by Julia London
“Ah, Catriona,” he muttered raggedly.
Hamlin.
She rolled into his side, rested her head on his shoulder. Her hair seemed to swirl around them. One of her stockings had been pushed down to her ankle. His breeches were still draped around one leg, and his stockings as mismatched as hers. Catriona giggled.
He stroked her hair. “What do you find amusing, then?”
She lifted her head and kissed his bare chest. “All of it.” She sat up and pulled the rest of the pins from her hair, letting the tresses fall down her back. Hamlin grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled her back down to him, and wrapped his arms around her as he kissed her. “Where have you been?” he whispered into her ear.
She’d been waiting.
She’d been waiting for exactly this.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THEY PLAYED A silly game as they lay deep under the covers of Hamlin’s bed, one that Catriona had devised. One of them would name a subject, the other would respond, then name the next subject. Favorite pastime. Favorite dessert. Favorite book. Favorite place. Favorite dog.
Hamlin had never been as content as this. Certainly not in the eight years he’d been married to Glenna, to whom his marriage had been arranged. Even though he’d shared her bed, they had slept apart from the beginning, at her insistence.
He had never known the esteem between two people could be as romantic as this. He had never expected to be so besotted. And now that it had happened to him, there was a niggling in the back of his mind that he didn’t know what to do with it. All he knew was that he never wanted to leave this bed. He wanted to remain here with Catriona, giggling like children and exploring one another, for the rest of his days.
But as the night wore on, he became increasingly aware of the morning approaching. Of the reality of his life dawning with the sun. First, it was imperative that he move her to the guest room before anyone saw them or suspected what had happened with her. In the last year he’d lost many of his staff. He had retained the most loyal to him, but there were new members, and he didn’t trust them as yet. He didn’t trust more rumors to circulate, more untoward things to be said about him.
The second candle had burned down to a nub when he put his arm around Catriona’s middle and pulled her back to his chest, his hand sliding down between her legs. He kissed the back of her neck. “I must escort you to our guest quarters now, aye?”
“I donna want to go,” she said, and rolled over so that she was facing him.
“I donna want you to go. But I’ll no’ give any fodder to gossip. It could be disastrous for us both were we discovered.”
She smiled, touched her finger to his lips. “You’re protecting me,” she said, sounding delighted.
“Aye.” Of course he was. But it was hard—he couldn’t look at her beautiful face, or feel her golden hair brush against his skin and not want to touch her, to make love to her. He moaned with the agony of having to leave her and rolled her onto her back, moving on top of her. He was impossibly aroused again. He was a beast let out of its cage, his appetite ferocious, and he began to kiss a trail down her body. When he at last entered her, he took his time with long, patient strokes, prolonging the experience for as long as they could bear it. But the power of their desire quickly consumed them. Catriona clawed at his sheets; riding along with him in the current they had created. Desire and longing spiraled tighter and tighter to a mind-numbing release that crashed over them in one tremendously violent wave.
Hamlin was spent. Utterly spent. He cupped her face, kissed her tenderly. “You have my heart, Catriona,” he murmured. “But now you must go, aye?”
He threw back the sheets and climbed out of bed. He went to his wardrobe, pulled a sleep shirt over his head and handed her her chemise. He picked up her clothing, wrapped her in a blanket and kissed her forehead. “I’ll send Miss Burns to your room later to help you dress.”
With her clothes in one arm, the other around her shoulders, he snuck her down the hallway to the guest room—one he’d chosen specifically because it was closest to the master suite. He showered her with kisses, then opened the door. Catriona slipped inside.
“Comb your hair,” he teased her, raking his fingers through her tresses.
With a giggle, she kissed the tip of his nose and closed the door.
Hamlin returned to his room and fell, exhausted, onto the bed.
It seemed he’d only just closed his eyes when a footman appeared to wake him. It was Old Gregory, an elderly gentleman who had been in Hamlin’s employ for years. He walked with a distinct shuffle now but was as loyal as any servant Hamlin had ever employed.
Hamlin dressed. As he went out, he paused and said, “The linens are to be washed, Gregory. I must have nicked myself with the barber’s knife and spilled a bit of blood.”
“Aye, your grace,” Gregory said, and shuffled toward the bed.
From his room, Hamlin went to Eula’s. Miss Burns had been replaced by Mrs. Weaver. Eula was sleeping, the sound of her breath rattled and stuffy. “How is she?” he asked, pressing a palm against her cheek.
“Better, I think. She took a bit of broth earlier.”
The kittens were wandering around her bed, mewling for milk. He sighed and said, “Mind the kittens as well, Mrs. Weaver. Eula will have both our heads if you donna.”
“Aye, your grace.”
Hamlin carried on, down the stairs and into the breakfast room. It had stopped raining, thank the saints, but the day was wet and cold, and the drive muddy.
He was joined after a quarter of an hour by Catriona. She was beaming when she walked into the dining room. She had brushed her hair and had tied it loosely at her nape. “Mdainn mhath!” she said gaily. “I hope you’ll no’ mind, your grace, but I looked in on Miss Guinne. I think her fever is down.”
“Aye, I think it is. Please, sit,” he said, gesturing to the table.
She sat down and helped herself to some bread. “You must forgive me, for I’m utterly ravenous this bonny morning.” She paused, glanced slyly at Stuart and added, “I’m so happy the rain has come to an end.”
“Pardon, your grace.”
Hamlin had not seen Old Gregory enter the breakfast room, as his gaze was quite firmly attached to Catriona. Old Gregory was holding a silver tray, and on it, one of Catriona’s shoes, covered in gold silk to match her gown.
“I’ve discovered a single shoe belonging to a lady.”
Hamlin froze. He dared not look at Stuart or the footman.
“Oh, aye, ’tis mine,” Catriona said with airy carelessness. “I’ve a terrible habit of removing my shoes and I did so last night, at the gaming table. I thought I’d picked both of them up.”
“But the shoe—”
“Thank you, Gregory. You may leave it there,” Hamlin said, gesturing vaguely near the door. “Miss Mackenzie will retrieve it after breakfast.”
Catriona glanced around the room at a confused Old Gregory, an unsmiling Stuart and another footman who dared not look at any of them. “You will all forgive my Highland manners, will you no’? I’ve come to breakfast quite barefoot.”
“Think nothing of it,” Hamlin said quickly. “Stuart, eggs and ham for our guest, then.”
Stuart nodded and returned to the sideboard. Hamlin exchanged a look with Catriona—like him, she was near to bursting out with laughter.
They managed to maintain an air of casual discourse as they breakfasted until Bain arrived. That sobered them both. Hamlin introduced his secretary to Catriona, and Bain took his seat cautiously, as if he was aware he was interrupting something private. He had business to discuss, he said. Letters that had come. And even though Hamlin managed to keep the conversation to general topics, he felt conspicuous. He thought it fairly obvious he did not wish for Bain’s presence. He thought it fairly obvious he wanted Catriona and Blackthorn Hall to himself. But ala
s, the people paid to ensure the dukedom of Montrose performed as it ought would not shirk their duties.
They were finishing breakfast when they heard the unmistakable sound of a team approaching on the drive. Bain stood and went to the window. “It looks to be a Dungotty carriage,” he said.
He sounded, Hamlin thought, relieved by it. Hamlin was panicked by it. He was not ready for these few hours of true happiness to end. How would he return to the solitary life he led, hammering away his days?
“Dungotty!” Catriona repeated, surprised and, Hamlin thought, disappointed.
“I’ll see to it,” Bain said, and cast a look at Hamlin as he went out.
Stuart picked up the used dishes on the table, and when he turned his back to the table, Hamlin grasped Catriona’s hand and leaned toward her. “There is a ruin at the bend in the river,” he whispered. “It’s accessible only by foot or horse, four miles into the forest, aye? Meet me there tomorrow at half past two.”
He let go of her hand just as Stuart turned back to the table with a plate for Catriona.
Voices could be heard from the foyer, and with a tight smile for Catriona, Hamlin said, “I best see who has come.” He stood from his seat and went round to help her out of hers, but at that moment, the dining room door burst open, and in sailed the Earl of Norwood followed by Mr. Bain.
“Good morning, good morning!” the earl called loudly, as if he expected dozens instead of the four people in the room.
“Uncle Knox!” Catriona exclaimed.
“I beg your pardon, your grace, for coming to fetch my niece so late in the morning,” he said graciously, even though it was only half past nine. “You’d not believe what poor condition I found the roads.”
“You should no’ have risked it,” Hamlin said coolly. “I would have seen her safely home, aye?”
“Of course, but I could not in good conscience have left that duty to you, sir. You’ve been too hospitable as it is. How have you fared, darling?” he asked, turning to Catriona.
“Quite well,” she said. “The duke has been the perfect host. We played a wee bit of chess to pass the time.”
“You didn’t beat him too soundly, I should hope. The duke always wins, is that not so, your grace? And the lass?” he asked, glancing around. “How did she enjoy the evening?”
“Unfortunately, she has taken ill,” Catriona said.
“Oh, dear,” Norwood said, and turned to Hamlin. “Nothing too serious, I hope.”
“I think no’.”
“Well, then, Catriona, darling, we best go on and leave these fine people to their day and to tend the child, yes? Have you everything?”
“I, uh...” She laughed, a little self-consciously. “I donna have my shoe. Shoes.”
“Pardon?”
“I’ve come barefoot to breakfast. I’ll just fetch them, shall I?” she added quickly before her uncle questioned her further. She stood abruptly, dipped a quick curtsy and fled the room, grabbing up the shoe they had managed to miss in the middle of the night.
Norwood stared at the door where she’d gone out for a moment, then turned to Hamlin. “That was quite a storm we experienced last night, was it not? Hail and thunder, enough to make one believe the roof would fly off.”
“Aye,” Hamlin said.
“You had a fine evening in spite of it, if I understand things, is that not so?” Norwood asked coolly.
Hamlin blinked. Norwood clearly suspected something, and he didn’t quite know what to say.
“Miss Mackenzie has a particular gift of making every evening pass quickly, my lord,” Bain said. Hamlin had almost forgotten he was here. “I hope I donna speak out of turn when I say the duke and I enjoyed her company immensely.”
Hamlin looked at Bain, but his secretary had his gaze fixed on the window.
“Yes, well, she’s a special young woman, indeed she is,” Norwood said, and cast a quick, appraising look at Hamlin. “I’ll no’ take another moment of your time, your grace. Again, my sincere apologies for last evening, your grace.”
Hamlin could feel the heat of discovery climbing up the back of his neck. “None are necessary.”
Norwood nodded curtly and looked toward the door, clearly wanting to take his leave.
They stood in awkward silence until Catriona appeared again, breathless in her haste, both shoes firmly on her feet.
“Thank you, your grace, for a lovely evening,” she said. “You were so verra kind to entertain me.”
“The pleasure was mine,” he said, and bowed.
Norwood held out his arm to her. “Shall we? It might take us a bit to reach Dungotty, what with the roads.”
She slipped her hand into the crook of her uncle’s elbow and smiled again at Hamlin and said goodbye to Bain.
Hamlin followed them out, of course, quite like a puppy, uncertain what to say, how to convey to her without words how very sorry he was to see her go.
In the foyer, Stuart held out her cloak. As she slipped into the cloak, Hamlin noticed that her petticoat was on backward. But she buttoned the cloak at her throat, covering her gown. “I do hope Miss Guinne makes a full recovery,” she said to Hamlin.
“Aye, she will, thanks to your suggestions. You must call on her to see for yourself that she is recovered.”
“Yes, we’ll certainly call on Miss Guinne,” Norwood said. His hand was on the small of Catriona’s back, and he was hustling her out the door. They’d made it halfway down the steps when Hamlin saw her hat and called after her. “Miss Mackenzie, you’ve forgotten your hat.”
“Oh!” she said, putting her hand on the top of her head. “That I have.” She jogged up the steps to fetch it.
“Tomorrow,” he reminded her.
“Aye,” she whispered, and with a gleam in her eye, she winked at him, then, with her hat in hand, hurried down to her uncle, who promptly put her in the coach and, without so much as a look backward, sent his driver on.
As the carriage pulled away from Blackthorn Hall, Hamlin could swear he felt something pull away from him. He turned around, saw Stuart and Bain in the foyer, both of them eyeing him shrewdly. But if nothing else, Hamlin knew very well how to hide his true feelings. One did not live with Glenna as long as he had without learning to tamp them down. “What business have we?” he asked Bain.
“Correspondence, your grace.”
“Verra well. My study, then.”
He walked briskly alongside his secretary, his thoughts as far from Blackthorn Hall as they could possibly be. He felt strangely bereft. Not only because Catriona had gone, but in the cold wake of her absence, he had no idea what he was to do with her. Take her as a mistress? No—his feelings ran too deep for that. As a wife? That would cause trouble for his bid for the House of Lords, if for no other reason than her abbey, and God knew the fact that she was a Highlander would not be viewed with pleasure among most of the Scottish peers. Giant wheels had been slowly turning toward gaining that seat, and Hamlin didn’t know how to stop them or even if he should.
What he did know deeply in his shuttered heart was that he’d not felt this way about a woman in all his life.
He was not willing to lose the feeling. Not for Parliament, not for anything else.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
UNCLE KNOX KEPT looking at Catriona as they drove back to Dungotty. She wisely—at least she thought it was wise—nattered away about her evening at Blackthorn, and thus did not allow him to speak. It was a tactic she’d learned long ago—if one kept talking, and didn’t allow for questions, the listening party would soon fade into a whirl of details. She spoke about Eula, and her fever, what she’d advised them to do. She chatted about the kittens, relived the meal in excruciating detail, dish by dish, then reviewed what little chess they’d played by expounding on her theory of how to win at chess. They had all but reached Dungotty by the time she took a
breath.
“Where did you sleep?” her uncle asked her, managing to get his question in after all.
If he thought she would confess that she’d slept in the duke’s bed, he was mad. “In a guest room. It was done in blue and white silk, verra pretty, it was, and were I to be at Dungotty much longer, I’d ask my dearest uncle if he might entertain the idea of making my room over with blue and white silk.”
“I am your only uncle,” he pointed out.
“I’d ask kindly all the same,” she said, and poked his arm. “Aye, and how did you pass the time at Dungotty? The storm was frightful, was it no’? You must have been on tenterhooks.”
“We were fine. We fretted terribly about you, though, darling.”
“Me! The duke himself said that Blackthorn Hall had no’ floated away in more than a hundred years and would no’ in that storm.”
“Mmm,” her uncle drawled. He turned his gaze to the window, uncharacteristically subdued.
As they pulled into the drive at Dungotty, the front door was flung open, and half the inhabitants spilled out onto the bricked entrance. “Catriona! You’re well!” Chasity cried. “What happened? Were you frightened?”
“Frightened?! No,” she said, pushing past them and into the entry. “I’m glad I was there, in truth, for Miss Guinne has taken ill, and I spent most of the evening with her.” She realized instantly that this was quite different than what she’d told her uncle and winced inwardly. She was a horrible liar.
“What? The young girl is ill?” Chasity exclaimed.
“Aye, she’s come down with fever. I think it a cold, for she was better this morning, that she was, but it gave me a bit of a fright when I saw her yesterday evening.”
Chasity’s eyes had gone wide with alarm, but the countess, in stark contrast, narrowed a discerning gaze on Catriona. “So it was only you and that murderous duke and a feverish girl in that very large house?” she asked as she followed Catriona into the salon.