compliment. “Is Sir Kennan at odds with you?”