Julia London - [Scandalous 02]

by Highland Scandal

  “It was Mr. Newton’s suggestion,” Jack said. Charlotte said something to that, but Jack failed to hear her—he was watching Lizzie as she crossed to the sideboard, letting his gaze drift down her curves…delightful, delectable curves.

  But Mr. Kincade, who entered the drawing room and announced that the guests had arrived, interrupted his leisurely perusal.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  “May I introduce my uncle Beal, once removed,” Lizzie said when the four adults had been shown into the drawing room and Jack was introduced to them. “Mr. Sorley Beal is my father’s cousin.”

  “Nephew,” Mr. Beal corrected her, and bowed smartly before Jack.

  “And Mrs. Beal,” Lizzie said.

  Mrs. Beal, who was almost as wide as the door frame, beamed at Jack and offered him her round hand. “I’ve so longed to make your acquaintance, milord!” she said, and startled Jack by bouncing up from her surprisingly deep curtsy to kiss his cheek.

  “Mr. and Mrs. McLennan,” Lizzie said, ushering the other couple to him. “They are related on my mother’s side, but I could hardly tell you how.”

  “It’s all so very complicated,” Mrs. McLennan said as she dipped a curtsy. “I’d wager it’s just as complicated at Lambourne, aye?”

  “It is indeed,” Jack assured her.

  Mr. McLennan quickly shook Jack’s hand as he passed him on the way to the sideboard, where Mr. Kincade had put out whisky and wine.

  “We’re so sorry to be tardy!” Mrs. McLennan said. “We were briefly detained by bounty hunters.”

  Lizzie, Charlotte, Jack, and Newton all turned to the woman.

  “Where did you see them, then?” Newton asked.

  “Where did we see them, Mr. McLennan?” Mrs. McLennan asked. At her husband’s grunt, she said, “I could hardly say—I am wretched at directions, am I no’, Mr. McLennan? But the bounty hunters are everywhere of late, it seems.”

  Jack and Lizzie exchanged a look.

  “You must be quite delighted with our Lizzie, milord!” Mrs. Beal exclaimed.

  “Supremely,” Jack said, suddenly appreciating Carson’s advice to keep friends and neighbors close, and put his arm around Lizzie’s shoulders. He could feel her resist, but he held her tightly, patting her arm. “She’s made me indescribably happy. She is a delight, the sun in my dreary world.”

  “Oh,” Mrs. Beal said with a sigh. “How lovely. She and Charlotte have long been favorites of ours.”

  Lizzie laughed, folded her arms, and pinched Jack’s side.

  “What of Mr. Gordon, Lizzie?” Mr. Beal asked. “I rather thought you had an understanding with him, aye?”

  “It was a very tentative understanding,” Charlotte said. “Very tentative.”

  “I reckon they’ve a different understanding now, aye?” Mr. Beal said, and the four guests laughed heartily.

  “A handfasting, too!” Mrs. McLennan said. “Is it no’ so very quaint? I’ve no’ heard of one in my lifetime.”

  “Mr. Beattie, dear. Mr. Beattie and his wife were handfasted,” Mrs. Beal reminded her.

  “Aye, that they were. How could I forget it? And as Mr. McLennan so rightly pointed out, given your age, Lizzie, it was probably one of the more expedient ways to do things, aye?”

  Lizzie coughed; Jack squeezed her shoulders. She stepped away, but he caught her hand and held it firmly.

  “Oh, look at the two of them, will you, Jane,” Mrs. McLennan said. “Just like a pair of doves, are they no’?”

  “I am so happy for you, Lizzie,” Mrs. Beal said, and grasped Lizzie’s shoulders, gave her a warm shake. “Do you remember when you were but a wee lass, how you would dress in your mother’s gowns and have your pretend weddings? On my word, they’d go on for days!”

  “She made Robert Duncan stand in,” Charlotte said with a snicker, and everyone laughed.

  Lizzie stole a glimpse at Jack. “I was eight years old,” she muttered.

  “You were such a dreamer, Lizzie! Always dreaming about this romantic adventure and that. I had despaired that your dreams would ever come true, but now look at you, all beautiful and handfasted. And to an earl, no less!”

  “I am a very fortunate man.” Jack smiled at Lizzie. “I’ve always fancied a dreamer,” he said.

  She smiled, too, but there were sparks in her eyes.

  “Aye, she was a dreamer, and she was a wee bit of a hellion,” Mr. Beal said. “She’s quite good in archery. Were you aware of it, milord?”

  “They’ve hardly talked about archery, Uncle,” Charlotte said.

  “My wee darling is an archer?” Jack asked, and grinned with delight at Lizzie. “Bows and arrows in her graceful hands?”

  “Bested the whole lot of us one summer during a wedding celebration. Do you recall that, Lizzie?” Mr. Beal asked.

  “I do,” Charlotte said. “Mamma was nearly apoplectic, thinking she’d ruin any chance of ever making a match if she continued to best all the young men.”

  “Diah,” Lizzie said. “I was hardly in danger of gaining an offer, much less chasing them away.”

  “You’re too harsh!” Mrs. Beal cried jovially. “Granted, you are no’ as comely as Charlotte, aye, but you are a handsome lass all the same. Is she no’ handsome, milord?”

  Handsome? That hardly began to describe Lizzie. She was so much more than handsome, so beautiful in her own way. “A fairer lass has no’ graced mine eyes,” Jack said.

  That was met with a round of bravos and laughter. But Lizzie…Lizzie looked up at him with those crystal blue eyes and for once, Jack wondered if there were words that could adequately describe what he saw in her.

  Fortunately, he was not pressed to do so, for Mr. Kincade appeared to announce that supper was served.

  Given that they had few vegetables to add to the stock, the soup was actually very good. In addition to the soup and venison, there was freshly made bannock bread with raisins, and an extravagant, very delectable plum pudding. There was not a crumb left when they’d finished dining.

  The conversation at the supper table was lively and included lots of advice about marriage. “Share your bed stones,” Mr. McLennan advised.

  “Share them!” Mrs. McLennan cried. “You’ve no’ shared one warm stone with me in all the years we’ve been married!”

  “I am happy to announce,” Jack said, with a wink at Lizzie, “that Lizzie has been remarkably charitable with her bed stones. She frets whether I am warm enough.” He smiled.

  Lizzie blushed furiously. He was enjoying this!

  “Ach, lass…there are better ways to keep warm,” Mr. Beal said with a laugh.

  “Aye. She’s shown me that, as well,” Jack said, to the delight of everyone at the table. Even Charlotte, seated at the head of the table, seemed to be enjoying Lizzie’s discomfiture.

  “Did you know,” Lizzie said, returning Jack’s smile, “that the earl is a close acquaintance of the Prince of Wales?”

  “I rather gathered as much, given that they are looking high and low for him,” Mrs. Beal said, to which the guests laughed roundly.

  “Have you visited the museums in London, milord?” Charlotte asked.

  “I have,” Jack said, and answered her questions with elegant ease. He said he particularly liked the work of the Masters and believed they compared favorably with the works he’d had opportunity to view in Paris and Rome. Aye, he was a patron of the opera and had a box near the Prince of Wales, who likewise was an avid fan of opera. Jack believed the operas written by Mozart to be most to his liking. No, he’d not dined at Windsor with the king, but he had hunted with him for a fortnight in Balmoral and had dined with him there.

  “Balmoral!” Charlotte said dreamily. “Lizzie, remember the picture book?”

  How could she forget it? Lizzie’s eyes misted a little as she watched her sister. They had a picture book of grand estates, Balmoral among them, and when they were young girls, Charlotte and Lizzie would pore over the pictures together. Lizzie could still remember Charlotte, d
ressed in the gowns of their late mother, dipping and holding her hand aloft as she supposed all ladies of grand estates did. She was determined to visit each and every one of the estates when she was of age.

  Lizzie lowered her gaze and stared at her plate. She’d been long accustomed to Charlotte’s tragedy, but there were times when she was caught completely unawares and forced to rethink it all over again.

  “Balmoral is a lovely old castle,” Jack said. “Cozier than Lambourne but quite a lot more comfortable. Lambourne is hard angles and harsh stone, whereas Balmoral is gentle and refined. And the hunting there is superb.”

  “Tell us more,” Charlotte urged him, and once again, Lizzie was touched by the way Jack indulged her sister, refusing to omit even the smallest detail. And Charlotte glowed with the sort of pleasure Lizzie had not seen for years.

  Newton, on the other hand, seemed to be fighting the urge to sleep.

  When supper was finished, and Mr. Kincade had methodically removed the dishes, the party retired to the drawing room. In a rare act of beneficence, Charlotte happily invited the Kincades and even “the other man” to join them.

  The Kincades were so delighted by the invitation that they brought along Mr. Kincade’s bagpipes and Mrs. Kincade’s specially made whisky. Lizzie was mortified that the elderly couple should appear with a jug, but her guests seemed to think nothing of it—even less so when tots were passed all around and they were warmed by what did seem to be an excellent blend.

  So excellent, in fact, that when Mr. Kincade took up his pipes and began to play “Highland Laddie,” a song known to all Highlanders, Dougal did not need to ask twice for Lizzie to dance, particularly when she was soundly encouraged by her guests. She held up her skirts and kicked up her heels as if she were dancing at her own wedding, laughing when Newton encouraged her to dance faster by shouting, “Suithad, suithad!”

  Lizzie could not recall the last time she’d danced. But the whisky, the music, the evening all made her feel light and free for a few short hours.

  Dougal was a passable dancer, but too enthusiastic given the small confines of the room. He put his hand on Lizzie’s waist and twirled her around and around as they mirrored each other’s steps. When Dougal accidentally danced himself into a chair, he stumbled and let go of Lizzie. She was more sure footed than he, and with a laugh, she twirled around—right into Jack’s chest.

  He caught her with an arm around her waist. His eyes locked on hers, and for a fleeting moment she saw something there that sent an alarmingly sensual shiver through her as the ladies gleefully applauded. “Well done, milord!” Mrs. Beal cried.

  He smoothly let her go. “Mind your step,” he said. “And my foot,” he added with a hint of a smile.

  With a laugh, Lizzie ceased her dance and tried to catch her breath.

  Mr. Kincade stopped blowing his pipes.

  “The room is too small, really, for such lively dancing, aye?” Lizzie said breathlessly, her eyes still on Jack.

  “Aye!” Dougal agreed as he collapsed into a chair to catch his breath.

  Jack said idly, “’Tis a pity there is no’ a ball we might attend. It would be an honor to lead the ladies round the dance floor so that they might be admired by many.”

  Dougal laughed, as if Jack had intended that as a jest.

  “You do enjoy a ball now and again, aye?” Jack asked, looking around at the lot of them.

  “A ball,” Charlotte said, as if that amused her.

  “We have our country dances once or twice a year,” Mrs. McLennan said, to which they all nodded enthusiastically.

  “No’ a ball?” Jack said, and looked at Lizzie. “Then I suppose you have no’ had the pleasure of dancing a waltz.”

  All eyes turned eagerly toward Jack. “A waltz!” Charlotte cried. “Tell us, milord!”

  “It is more sedate than a highland dance, but perhaps better suited for this room,” Jack said. “It is relatively new. It has no’ been danced publicly to my knowledge, but it has become quite the thing in private salons.”

  “Oh, you must show us, milord!” Charlotte cried.

  “Are you certain?” Jack asked, looking at Lizzie. “Some consider it to be a dance of subtle seduction.”

  Everyone seemed to draw the same startled breath. Lizzie’s heart leapt in her chest, and she looked anxiously about the room.

  “It is a dance done face-to-face,” Jack calmly continued.

  “You must demonstrate!” Charlotte cried.

  “You must!” Mrs. Beal exclaimed.

  Lizzie saw the glimmer in Jack’s eyes, the hint of lust, the challenge of seduction.

  “I should happily demonstrate if Miss Lizzie is a willing partner,” he said, openly challenging her now.

  “I—”

  Jack’s gaze was so penetrating, so daring, so inviting, that Lizzie was powerless to stop herself. In a moment of true abandon, she stepped forward and curtsied. Jack quickly put out his hand for hers, as if he feared she might change her mind, and helped her up. He turned his hand slightly under hers so that their palms touched, and closed his fingers over hers. “Put your hand on my shoulder,” he instructed her.

  Lizzie looked at his shoulder, broad as the length of her hand, covered in black superfine wool. A ghost of a smile graced his lips; he put his hand on her rib cage, eliciting a soft gasp of surprise from her, then moved it around to her back and pressed against her, pulling her in closer. “Your hand,” he reminded her.

  Lizzie took a tiny step closer, but dared not go further than that, and put her hand on his shoulder.

  “It is very simple, really,” he said, and moved smoothly to his left, guiding Lizzie along with him, counting the steps. “One two three, one two three,” he repeated as he slowly moved her back and forth, until she had learned the step.

  Lizzie glanced anxiously around at the others, who were watching her intently. “Is that all there is to it, then?” she scoffed. “It’s hardly a dance at all!”

  The ghost of his smile spread into a confident one. Without taking his gaze from hers, Jack said, “Any song played in three-quarter time will suffice, Mr. Kincade.”

  The old man picked up his pipes, played around with them a moment, then began to play a song Lizzie had never heard before. The tune startled her—she’d heard Mr. Kincade play many times in her life, but this was a hauntingly lyrical song that reminded her of the winds that often swept through Glenalmond.

  Jack began to move, his steps fluid. With his hand on her back, he pressed Lizzie forward, and, whether by desire or the force of the music, she could not resist him. She was suddenly only inches from him as he guided her with pressure on her back to the left, then to the right. They were so close that she could feel the power in his body, the grace of his lead. He held her hand out from their bodies, kept his other hand high on her back, and moved her effortlessly about the room.

  Lizzie could hear Charlotte’s tittering, the ladies’ ahs of approval, yet she could not take her eyes from Jack’s. They looked almost silver in the low light of the room, almost liquid. She could feel every inch of his hand on her back, every finger surrounding hers.

  Mr. Kincade seemed to pick up the tempo of that mournful Scottish song, and Jack twirled her about, putting his leg against her skirts, pressing against her legs, spinning her around so quickly that she felt almost as if she were flying. Lizzie understood fully why this was considered a dance of subtle seduction, for as they twirled about that small drawing room in a manor high in the Highlands, she could believe she was in a grand ballroom, could believe she was the object of a man’s desire, because Jack’s expression said all of that and more.

  His gaze bore into hers, burning with the same heat she felt, the burn of it radiating through her, taking her breath away. For a few moments the walls fell away, the people disappeared, and stars spun over her head. There were no words, nothing but his warm body, his dark silver gaze, and a haunting melody that held them together and allowed them to move as one, swirling
and gliding with the crescendos and downbeats of the music.

  And just like that, it was over. Mr. Kincade came to the end of his hastily retimed song and lowered his pipes. Jack’s hand drifted from Lizzie’s back and he released her hand. But his eyes were still on hers, still boring into her, still holding her close as he stepped back and bowed low.

  Lizzie faltered, sinking awkwardly into a curtsy.

  “Oh my.” Mrs. Beal sighed longingly. “How lovely that is.”

  Lovely was too paltry a word to describe what had just happened, Lizzie thought, and the look on Jack’s face suggested he knew it as well. He absently traced a finger along his lower lip before turning away from her to the group. “There you have it,” he said. “The illicit waltz.”

  “You must perform this dance at Candlemas!” Mrs. McLennan cried.

  “Oh, I donna think—”

  “What more have you for us, milord?” Charlotte asked, her face beaming with delight, cutting off Lizzie’s protest.

  “I’m really no’ much for dancing, but the Princess of Wales enjoys it very much. When a guest in her house, one is practically required to dance. I distinctly remember a time when there were but eight of us dining at Montagu House. The princess had brought in her favorite pair of musicians and we proceeded to dance a quadrille, but one quadrille quite different from what you might expect. When called upon to repeat a pattern of steps, one was required to remove an article of clothing.”

  Mrs. McLennan gasped with horror, but Charlotte and Mrs. Beal were clearly enthralled with the untoward royal gossip—almost as enthralled as Dougal. Only Newton scowled disapprovingly.

  Lizzie stepped into the shadows of the room where she might find her breath while he titillated them with his tale. There was, she realized, a breath of fresh air blowing through Thorntree, a diversion that could rival no other. Jack was the faery Lizzie had always wished would sweep in and change her and Charlotte’s lives.

  She’d just never imagined it in precisely this way.