“Now.” He shut the door and hauled the footman toward the stables.
Panic turned the man’s face white, but he stopped struggling. “Wh-what are you wanting, Fraser?”
“Why’d you do it?” Paul gripped the man’s coat, pinning him against the stable wall. “Why would you be setting their house afire, after all they’ve done for you?”
“I-I didn’t—”
“Don’t lie.” He wrenched the man’s cuffs up and revealed the traces of oil on his hands. “You weren’t at the wedding, were you? You said your sister was ill, and you had to take care of her. Instead you were pouring oil so that none could put the fire out. For God’s sake, why?”
The footman tried to run, but Paul tightened his grip. “So help me, I’ll drag you out and let the crofters judge you. Do you think they’ll be showin’ you mercy, when you’ve destroyed the only home they have?”
“Melford took my sister,” Mr. MacKinloch confessed, his voice ragged with fear. “She’s only seventeen.” Anguish spilled out as he admitted, “He gave Colleen to his men and said they’d each… take turns with her if I didna set the fire. What was I to do?”
“Ask us for help,” Paul insisted.
But the footman lowered his head. “It’s nae use. They have guns, and they’re stronger.” The utter defeat in his voice spoke of a man who’d lost all hope. “I did it to save Colleen.”
There was nothing Paul could say, for words wouldn’t change what had happened. He didn’t tell Mr. MacKinloch that likely Strathland’s men had already raped his sister. The footman had succumbed to desperation, and there was nothing to be done about it.
“Please don’t be telling Lady Lanfordshire,” Mr. MacKinloch begged. “I’ll take Colleen and go to the coast. I willna show my face here again.”
It wasn’t right to let the man go when he ought to stand justice for what he’d done. Paul said nothing, unable to make any promises. But he released the footman, unsure of what to do now.
The man hurried out, straightening his coat as he left. True to his word, he didn’t return to the house, but pulled his coat tighter and disappeared among the crofters. Paul remained in the stable, his thoughts torn up.
“Thank you for trying to put out the fire,” came a woman’s voice. He looked up from the horses and saw Juliette Andrews approaching the stable. Her voice was calm and quiet, though the pallor of her face spoke of a woman uncertain of what to do now.
“I was glad to help.” Paul turned back to the horses, not wanting to stare at her. For the past five years, Juliette Andrews had caught him firmly within her spell. With her soft green eyes and darker hair, she held the mysterious beauty of the forests where she wandered. The first time he’d seen her, he’d wondered if she was a nymph or fey born.
But it was her ever-present sadness that haunted him. She was hardly more than nineteen, a girl really. But she carried the weight of the world upon her shoulders. In her, he saw the reflection of himself—someone who’d put childhood behind far too soon.
“You stopped answering my letters last year,” he said, walking closer. “You haven’t written me in months. Not even when I asked you to marry me.”
Her expression grew bleak, her eyes miserable. “It didn’t seem right.”
He wanted to pull her into his arms, to hold her close and reassure her that nothing had changed between them. That she held his heart, as she’d always done.
“I’ll wait until you give me the answer I want to hear” was all he could say, knowing he would not get a response to his marriage proposal. Something was holding her back, and he couldn’t say what it was.
“Who do you think set the fire?” she asked, changing the subject.
He didn’t answer at first, though he now knew who it was. Instead, he gave the one truth he could. “I’m certain Strathland had a hand in it.”
There was a flash of hatred in her expression before she suppressed it. “Then there’s no reason to ask why, is there? He wants us gone from Scotland so he can control the land.”
“I believe so, aye.”
She kept her emotions shielded but nodded in acknowledgment. “I don’t know what we’ll do now. Our debts are rising, and we’ve only just started to earn money with Victoria’s sewing.”
“She’ll no’ be able to sew anymore as a duchess,” Paul pointed out. “But it may be that the Duke of Worthingstone will help your family.”
“I hope so.” She stared off into the darkness, a softness stealing over her face. “It was a lovely wedding. I never thought Victoria would be the first of us to wed. But I’m glad for her.”
“What of you? Did you enjoy your Christmas in London?” A sudden flare of jealousy caught him, with the fear that she’d found a husband better suited than a man like him.
“I enjoyed visiting with my aunt and her son,” she confessed. A fleeting smile shadowed her before she shrugged. “My sister Margaret loved every moment of it. She made lists of every eligible bachelor and ranked them all.” Juliette met his gaze, adding, “Though I know she’s happy for Victoria, I imagine Margaret was quite chagrined that our sister found a better match than she did, without having a single Season.”
“And was there a gentleman you fancied?” The words escaped him before he could stop himself.
Juliette stiffened at the question. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”
Inwardly, he cursed himself for even voicing the question. He hung up the saddle and went to work unfastening the bridle. Without looking at her, he said, “I embarrassed you earlier today when I caught Worthingstone’s hat.”
Her face flushed, and she nodded. “It wasn’t your fault. But you did embarrass me, yes, with the way you were watching me.” Her face tightened and she clasped her hands together. “You shouldn’t. Others might think that—”
“That I’m in love with you?” He dared to voice the words. “And I’ll wager I wasna the only man looking upon your bonny face.” It was one he wanted to see every morning for the rest of his life.
“I’m not the woman for you, Paul,” she whispered. She was dangerously close to refusing him, but he forced himself not to interrupt. “You should turn your eyes elsewhere. I don’t intend to marry anyone at all.”
“Especially a Scottish rebel?” he dared.
She lifted her shoulders in a helpless shrug. “It’s dangerous, the way you ride out with the others.”
“I’m a doctor. I ride many places.” He took her hand in his, locking their fingers together. “And I’m no’ the only one who was watching you. Ever since I returned from Edinburgh, I’ve seen Strathland riding near the borders of your land.”
“Don’t speak of him.” Her face had gone utterly white and she clenched her middle. “I don’t want to even think of that man.”
“He wouldna hesitate to take advantage of a young lass like yourself.” Paul drew so close, there was less than an arm’s length between them. “I followed you, when I could. So you had someone to watch over you.”
Although he made no move to touch her, he saw her withdrawing as if she didn’t want to acknowledge his interest. Like a wounded creature, she took a step back from him.
He released a slow breath. “I would ne’er ask for more than you’re able to give, Juliette. I’ll do naught except be a silent guard, when you’ve the need of one.”
The pain in her eyes didn’t waver. “I appreciate your friendship, Dr. Fraser. But find someone else for your attentions. I’m not the one for you.”
And with those words, she disappeared into the night.
One week later
The trip to London had rivaled all of her worst nightmares. Though, true to his word, her husband had never left her side, Victoria had spent most of the journey with her eyes shut tightly. By the time they reached his town house, every ounce of blood seemed to have drained away from her body. Her hands were freezing, and she couldn’t assemble a single rational thought.
The red-brick town house stretched
three stories high with arches above the white stone window frames. She could not tell how many rooms were inside, but before she could wager a guess, the footman opened the door to the coach. Jonathan took her hand and leaned in close.
“One step at a time,” he whispered in her ear. “We’re almost there.”
If she didn’t faint by the time she reached the top of the stairs.
Victoria gripped his hand, wishing that she had a better gown and bonnet to wear. While these clothes were perfectly suited to rural Scotland, she didn’t doubt that they were four or five years out of fashion.
When the footman led them inside, she found all of the servants lined up and waiting. She counted at least fourteen, and Jonathan introduced her to her lady’s maid. Her name was Mary, and the young woman had dark brown hair tucked beneath a neat white cap.
“I’ll be glad to order a bath and show you to your room, Your Grace.” Mary bobbed a curtsy and smiled. Victoria sent a look to the duke, but he only nodded and lifted a hand in dismissal.
“Your Grace, might I speak with you in private a moment?” Victoria asked. Inside, she was a twisted mass of nerves and she needed a moment to steady herself.
Jonathan guided her into his library, where polished mahogany shelves supported row upon row of leather-bound books. After he closed the door, she released a slow sigh.
“What is it?”
“I can’t quite catch my breath with all that’s happened. I just need a moment.” First, leaving the house in Ballaloch. Then journeying south for a week, until at last they reached his town house in Mayfair. Her husband had been endlessly patient, not even demanding that she share his bed. It was as if he sensed how much the journey had drained her spirits.
She moved to stand with her hands on either side of his desk, trying to assemble the churning thoughts. Upon the desk, she saw a mountain of calling cards and invitations, neatly stacked into five different piles. One invitation was open, and she saw the date of November 1809, more than a year ago. Had no one answered them?
“It looks as if you have many admirers,” she ventured, curious about all the cards. “Are all of these invitations?”
He shrugged. “Likely. But we won’t attend any of the assemblies or balls. We’ll remain here at home.”
She frowned, for as a duke, he had a responsibility to attend some of them. “You needn’t stay behind on my behalf. If you want to go—”
“I don’t.” To emphasize his point, he picked up one of the stacks and tossed it into the hearth. “The last thing I want is to be surrounded by idle gossips who only want to whisper behind our backs.”
She couldn’t find any words to answer that. Though she wasn’t eager to attend a ball, she understood that eventually she would have to. It wasn’t possible to remain behind doors, or her husband would resent her.
But also, she wanted to attend a ball again. Once, she had loved watching the people but had been too young to attend. In her mind, she envisioned dancing with her husband, while other ladies spun in their colorful gowns.
From behind her, Jonathan reached over to untie the ribbons of her bonnet. He lifted it away, and leaned against her ear. “Pretend that we’re alone, like we were at Christmas.”
“And you’re a man, not a duke,” she finished in a whisper.
There was a sudden flare of interest in his eyes, and his hand moved down to her waist. “We won’t travel for a while,” he said. “You can grow accustomed to your new home.”
It didn’t feel possible that this place could ever feel like home. Without her mother or sisters, she was lost. They had stayed behind at Eiloch Hill, but she hoped they would return to London soon.
Her gaze moved across the library, where she began to see more than she had before. There was a thin layer of dust upon the bookshelf, and a cobweb hung from a silver sconce. Neglect hovered within the air, and she wondered why his servants hadn’t bothered to clean this room. A premonition pressed at her that not all was well in this house. She sensed a darkness, as if her husband had been deeply unhappy.
“How is your leg?” she asked, trying to change the subject. Though it was mostly healed, he still walked with a slight limp.
“Well enough.”
There was an air of restlessness about him, and his hand palmed her ribs, drawing her closer. It was as if he craved her touch, his control tightly caged. His gaze was taut, his mouth a thin line. When she reached up to touch his shoulder, her hand grazed his neck, and she felt the rapid pulse there. Every muscle, every part of him, was strained to a breaking point.
“Will I meet any of your family?” she asked, unsure of what else to say. She knew his father was no longer living, but he’d never spoken of his mother or anyone else.
“Not yet.”
She silently wished she’d said nothing at all. Gently, she reached out to him, trying to bridge the distance. “Why are you so angry with me?”
“I’m not.”
But she could see the frustration, the raw needs. Softly, she raised up to her tiptoes, wondering if a kiss would calm the storm within him. The moment her lips touched his, his mouth claimed hers in a rough embrace.
It was as if he were starving for her, and he pressed her against the bookcase, devouring her mouth while his hands moved everywhere. Down her shoulders, over her sensitive breasts, to her hips. He pulled her flush against himself, and she couldn’t stop the gasp when she felt his arousal against her.
His hands fumbled with her skirts, and she was terrified that if she didn’t stop him, he would take her right here in the library.
“Jonathan,” she breathed against his mouth, trying to hold him back. “Wait.”
Abruptly, he jerked away, his hands gripping either side of the bookcase, his head lowered. “I’m sorry. I lost sight of where we were.” There was more to it than that, but she couldn’t read the thoughts behind his shielded expression. His anger hadn’t diminished, but it was not toward her. It was self-disgust, and his knuckles curled across one of the shelves.
“Should we go upstairs?” she ventured, uncertain if it was the right thing to offer.
He let her go, stepping back as he gathered his control. “No. I won’t do that again, I swear it.”
“I didn’t mind.” Though her mouth was swollen and her hair losing its pins, she rather liked the thought that he’d lost control of his desire.
“I could have hurt you. And I swore I would never do that.”
The frustration behind his words made her aware that his dark mood was her fault. And though she was frightened of sharing the duke’s bed, she knew it was her duty.
“I am fine,” she insisted. Yet, he was uneasy around her, as though something else weighed upon him. She studied the remaining piles of invitations, noting the one dated 1810. Had he attended any gatherings at all in the past year?
“I’ll let you retire to your room,” he said, leading her back out to the hall where her maid awaited her.
“Your Grace, if you’ll just follow me,” Mary offered. The young woman smiled warmly, but when Jonathan took his leave, Victoria felt the nerves catch hold again.
This place, his home, was more magnificent than she ever could have dreamed. As they ascended the stairs, she admired the marble balustrade and the oil paintings on the walls. Some were portraits, while others depicted hunting scenes. It seemed that nearly every inch of space contained frames, but instead of making her feel overwhelmed, the effect charmed her. It was as if an elderly gentleman had decorated the walls with the intent of showing off every painting he owned.
At last, Mary opened the door to her room. Inside, there was a thick Aubusson rug, gilded French chairs, and royal blue draperies.
Not unlike a queen’s dressing room, Victoria thought to herself.
“When your trunks are brought in, Your Grace, I’d be glad to help you into a fresh gown.” Although Mary kept her reaction hidden, Victoria knew the maid was well aware of her outdated attire.
“My belongings we
re burned in a fire,” she explained. “I’ll need some new clothing. Perhaps I could—” She was about to suggest that they bring her a length of muslin, only to remember that duchesses weren’t meant to sew their own clothing.
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” the maid apologized. “How dreadful for you. If you wish it, I could send a servant to Madame Benedict’s with your measurements. She’s one of the best modistes in all of London.”
At the mention of Madame Benedict, a knot tightened within Victoria’s stomach with a hint of guilt. There had been so many orders for more corsets and chemises… and now she didn’t know if she could fulfill them. Nor did she know what had become of her fabrics or the pieces the crofters had already cut. She was dismayed to think of it.
“I know she could have a gown for you before tonight, and then, in the morning, I would be glad to accompany you shopping,” Mary finished.
The idea of venturing out into town wasn’t at all appealing, but she didn’t say so. “Something simple, for now,” she agreed. “And I’ll sketch out another gown that she can make and have delivered to the house.”
While she searched for ink and paper in the writing desk, she asked, “Does His Grace have a secretary to manage his correspondence? I saw a stack of unopened invitations in the library…”
Mary turned red, but she admitted, “Yes, he does have a secretary. The invitations weren’t answered because they belonged to His Grace’s mother. He did not want anyone in the library, nor were we permitted to touch anything.” Her lips tightened, and Victoria realized how uncomfortable she’d made the young woman.
“It’s all right,” she said. “I won’t tell His Grace that you confided in me.” The maid looked visibly relieved, and Victoria busied herself with writing down her measurements. Then, she took a second piece of paper and began to draw a high-necked muslin gown with long sleeves. She kept the design demure but then added a decorative trim and some ribbons. Although Mary kept a short distance away, she could tell the girl was watching.
“Why, that’s lovely, Your Grace.”
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