Distracted himself, he obeyed her, and the terriers plopped down at his feet, staring up at him and waiting for a morsel of food. Hoping to discourage them, and possessing no appetite whatsoever, he set the plate aside. And then with a sigh, he leaned forward, his forearms braced on his knees.
“It is all my doing, madam.”
“What is?”
“The ruse. But you must believe it was not my initial intention.”
“And what was your intention?”
“Simply to convince your granddaughter not to marry the Earl of Blethin.”
“Why?”
“I wanted him destitute. Metcalf was so ruined by gambling debts that the only way out was to play the tables and pray his luck would turn. As a marker, he put up a piece of property that I wished to acquire. And he lost. I would have that property now, were it not for the inheritance he discovered he would to come into by marrying your granddaughter.”
“The property you speak of is Highclyffe, isn’t it?”
Ramsay ignored her question. “To meet my objective, I had only to convince your granddaughter to find a better prospect—which was ultimately in her best interests anyway.”
“You met the real Katherine then?”
“Yes.”
“And what was she like?”
Ramsay glanced at the older woman. “Do you want my honest opinion?”
“What do I look like—an old fool who can’t bear the truth?”
Ramsay flushed again.
“Tell me what you really thought of her, Ramsay, and don’t spare me.”
“Very well. She was sharp-tongued with me. Headstrong. She wouldn’t listen to reason. And I saw her strike her servant.”
“Strike her servant?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded. “She seemed unusually short-tempered.”
Lady Auliffe frowned. “Just like her mother,” she murmured to herself. And then she looked up. “Was she pretty at least?”
“I did not actually meet her face to face.”
“Oh?”
“The only audience she gave me was while she was dressing, behind a screen.” He thought of Sophie’s subtle good looks, made all the more captivating by her intelligence and good humor, and doubted her beauty would have been surpassed or even matched by the looks of real heiress. To draw any parallel between the two young ladies was a disservice to Sophie, but he didn’t wish to be unkind to the elderly woman across from him.
“And the real Katherine perished in the fire,” Lady Auliffe remarked.
“Unfortunately, that seems to be the case.”
“‘Tis the case. The innkeeper’s men found her locket on a body discovered in the rubble and delivered it to my house mere hours before I began my journey here.”
“And they were certain she was wearing a locket?”
“Apparently, she never took it off.”
He looked up and saw a shadow darken Lady Auliffe’s eyes, but no other hint of grief passed over her features. In her long trip north, she must have dealt with the idea that she had lost her real granddaughter. Perhaps, because she had never met the girl, she found the blow easier to withstand. Perhaps, because Lady Auliffe was a strong woman—as if made of granite herself, just like Highclyffe—she would not allow her grief to show in public. Ramsay respected her stoicism.
Still, slightly ill at ease, he continued his story, “I got to the inn as soon as I could after hearing it was in flames, hoping to help Katherine. Someone jumped from her window, scorched and wounded. I thought it was your granddaughter. The place was like a madhouse, and she was injured, so I took her to my townhouse and called for a physician. Not until later did I realize my guest was not your granddaughter.”
“Then what did you do?”
“Well, the woman who had jumped from the inn claimed to be Katherine, but I soon discovered she was the maidservant named Sophie Vernet, who was being chased by thief-takers.”
“For that murder in Kensington.”
“Yes.”
“Lord!” Lady Auliffe reached for her brandy. “This story grows thicker by the minute!”
“Then began the real ruse. And I am not proud of the deception, madam.”
“But why did you do it? I’m still unclear.”
Ramsay straightened. “After I found out the woman in my house was not an heiress but a pauper, I came up with an even better plan. I would induce Edward Metcalf to marry her, so he would have no chance to make good on his debt, and the property would finally fall into my hands. It was something I had worked a lifetime for. I could think of little else.”
“Pure revenge, young man.”
He nodded and looked down. “And poor Sophie didn’t know any better. She was trying to survive a very difficult situation. And I convinced myself that I was doing her a favor—giving her a chance at a new life, with a new name. Safe from her pursuers.”
“I see.” Lady Auliffe took a thoughtful sip of brandy. “Curious though, that Sophie claimed she was the wicked deceiver and you the poor innocent who knew nothing of her schemes.”
Ramsay’s head shot up. “When did she tell you that?”
“In a letter she left behind. She sounded quite contrite.” The elderly woman returned her glass to the tray. “Yet now that I’ve heard your tale, I’m having a difficult time deciding whom to believe.”
“Believe what you like, ma’am, but don’t blame Sophie. She had so few choices in the matter.”
“You protect one another with such determination,” Lady Auliffe commented, not unkindly. “’Tis quite remarkable.”
Ramsay jumped to his feet, no longer able to sit still. He paced to the fire, his left hand clenched around his right wrist at the small of his back. He knew the older woman’s gaze followed him, judging him, and likely damning him as well.
“But I ask you, Ramsay,“ Her voice followed him. “What kind of protection are you providing her now?”
“What do you mean?” Ramsay inquired.
“Exposing her. Telling me to wash my hands of her. Letting her marry that scoundrel.”
“She wants to.”
“Balderdash!”
“She told me so.”
“When?”
“This afternoon. I found her walking along the beach, and I asked her what she wanted—to be with me or to be with Edward.”
“Surely she didn’t choose Edward.”
“Yes, she did!”
“That makes no sense.” Lady Auliffe’s brows drew together. Then she glanced up at Ramsay. “Will you quit that pacing!”
He scowled and crossed his arms over his chest. “Why do you care about her anyway?”
“I have my reasons.”
Ramsay regarded the older woman from the corner of his eyes, curious in regard to her interest in a servant, but hoping she would continue to speak without being prodded by him.
“Katherine is dead,” Lady Auliffe continued. “I’ve had time to accept the fact. Not that I would not have grieved for Katherine, but I didn’t even know the child. Sophie, on the other hand, has brought nothing but joy to my life these past weeks. She reads, she plays, she cooks, she keeps me company. She is gracious to everyone, even the servants. I daresay William is half in love with her.”
Ramsay shook his head, remembering the way Charles and Betty Betrus had fallen all over themselves to please Sophie. What was it about her that drew people to her? Yet he didn’t really have to ask. He knew. Sophie was warm and kind, and though she’d played the part of another person since the day he’d met her, she was one of the most innately genuine human beings he had ever met.
Lady Auliffe took a bite of beef and bread. “However, no matter who she is or what she’s done, I have no intention of letting that sweet young woman marry a scoundrel like Edward Metcalf.”
Ramsay sucked in a deep breath and let it out, knowing he’d be an even bigger scoundrel if he pushed through his plan to acquire Highclyffe at Sophie’s expense. He felt his world spinning, his choices shriveling.
At her question, a heavy stillness hung in the air as they both contemplated the thought. Metcalf would ruin Sophie Vernet. He would ravish her until he was tired of her, and then turn her out, broken and likely pregnant. Ramsay knew only too well how cruel the English could be. He rubbed his forehead with his thumb and forefinger, tormented by the thought.
Lady Auliffe regarded him silently, her face dark with concentration. Then she picked up her drink. “And you. You are in love with her, aren’t you?”
“I hardly know the girl.”
“You are.”
Ramsay couldn’t look at her. He glared at the fire, feeling as if the same flames were burning inside him instead of upon the grate. “What does it matter?”
“It matters a great deal!”
“Not if it’s unrequited.”
“And how can you be sure it is?”
Ramsay rolled his eyes. “She spurned me.”
“As you have never spurned her.” The older woman sat back in her chair, one arm over the back. “Hmm? As you have never cut her off or been cold to her.”
“I couldn’t encourage her. It would have ruined everything.”
“What, to find yourself in love?”
“Love? We’d only known each other a few weeks!”
She laughed to herself. “And just how long do you think it takes to fall in love, young man?”
He stared at her.
“It can happen in a day, a month, or a year,” she continued. “Or in an instant.”
She continued to stare at him, daring him to contradict her.
“This afternoon, did you tell her you loved her?”
“Not in so many words. I thought it was obvious.”
“Obvious?” She looked up at the ceiling in dismay. “Dear man, do you know nothing of women?”
Ramsay heaved another sigh. He was tired, confused, and heartbroken. He had no patience for a lecture, yet he could not bring himself to leave. It was as if he carried a great weight on his back that he longed to set aside. But no one else could take it from him. No one owned the weight but him.
Lady Auliffe heaved a sharp sigh as well. “I can’t say why Sophie feels she must marry Edward Metcalf, but I can see into you, Ian Ramsay. Quite clearly.”
The last thing he needed was to be illuminated by an old woman. Still, she was one of the few Englishmen he admired or even countenanced. He said nothing, knowing she would go on without encouragement from him.
“You are the son of that rebel, Alec MacMarrie, aren’t you?”
He didn’t answer. Not only was he unwilling to divulge his personal history, he couldn’t speak because a painful lump was rising in his throat.
“I saw it in you the moment I met you.”
He clutched his arms more tightly about his chest and kept staring at the fire.
“You’ve spent your entire life plotting and scheming to get Highclyffe back, haven’t you?”
“So? ‘Tis no crime.”
“Not entirely.” Lady Auliffe rose in a soft rustle of silk. She moved forward, and he was concerned that she might venture too close for comfort. Still, he refused to give way to her. She touched his shoulder. “But Highclyffe can’t be a reason to live.”
“Believe me.” His voice was gruff and hard. “It can.”
“How old are you, captain? Twenty-eight?”
“Thirty.”
“Well, I’m seventy-seven years old. I’ve lived twice as long as you. And I have seen a lot happen in those years. But the only damn thing I’ve found that matters is love. Not power, not gold, and not property. What matters are the people who love you, and those you love back.”
“Your experience has been different than mine.”
“That’s right, because I was brave enough to love.”
Her words rang out in challenge, and he pulled away from her, striding back to the table for his half-finished brandy.
“Ian, your father didn’t live for Highclyffe. He lived for the future of Scotland.”
“There’s no need to lecture me on the matter,” Ramsay retorted.
“But you,” she continued, undaunted by his frosty demeanor. “You live only for the past. Would your father have wanted that for you? What kind of life can that be for you?”
“‘Tis no life!” He turned and bellowed, “You’re right. ‘Tis no life! I don’t know what living is!” He quaffed the fiery liquid, and it burned all the way down his throat. “I’ve only Highclyffe!”
“Until now.”
“Nothing’s changed!”
“Poppycock!” She threw at him. “You don’t know what to do with this new feeling, do you—this feeling that you might have been wrong, that Highclyffe and Scotland may not be everything after all. Make room for more, Ian MacMarrie, besides hate and revenge.”
”‘Tis all I know, dammit!”
He stormed to the door of the drawing room, but her voice stopped him.
“Tell her that you love her.” Lady Auliffe called, her tone softening. “Take the chance. Find Sophie Vernet tonight and tell her. Or you will regret it for the rest of your life.”
Ramsay barreled through the night, spurring his horse onward with uncharacteristic harshness. He had to get to Sophie Vernet. He was on fire now to tell her everything, to tell her he loved her. He didn’t care what happened, what he had to do to, what he would lose to get her back. He knew now what he’d been sure of all along but hadn’t allowed himself to admit. Sophie Vernet was all that mattered to him in the world, more important than his heritage or his past. As self-indulgent as it sounded, it was a truth he could no longer deny.
By eleven, he saw the few lights of the village still burning, thundered past the Ram’s Head Inn where Puckett waited, and continued along the road to Highclyffe as a light rain began to fall. He didn’t look back to see if his assistant had run out to the yard to discover who had gone by, sure that Puckett would do his duty. He was too bent on his objective to stop and explain himself.
Highclyffe lay four miles to the east of the village. If his horse could keep up the pace, he would be there by half-past eleven. Even if the loving couple were asleep already, he would demand to be let in, or make enough noise to wake the household, and if need be, wake the dead.
Desperate but with his heart soaring ever higher the closer he got to Highclyffe, Ramsay rode like a madman. He pulled up at the entry, jumped off his horse, threw aside the reins, and then dashed to the front door, pounding upon it with all his might.
After what seemed an eternity later, an old man pulled the door open. For a moment the man stared at Ramsay, his face draining of color, as if he were seeing a ghost.
“Laird Alec?” the man choked. He stood holding the door, his mouth hanging open, gaping in astonishment. Remembering Lady Auliffe’s comments about his similarity to his father, Ramsay realized the servant must think he was witnessing the return of a spirit, come to wreak havoc on the living.
The man wasn’t completely off the mark.
“Ian Ramsay,” Ramsay answered. “I’m here to see Miss Hinds.”
“I’m afraid ye can’t—”
“I know it’s late, but it’s imperative that I—”
“But she’s—”
“I must!” Ramsay pushed past him and strode quickly into the main hall, hardly taking the time to appreciate the first glimpse he’d had of his childhood home in twenty long years.
“Metcalf!” he shouted, his voice ringing through the dark halls. The place seemed desolate. All the furniture was gone, as were all the familiar trappings of his ancestors. “Sophie!”
He didn’t wait for more than a moment before he broke for the stairs and headed to the bedchambers on the second level. The recovered servant implored him to stop, but Ramsay ignored him and plunged upward. When he gained the top of the staircase, he ran down the hallway, throwing open the doors and not finding Sophie in any of the bedroo
ms. When he came to the master chamber at the end of the hall, he pushed the door open and spotted Edward Metcalf lying on his father’s bed.
Half-dressed in a shirt and breeches, Edward Metcalf lay sprawled upon the coverlet with his right hand draped over a small wooden box and his mouth half open as he snored. Ramsay glanced around, thankful that Sophie was nowhere in sight. He wouldn’t have put it past Edward to try to seduce the girl before their wedding night. But if she wasn’t with Edward, where was she?
He strode forward. “Metcalf!”
The manservant skittered up behind him. “Sir, you shouldn’t wake him!”
“Metcalf!” Ramsay shouted, undaunted.
Edward stirred and blinked. He opened his eyes and half rose on his elbows. His hair was tousled and his eyes red.
“What in th’ hell?” Metcalf’s eyes gradually focused. “Ramsay?”
“Where’s Miss Hinds?”
Edward rolled his eyes. “MacEwan, throw the man out!”
MacEwan reached for Ramsay, but Ramsay threw off his hand. “Get up, Metcalf!”
“Go t’ hell!” Edward’s words slurred. He’d obviously been drinking.
“I’ve come for Miss Hinds.”
“She’s not here. Never was.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t play dumb, Ramsay. I know all about your little scheme, you bastard!”
“Where is she?” Ramsay looked over his shoulder, certain that Edward was lying and expecting to see Sophie show up in the doorway any moment.
Edward sat up in bed and threw his legs over the side. “Why should I tell you?”
“Because I love her, and she needs my help.”
Edward stared at him for an instant, and then burst out laughing, holding his stomach and bending over, shaking with glee.
“What is so blasted funny?”
“Oh, this is rich!” Edward sputtered. “This is too, too rich!”
Ramsay took a step forward. “What’s got into you, man!”
“I love her and she needs my help!” He mimicked, laughing again. “Well, you finally get your just desserts, Ramsay! Rich, I tell you! ‘Tis so perfect, I can’t believe it!”
“Tell me where she is, dammit!” He grabbed Edward’s arm, yanking him off the bed. Shocked, Edward clutched the bedclothes with his free hand, dragging the covers with him. The wooden box on the bed fell to the floor, spilling its contents on the flagstones in a glittering spray.
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