Tempting the Laird

by Julia London

  Hamlin had liked Glenna well enough, and he’d supposed he would like her more once they were married, just as his father had suggested. But Glenna had begun to complain the moment their vows were said.

  He was thankful his father did not live long enough to see his son cuckolded. Certainly there was no heir, and he had added a lump of coal to the Graham name, not a jewel. For eight years, he’d endured his marriage in name only. He’d tried his best to appease his wife, but she would not be appeased. He’d tried to ignore her, and she would not be ignored. On the outside, she presented a happy home. She was vibrant and lively, an excellent hostess, quick to laugh, and performed the sort of charitable works in the shire that were expected of a duchess. But behind closed doors, she was desperately unhappy with what she viewed as their many incompatibilities. Hamlin, she said, did not understand her. He did not see her spirit. He was a person who inhabited her bed from time to time, but for whom she could not muster any true affection.

  Hamlin had never known what was at the root of their incompatibility—it was his opinion she never knew him well enough to have come to the conclusion. But in spite of her feelings for him, he had cared about her in some respects. And he’d trusted her to a certain extent.

  He never suspected infidelity.

  He supposed that was the thing that angered him most—he’d gone about his business like a fool, trying to pretend all was well, alternately appeasing her or removing himself from her presence, but all the while believing she would honor her vows. He’d even been foolish enough to believe that she would eventually come to accept it and they would have a happy marital life. That was his desire. Maybe when they had a child she would warm to him. Maybe she’d been so young when they’d married that she only needed time to mature. And he’d trusted her.

  And now, because of her, he found it difficult to trust anyone else.

  Her perfidy had gone on for some time, by her own admission. The man who had captured her heart was not someone known to Hamlin. He was a tradesman, perhaps a merchant—a nebulous figure in Hamlin’s mind—but he was apparently a man who, Glenna had asserted, would one day be as wealthy as Hamlin. He was a man for whom she’d declared she felt “such intense emotions that she could never in all her life feel for Hamlin.”

  He could not stop her from leaving in the manner she had. No threats, no recriminations could dissuade her from the love story she was convinced she was living. Oh, aye, it was an all-consuming love, she’d shouted at him. She and this faceless man were very much in love and were not forced into a union as she’d been previously. They would be happy, which she had never been with Hamlin.

  “I never wanted to marry you,” she’d shrieked at him.

  “Then by God, why did you agree to it?” he’d bellowed at her.

  “What choice did I have?” she’d screamed.

  A million choices it had seemed to him. Any choice other than to marry him if she’d found him so utterly irreconcilable to her soul.

  “What of Eula?” he’d asked her. “You are all the lass has in the world.”

  “I canna take the child,” Glenna had said immediately and without the slightest compunction. That had prompted another round of loud argument, but the end was inevitable—Glenna had left him, running into the arms of her lover, and at her behest, her plea, he had ended the marriage as she desired.

  The Duke of Perth, his late father’s closest friend, had been the one to help Hamlin obtain a divorce. It was quick and relatively painless, on the grounds of marital desertion. Glenna and the faceless lover had taken a small house in Edinburgh, where, presumably, he employed his trade.

  It was likewise Lord Perth who’d recommended Hamlin keep the unpleasant matter to himself. At the time, there’d been quite a lot of talk already circulating about where on earth the bonny Lady Montrose had gone. But Perth reminded Hamlin that if he desired a position in the House of Lords, it was best that the men voting him into that seat did not know he’d been cuckolded and had then granted a divorce to the woman who had humiliated him. “Naturally, you had to do it,” he’d said kindly. “But a titled man will sooner understand sending a bothersome wife away before he will understand how a powerful man such as yourself might have been hoodwinked by a woman. It weakens your position.”

  Hamlin had been taken aback by Perth’s assessment that, essentially, to dispose of one’s wife was acceptable, but if the wife was the one to do the disposing, a man was considered weak.

  The idea had suited him, because Hamlin had not been eager to announce his divorce. He was mortified by it, utterly abashed that he’d failed so miserably at the business of matrimony, and, in all honesty, he didn’t fully understand why. He still did not understand what reprehensible thing he’d done to deserve Glenna’s scorn, other than breathing. So he’d taken Perth’s advice, and when someone inquired after Lady Montrose, he answered vaguely. He said she’d gone, and left it at that. His position as duke afforded him the ability to handle things this way. No one but Eula dared to question him.

  So Hamlin had said nothing. Nothing at all.

  He should have known the rumors would take on a life of their own. He could not have predicted they would turn so dark, but in retrospect, he blamed himself. He’d been dejected, distrustful of all and brooding, which had fed the rumors. But he’d not been able to help himself.

  And into that gray world had charged Catriona Mackenzie, nearly running him over in what one might have assumed was a runaway carriage, given the recklessness with which she drove. That cabriolet had delivered to him the happiness that had long eluded him and had transported him to a higher plane. Catriona was a joy to him, and his feelings for her were growing by leaps and bounds. He’d not thought where those feelings might take him, not yet—he simply wanted to enjoy the sunshine for a time, to feel the swell of true affection and esteem.

  But then his solicitor had come. Curse Dundy. He was one of the few who knew the truth about his wife.

  “Lady Montrose has been to see me,” he’d said casually in Hamlin’s study on the day he’d shown up unexpectedly at Blackthorn Hall.

  “There is no Lady Montrose,” Hamlin had curtly reminded him.

  “I beg your pardon, your grace, of course no’,” he’d said with an apologetic nod of his head.

  “Why?” Hamlin had asked. “What did she want, then?”

  “Money. I explained to her that naturally I couldna honor her request without your express permission. She was verra tearful, she was. It seems her benefactor has left her.”

  “Her benefactor,” Hamlin had said with a chuckle of derision.

  “She was no’ the grand lady anymore, your grace. She had a rather weary look about her.”

  What did Dundy think, that he would care how she appeared now? “You should have refused her. Why come all this way to ask when you know I will refuse her, then?”

  Dundy had cleared his throat. “I didna refuse her, your grace.”

  Hamlin had suddenly went cold.

  Dundy had sat up a little straighter. “She is aware that there has been no public mention of the dissolution of your marriage, aye?”

  “I donna care,” Hamlin had said.

  “She is also aware that you seek a seat in the House of Lords.”

  Hamlin had suddenly realized what the man was implying, and he’d felt a sick twist in his belly.

  “I suggested she seek help from family.”

  Hamlin had looked away from Dundy. “The only family she has is a lass of ten years,” he’d muttered.

  “Aye, so she said,” Dundy had agreed. “I thought it prudent to give her a wee bit of coin money until she is able to determine what she is to do.”

  Hamlin had jerked his gaze to the solicitor. “I beg your pardon?”

  “A small amount, your grace. Fifty pounds.”

  Hamlin had come out of his chair. “What ri
ght have you to give away my money?” he’d seethed.

  “None,” Dundy had said calmly. “But I thought to err on the side of protecting your privacy until I had opportunity to speak with you, aye? If I’d no’ taken action, I believe she meant to take the whole affair public and sully your good name.”

  Hamlin had stared at him, trying to make sense of it. He’d given Glenna what she’d wanted, and she would seek to harm him still?

  “I think the matter is done,” Dundy had said. “She seemed pleased with the amount and, furthermore, seemed to think her differences with the gentleman might be resolved.”

  “He’s no gentleman,” Hamlin had snapped, and stalked to the window. He had drawn a deep breath. And then another. She was a snake. She might have slithered away for now, but she would always slither back. His heart was pounding, his rage mounting. Why must she come back now? Why now, when he’d found happiness?

  “Did she ask after Eula?” he had asked stiffly.

  Dundy had cleared his throat. “No.”

  Hamlin had closed his eyes and uttered a curse. Glenna Guinne Graham was the most reprehensible person he’d ever known.

  It had been two days since Hamlin had chased Dundy and his rain cloud out of Blackthorn Hall, and since then, Hamlin had calmed himself somewhat. What he needed, he’d realized, was Catriona’s touch. What would ground him, would make him feel himself again, was her smile. He needed her to remember what he had now, and not a painful past.

  He told himself all he had to do was survive the vote that would occur in a fortnight. Then he didn’t care what Glenna did. She could announce to all the world that he’d divorced her if she liked. He would denounce her if it came to it, and suffer the repercussions, but by God, he would not be held hostage by her.

  So he’d asked Bain to deliver a message to Catriona, and Bain had looked at him in the way that he had, and Hamlin had wanted to demand what it was Bain expected of him. He was a healthy man, for God’s sake, and he couldn’t deny his desires any better than Bain could, and God knew Bain did not deny his desires.

  * * *

  ON WEDNESDAY, CATRIONA arrived at Blackthorn Hall in the company of the people Hamlin had requested of her in his note. Catriona was driving the cabriolet, which came as no surprise to him. But the modiste and her assistant looked a wee bit dazed as they stepped carefully out of the carriage.

  Hamlin hardly noticed them at all. He could not take his gaze from Catriona. It felt an age instead of days since he’d last seen her, and she looked bonnier than ever. He wanted to grab her up and bury his face in her neck, but instead, he clasped his hands at his back and bowed his head.

  “Madainn mhath!” she called brightly. “My Lord Montrose, may I introduce Mrs. Fraser and her assistant, Mr. Carver. She has brought some fabric samples I’m certain Miss Guinne will like.”

  “For me?” Eula asked with delight.

  “Aye, for you,” Hamlin said, and ran his palm over her head. “You’ve grown a foot, I think.”

  “Have I?” Eula asked, and unthinkingly put a hand to the top of her head, as if she might be able to feel how much she’d grown.

  “I asked Miss Mackenzie if she would be so kind as to help us find someone to outfit you properly.”

  “I should be delighted and honored, your grace,” Mrs. Fraser said, sinking into a curtsy. “How many gowns would you like to commission?”

  Hamlin glanced at Catriona, who pressed four fingers next to her temple, as if she were contemplating something quite important.

  “Four. One evening, three day,” he said quickly.

  “Verra well. If it suits your grace, we’ll start with a few measurements and then look at some fabrics?”

  “Aye, by all means. You’ll no’ need me for that.” He gestured toward the front door, where a footman was waiting. “Adam will show you to a room to begin your work, aye?”

  “Thank you,” Mrs. Fraser said, and she and Mr. Carver gathered their things and walked up the steps to the footman. Eula grabbed Catriona’s hand and skipped up the steps behind them. But in the foyer, before Catriona and Eula could disappear into a room, Hamlin said, “Pardon, Miss Mackenzie. Your uncle left his walking stick when last he came to call. I believe Stuart has it. You might fetch it before you go, aye?”

  “His walking stick!” Catriona laughed with great amusement, her eyes twinkling at him. “Aye, he’s looked high and low for it and will be rightly pleased to have it returned to him. Thank you, your grace.”

  He nodded, resisting the urge to smile at her theatrics, and moved as if he intended to walk on, but paused again. “Ah. I recall that Stuart will be leaving Blackthorn Hall in the next half hour or so for the village.”

  “Oh! I’ll fetch it from him just as soon as we are all settled here. Thank you.”

  He bit his tongue to keep from smiling and turned in the opposite direction. He walked to the other side of the stairwell, free from prying eyes, as Bain was out and Stuart had indeed been sent on a fool’s errand—delivering ham and bread to poor Mr. Bartles, who would not remember that anyone had called by the morrow.

  After an interminable wait of a quarter of an hour, Catriona stepped out of the salon. She saw Hamlin lurking in the shadows of the staircase, glanced all around, then flew on tiptoes toward him. As soon as she reached him, he pulled her around the stairs, then, with his hand on the small of her back, ushered her quickly down a narrow hallway and up an even narrower passage.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, giggling.

  “Shh,” he cautioned her. They went up two flights on the servants’ stairs, emerging into a darkened corridor. He led her down to the end and opened the door to the last room on the right. It was cold and dark and musty inside. There were no candles, no fire in the hearth, the blinds shut, the drapes drawn, the furniture covered in dust cloths. He let go of Catriona’s hand so that he could open one window to have enough light to see.

  “What is this room?” she asked, looking around her.

  “’Twas my grandmother’s salon. It’s sat unused all these years.”

  “Oh,” she said, and looked at him curiously.

  He chuckled. “I’ve no sentimental attachment to the room, if that’s what you think. It’s only that Blackthorn Hall is so large that there’s no’ a use for every room.”

  “What a wretched problem for a duke to have,” Catriona said.

  He laughed, grabbed her up and spun her around, putting her back against the wall, suddenly out of his mind with want.

  “A walking stick?” she said, and laughed.

  Hamlin kissed her, moving down her body, his lips trailing a path across her warm, scented skin. He gathered her skirt in his hand and lifted it so that he could touch her leg above her stocking. With a sultry gasp, Catriona pressed against him, slipped her arms around his neck and kissed him.

  Hamlin was instantly hard and moved between her legs as he fumbled to free himself. They were frantic, wild for each other, their hands and mouths everywhere. She wrapped one leg around his waist and cried out with pleasure when he drove into her.

  Their coupling was mad, purely hedonistic pleasure, as if the fury of their lovemaking wasn’t furious enough. When they were sated, they collapsed onto the rug beside each other. Catriona giggled infectiously, and in the next moment, Hamlin was laughing, too.

  She rolled onto her side and propped her head on her hand so she could look down at him. She traced her finger across his chin. “What happened to you, then?” she asked, and began to pull his neckcloth free. “I feared I’d no’ hear from you.”

  “Aye, I’ve been occupied,” he said. He stroked her neck.

  “You seemed distressed when I saw you last,” she said, and kissed his chin.

  “’Twas nothing,” he said vaguely. He did not want that day to enter this room. Not in this moment.

  “Are you cer
tain?” she asked.

  “Catriona,” Hamlin said, and suddenly sat up, rolling her onto her back. He kissed her tenderly, his lips lingering on hers, feeling the softness in her. “Donna pry, aye?” he murmured.

  She pushed him back a bit and stared into his eyes, as if seeking some explanation. But she suddenly smiled and said, “Then next time, donna make me wait so long.” She grinned.

  So did Hamlin. He rolled onto his back with her, bringing her on top of him. “My sincerest apologies, madam,” he growled, and kissed her, but this time with a little less urgency and a little more meaning.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  IN THE DAYS that followed their tryst at Blackthorn Hall, Catriona and Hamlin were blessed with weather that was unfailingly warm and sunny and found time to meet at the ruins. The colorful bog myrtle scented the air, and crossbills chattered over their heads. As fanciful as it seemed, it was their private slice of heaven.

  They lived each moment for each other. They didn’t speak of the past or the future—that all seemed inconsequential at the ruins. What mattered to Catriona was the here and now, the moments of passion, the glorious feeling of being in love.

  Aye, she was in love—she recognized all the signs from other moments in her life when she’d come so very close to it. She’d been young when her sister, Vivienne, had fallen very much in love with and married their distant cousin, Marcas Mackenzie. Catriona could remember how she’d envied her sister’s dreamy state, the way she’d smile at everyone around her as if she were the Madonna, bestowing her light and goodness on the less fortunate. Vivienne was serene in her happiness.

  Even at that young age, Catriona had understood what Vivienne was feeling. But she’d learned in the years that followed that Viv’s happiness wasn’t as easy to find as she had thought. Every year that passed, Catriona longed for it, dreamed of it. Here, at last, at long last, it was hers.