by Platt, Meara
Heather shook her head and laughed. “He’s fortunate he’ll be up here and not in London when my Devonshire cousins arrive. I’m sure Uncle John and Aunt Sophie are already cringing.”
He kissed her lightly on the lips. “Little chance of his encountering them.”
He turned her to face the castle. “What do ye think, lass? This is my grandda’s home. Malcolm and Anne live here with him. The place is overrun with their children now. But they’re sweet little beasties. I know ye’ll love them, and they’ll love you. Where are they, grandda?”
“In town. They’ll be home soon. And this is yer home, too,” the old man said in earnest. “Forever, if ye wish it to be.”
“I know. But we’re only here for a visit. Lord Liverpool wants me to stay on as military liaison.” He glanced at Heather. “So, I’ve agreed to another two years.”
Heather nodded. “But I won’t let him stay longer in his position if he’s only doing it for my sake. If he wants to return to Caithness, then this is where we’ll settle.”
“That’s a good lass ye are, and a fine wife ye’ll make my Robbie. Thank ye. My heart would be filled with sorrow if I thought the lad was unhappy. But I see now that he will never be, so long as he has ye by his side.”
He turned to Robbie as they walked toward the massive stone structure that towered over the town. One could hear the distant roar of waves pounding the cliffside. Robbie looked forward to showing Heather the magnificent view of the sea from their bedchamber window. They would also have a view of the town and nearby hills that were dotted with wildflowers all summer long, he’d earlier told her.
“Robbie,” his granduncle said, leaning in to whisper in his ear. “Have ye noticed? Yer Heather looks like a little pixie, does she no’?”
“Och, grandda, I had not noticed.” He smiled and winked at Heather. “But now that ye mention it, I would say she does. It’s her little floppy ears, dinna ye think? And the impertinent tilt of her eyebrows. And her impish smile. But this gives me an idea. I’ve been wondering by what endearment I should call her. What do ye think of…my pixie?”
The old man beamed. “Och, laddie. It’s perfect. I’m glad I thought of it for ye.”
“Then so it shall be.” Robbie exchanged a grin with Heather and scooped her in his arms to carry her over the threshold. “Welcome to Caithness…my pixie.”
READ ON FOR A SNEAK PEEK OF THE PROMISE OF LOVE
Chapter One
Taunton, England
June 1821
General Augustus MacLauren should have known better than to be drawn out of his bedchamber at the elegant Ashcott Inn by the feminine whispers and giggles just outside his door. But he was intrigued, his curiosity piqued.
The hour was not very late, only nine o’clock in the evening, and he had just washed up before taking a book to bed. He was bone-weary from his weeks of travel from the Continent to England and meant to retire early. He would have done so already had a noisy wedding celebration not been taking place in the inn’s common room as he’d arrived with a handful of his elite Scots Greys.
Augustus did not think it wise for these innocent misses to be spying on the wedding party. Some of those men were too deep in their cups to be relied upon to behave.
Concerned as to what these young ladies were about, he opened his door a crack to investigate. “Blessed saints,” he muttered, for all three were beautiful, but one, in particular, was spectacular.
They were seated on the carpeted hallway floor, studying a book of some sort. It looked old, with a faded red leather binding.
“June,” one of the young ladies whispered to the spectacular looking one, “I told you it would work. See how that barmaid’s bosoms are pushed up and practically spilling over? And look at those men? They are falling over themselves to gain her attention.”
The guest chambers were one flight up from the main floor where all the activity was taking place. The three of them were peering down at the rowdy revelers through the ornate, spindled railing.
“Willow, it is just a coincidence. They’re simply falling down drunk.”
“Will you look at that man?” the third young lady commented. “Oh, dear. He is not behaving very nicely, is he? His nose is practically buried between her…endowments. It is just as the book said.”
“Oh, Cammy. Don’t tell me you agree with Willow.”
“I do. Look at those dolts. See how eagerly they are handing over their coins to her as a gratuity? And what has she done other than jiggle her bosom in their direction?”
“Good for her is what I say,” the one called Willow declared. “The young woman must be rich as Croesus by now. We must test it out. The Book of Love says this will work, and we’ve just seen proof of it. Show a man a little of your breasts, and he will be in your thrall.”
Cammy agreed. “Yes, and you must be the one to test it out, June.”
The spectacular one gasped. “I will not jiggle anything at those men! Who’s to save me if they make untoward advances? They are lewd and bawdy. We mustn’t go anywhere near them.”
“Oh, you have a point.” Willow pursed her lips in thought. “I know who would be a perfect test frog.”
“Who?” Cammy asked, her eyes brightening.
“That old soldier we noticed walking in earlier. I think he was a captain or something. He seemed to be a gentleman, even if he spoke with the hint of a Scottish accent. His men obeyed him without question, so they obviously respect him.”
Augustus sank back against his door frame, struggling not to laugh.
They were speaking of him.
He ought to have taken offense.
Old?
A captain or something?
Would he be tried for murder if he wrung their pretty necks?
The spectacular one called June spoke up. “He isn’t old. I would describe him as battle-hardened. I thought he was rather handsome. He has a magnificent warrior look about him, don’t you think? He looked like a man, not a pampered little boy. But what would a Scottish captain be doing here?”
Willow shrugged. “Passing through from Plymouth and heading north most likely, which means we never have to see him again. It’s perfect, don’t you see? You’re the one who’s been complaining about being foisted on the marriage mart.”
“Why should I not complain? I’m two and twenty, not some dull-eyed ingenue.”
Cammy nodded. “I understand your point about it being your first year out when most of the debutantes will be several years younger. This is why you must go in prepared with a battle plan. The sooner you gain a proposal of marriage, the sooner you can be done with the season.”
“Test the author’s theory on the Scottish captain,” Willow said. “See what he does when you give him a peek at your bosom.”
Augustus choked on his laughter.
Were these girls demented? Were they seriously going to use him to test out whatever idiotic notions espoused in that book? What did they call it? Something about love? It should have been called The Book of Ruin, for this is what would happen to these silly geese if they went about exposing their endowments to strangers.
Well, he doubted June, the more sensible one, was going to do much more than give him a peek at the swell of her breasts. Did they think all men turned into babbling idiots at the mere sight of a shapely breast?
He glanced at the bed, suddenly no longer tired and decidedly curious to see what Spectacular June would do. He donned his jacket, buttoned it up, and realized he had not bothered to take off his medals yet. No matter, they covered the expanse of his chest over his heart and made him appear quite important.
The display would likely dazzle these lovely rustics.
The three of them were once more huddled together, now peering between the railing spindles into the common room below. Spectacular June, he noted, also had a spectacularly shaped derriere.
He slipped unnoticed behind them and made his way downstairs, settling with a newspaper in one of the comfort
able, leather wing chairs in the front sitting area. It was still too close to the wedding revelers for his liking, but several other travelers were seated there, and it appeared safe enough. The innkeeper and his sons were serving these tamer guests, a few husbands and wives, so June would not be the only lady present if she mustered her courage and approached him.
The innkeeper hurried over as soon as he had taken a seat. He’d purposely settled in one of the chairs that shared a small table with another similar chair. That one was empty for the moment, and he expected June to drop her delicious backside in it within the next minute or two. “General MacLauren, would you care for a drink? I do apologize for the noise this evening. This wedding celebration is particularly rowdy, but it is breaking up now. You won’t be disturbed much longer.”
“Thank you, Mr. Ashcott. A brandy for me.”
The innkeeper rushed to fetch it for him and quickly returned with a fine crystal glass filled halfway with a dark amber liquid. Augustus sank into a relaxed pose, sipping his brandy and casually reading one of the newspapers placed in the sitting area for the convenience of the inn’s guests. He purposely took the seat that gave him the best view of the taproom if he glanced to his left and of the upstairs railing if he glanced to his right.
It wasn’t long before the young woman he’d taken to thinking of as Spectacular June sank into the chair beside his.
He ignored her.
She cleared her throat. “Excuse me, sir. May I sit here? You aren’t expecting anyone to join you, are you?”
There was a lovely, melodic lilt to her voice that he hadn’t expected or noticed when the three of them had been whispering upstairs.
“No, it is quite available.” He smiled politely and returned to reading his newspaper.
She clasped her hands, obviously fretting as she glanced up at her companions for a hint of what to do next to gain his attention. She shook her head lightly and then gave an imperceptible shrug of her slender shoulders.
A moment later, she groaned softly.
Obviously, the girl was not used to talking to men. Nor should she be, he supposed. Even though she was two and twenty, she had an innocent look about her and could not have been out in the world.
She cleared her throat again.
He lowered the paper and arched an eyebrow as he stared at her. “Are you ill?”
She blinked. “What?”
Her eyes were a stunning shade of cerulean blue, and her lips were an exquisite shade of rose. His heartbeat quickened. “You seem to have a frog in your throat. I cannot afford to be ill. I shall move away if—”
“No, I’m not ill. Good heavens, may I not simply clear my throat? It’s rather dry in here, don’t you think?”
“Of course.” He set aside his newspaper and leaned forward. Lord, have mercy. Was there a more beautiful female ever created? “Where are my manners. May I order you something to drink? A lemonade? Or would you prefer tea? Perhaps with a little honey to soothe your throat.”
“My throat is just fine,” she said with annoyance but quickly recovered and cast him a hesitant smile. “A lemonade would be lovely. But I shall ask the innkeeper to put it on my account. It wouldn’t be—”
“Nonsense. It will be my pleasure. It is merely a lemonade, surely that cannot be improper.” Although he hadn’t meant to offer her a drink or tell her it was his pleasure, but the pink blush on her cheeks and those deep blue eyes had suddenly turned his mind to boiled oats.
He silently berated himself for underestimating this girl. He’d expected to encounter a rustic, but she was elegant and her speech refined.
He also warned himself…whatever you do, do not look at her bosom.
Do not…
Oh, mercy.
She sighed, causing her chest to lightly heave.
He looked.
Just a glance.
She hadn’t noticed.
Nor had her companions, he hoped.
Well, he wasn’t going to look again.
Mercy.
He looked again.
She cleared her throat once more to regain his attention. “Well, thank you. Yes, I would indeed love a lemonade, if you don’t mind.”
“As I said. It is my pleasure, Miss…er…” She hadn’t given him a name.
“Miss Monkton-Kidd,” she said, tipping her head up as though daring him to contradict her.
“Delighted to meet you, Miss Monkton-Kidd.” He raised his glass and nodded toward her, trying to smother his grin.
“Miss Tallulah Monkton-Kidd.”
He’d just taken a sip of his brandy and now snorted it out through his nose.
Bollocks.
Tallulah?
Really?
He tried desperately not to laugh. He was a bloody general. Until a few weeks ago, he’d been one of the most highly decorated officers serving on the Continent. A top aide to Lord Castlereagh, no less.
Now he was drooling brandy out of the side of his mouth.
She handed him her handkerchief to wipe the dribble off his chin and patted him on the back as he fought to regain his composure. “Are you all right?”
He nodded. “Brandy…slipped down…wrong way.”
“Oh, yes. That happens to me on occasion. Not with spirits. I’m never allowed anything stronger than wine and rarely that. Your face is red.”
He shook his head. “I’ll be fine. General Augustus MacLauren.”
“What?”
He took a deep breath, coughed, and dared to take another sip of his brandy to ease the tickle in his throat. He sank back with a groan. “My name. I’m General Augustus MacLauren.”
Her exquisite eyes widened in obvious alarm. “General? You’re a general? As in the army? That sort of general?”
“I hadn’t realized there was another sort. Aye, in command of the Royal Scots Greys.”
“Which accounts for your medals, of course.” She had been bending over him, no doubt worried he was about to keel over dead at her feet, and completely forgetting about her mission to have him notice her breasts. But in worrying about his well-being, she was still bent over him, the exposed swell of her glorious mounds mere inches from his face.
He tried to keep his eyes from popping wide.
He failed.
June suddenly realized where he was looking, and her gorgeous eyes also widened. “I must be going,” she said and turned to flee.
He caught her by the hand to hold her back. “Stay Miss Monkton-Kidd. I promise, you are safe with me.” He quickly ordered the lemonade for her and was relieved when the innkeeper brought it over in a trice. “Are you any relation to the Monktons of the neighboring village of Monkton?”
“Who?”
What harm could there be in having a little fun at her expense? After all, she’d meant to use him as her dupe. “The village of Monkton. It’s just over the hill from Taunton. I thought by your name, perhaps you’d stopped here to visit relations of yours. The Monkton family is quite well respected in these parts.” It was an utter fabrication. He had no idea whether such a family existed. But it was a way to ease her into conversation because—mercy—he did not wish for her to leave.
“Oh.” The little apple in her throat bobbed. “Yes, of course. Our relations. But no, we do not speak to them. Our families do not get along. We are merely passing through from Barnstaple on our way to London.”
“Pity. I rather liked old Binty Monkton. We were at university together. A most amiable chap. Do you know him? He’s the one with the harelip.”
She licked her own beautifully shaped lips. “Um, a harelip?”
He arched an eyebrow. “Surely, you must have noticed.”
“Oh.” She fidgeted with her hands. “I wouldn’t know. As I said, we do not speak to that side of the family.”
“Ah, indeed. Then you are not familiar with his brother either? Bunyon, we called him.”
“Why?”
Gad, this girl was so gullible. “Because of his extra toe, of course.”
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“What?”
“He has six toes on his right foot.”
She glanced up at the upper floor railing in panic. “Well, look at the time. I think I shall retire.”
But the innkeeper chose that moment to pass by. “Is everything all right, Miss Farthingale? Did you not enjoy the lemonade?”
“It is perfect, Mr. Ashcott. Thank you.”
“Good. Good,” he said cheerfully and walked away.
“Farthingale?” Augustus stared at her, arching his eyebrow once more. “Then you are not Miss Monkton-Kidd?”
She began to squirm.
He saw every blessed thought passing through her panicked brain. Do I lie to him? Do I brazen it out? Do I simply admit the truth?
He leaned forward, watching her gulp down her lemonade, an obvious stalling tactic while she thought up a reason why she’d lied to him.
“I don’t suppose Tallulah is your real name either. In truth, you look nothing like what I would imagine a Tallulah would look like.”
She set down her glass and blushed. “What would a Tallulah look like?”
“Older. Wearing a turban. Overpowering perfume.” He eased closer yet. “No, your name is simpler. Something decidedly forthright. Ann. No, Mary. No…June, perhaps.”
She let out her breath in a deflated sigh. “You knew all along.”
He nodded. “I heard you upstairs with your companions.”
“They’re my sisters. How much did you overhear?”
“All of it. I do not appreciate being used as a test frog.”
“Then you weren’t attracted to my…” She glanced down at her bosom. “You were only pretending to gape.”
He grinned. “No, that part was real.”
To his surprise, her eyes brightened. “It was? I mean, I only ask out of scientific curiosity. You see, we have a book that contains the secrets to making a man fall in love. Not that I am expecting you to do this, of course. We only wished to test out one of its theories having to do with the male eye and its attraction to the female…” She glanced at her bosom again. “The author insists it works.”
“Apparently so. I just proved it, didn’t I?” He glanced there again. Silently berated himself. And glanced again.