Highland Heat

by Jennifer Haymore

  “Not yet. And keep me apprised of the situation with Claire and the Scot. I trust you—more than I trust him—to keep her safe.”

  “I won’t let anything happen to her,” Grace vowed.

  Her father cleared his throat. “Yes, well.” He leaned forward and began sifting through the documents on his desk. “I would like to have a dinner party on the twentieth of July.” He handed her a sheet of paper with a dozen or so names scrawled upon it in his heavy hand. “Here is the list of invitees. I’ll count on you to arrange everything. Cook served a fine pineapple ice last summer—please ensure she has the proper ingredients to serve it that evening.”

  “Yes, Papa.”

  Her father continued, “The Duke of Dunsberg has been pestering me to have a house party at Norsey House this year, and I have conceded. I should like it to start after the twelfth of August, so that one of our entertainments may be grouse hunting. Here’s a list of the people we shall invite.” He handed her another sheet of stationery. “I’ll leave the other entertainments and details in your capable hands.”

  She nodded and took the second sheet of names from him.

  The earl looked up at her, a rare softness in his expression. “Your presence was missed this past week. I can always depend on you to manage the household smoothly and efficiently. I’m glad to have you home, daughter.”

  And thus, Lady Grace Carrington was thrust back into her life.

  —

  Duncan sat back in the upholstered chair, cradling his whiskey in his palms. It had been a hell of a day, and he’d wanted to remain clearheaded this evening while the men had talked.

  Earlier today, a man named Adams had offered the seven men from the 92nd a new life free from the army forever. The soldiers had returned to the townhouse and spent the evening in this drawing room, discussing, arguing, deciding their futures.

  But now it was one o’clock in the morning, and it was finally over. The decision had been made, and Duncan could get as drunk as he liked.

  Captain McLeod—or just McLeod now, Duncan supposed—sat across from him, sprawled out on a velvet-covered settee. The rest of the men had gone to bed, all of them exhausted after the day’s events.

  Duncan swallowed the last of the whiskey. As he stood to refill his glass, McLeod flung his arm toward him, holding out his own glass. “Get me another, will ye, Mackenzie?”

  “Aye, sir.”

  McLeod snorted. “Did ye no’ hear? I’m no’ a sir to you anymore.”

  “ ’Course you are, sir.”

  With a belabored sigh, McLeod sat up. “I’m no’ your captain.”

  He was right. Tomorrow, they’d be discharged from the army. Then they’d pledge their loyalty to the monarchy and officially form the Highland Knights. From now on, their sole duty would be to work at home in the interests and protection of the Crown.

  Duncan unstoppered the whiskey bottle and began to pour. “Aye, but you’re still my better. I havena forgotten that.”

  He turned back to McLeod, a full glass in each hand, to find the man glowering at him. “You’re saying that because my da is the Earl of Sutton and I am his heir?”

  “Aye, of course.” Duncan kept his voice mild, not understanding why McLeod seemed so perturbed about this.

  “Bloody hell,” McLeod spat. “Ye’ll be needin’ to forget that fact, Mackenzie.”

  “Why?” Duncan handed him his glass.

  “I hate being affiliated with that man and that title. I wish I could scrub it off my skin like the layer of dirt it is.”

  Duncan sank back into his chair, eyeing McLeod warily.

  McLeod huffed out a breath, then he seemed to deflate a bit. “Listen, now that we’re no longer in the army, we’re equals. That’s all there is to it. The only loyalties I have are to the monarchy, my sister, and my brothers.”

  Duncan was confused, and it must have shown on his face, because McLeod continued, “My sister is younger than me and, through no fault of her own, has led a difficult life. She and I”—his face darkened as surely as a thundercloud—“we dinna feel much love toward our father.” McLeod took a deep swallow of whiskey.

  Duncan nodded. “And your brothers?”

  McLeod grinned. “Aye—that’ll be you, Mackenzie. And Fraser, Ross, Innes, Stirling, and the major. All of ye. We are the brotherhood of the Highland Knights. And we will be part of that brotherhood from now till we meet our ends. That’s the commitment we made this night.”

  Duncan nodded slowly. “Aye,” he agreed, realizing that while his six sisters were still part of his family, he now had six brothers as well.

  “So that’s why you’ll no’ be callin’ me sir,” McLeod said. “We’re equals, Mackenzie. I dinna want you to forget it.”

  Duncan closed his eyes and tilted his head on the chair back until he was gazing at the ceiling. It wasn’t so easy to just eschew a man’s position and title and consider him an equal. Duncan would need to adjust his thinking.

  “Anyhow, you ken you’re no longer just a sheep farmer, aye?” McLeod said.

  Aye, it was true.

  “You’ll be welcomed in ballrooms of the royals as much as you’ll be skulking in the alleys in this line of work.”

  Duncan lowered his chin, raising a skeptical brow. “Do ye think so?”

  “Oh, aye. ’Tis the rich and powerful who can be the most dangerous to the monarchy. And our responsibility is to find them and root them out.”

  Duncan swallowed the rest of his whiskey. Images of the Highland moors flickered across his mind, followed by images of marching with his fellow soldiers.

  He was neither a farmer nor a soldier now.

  He was a Highland Knight.

  Chapter 8

  Duncan might have been a little too enthusiastic when Lady Campbell had asked if he’d like to accompany her on her visit to the Earl of Norsey’s house. But he didn’t care. He missed Grace, damn it. He couldn’t stop thinking about her soft, ivory skin, her sweet voice, those intelligent blue eyes. Her lips on his, so innocent and passionate at the same time.

  Even if he only greeted her and saw her at a distance. It wouldn’t be enough, but it might take the sharp edge off his craving for her. Maybe.

  The drive to Mayfair was quick, as Lady Campbell kept him engaged in lively conversation the entire way. She was a pleasant lady, pretty and energetic. It was easy to see why Major Campbell had been so smitten with her.

  When they arrived at the Earl of Norsey’s house, Duncan grew tense. His heart thumped in his chest in a mixture of nerves and excitement. He truly was not looking forward to meeting the earl. He’d have to look the man in the face and try not to think about how he’d ravished his daughter’s mouth. How, just two days ago, he’d touched her intimately.

  Lady Campbell read his mood perfectly, and she patted his knee. “Don’t worry. I’m going to tell Papa that Rob couldn’t come so he sent you in his stead. Everything will be fine.”

  He took a deep breath and nodded.

  The house was more extravagant even than the townhouse he was currently inhabiting. It was a grand estate fit for an earl—or perhaps the Regent himself—set back from the street with a curving gravel driveway.

  He stood off to the side, straight and at attention as the door opened to reveal a man—a butler?—who smiled at Lady Campbell, his eyes lighting upon seeing her.

  “Hugh, it is so good to see you!” Lady Campbell exclaimed.

  The man inclined his head, his brown eyes twinkling. “And you, milady. I’m glad your travels were safe.”

  “They were,” she said, “for me, at least.”

  “I trust Sir Robert is well.”

  “Yes, he’s almost completely recovered from his head wound. Thank you for asking.”

  Hugh’s gaze moved to Duncan.

  “This is Mr. Duncan Mackenzie, lately of the 92nd Regiment of Gordon Highlanders.”

  “Welcome, Mr. Mackenzie.”

  “Thank you,” Duncan said stiffly, bowing his he
ad.

  “Lady Grace and Lord Norsey await you in the drawing room.” The butler led them inside, then opened the door to a lavish room that seemed draped ceiling to floor in burgundy silk. Duncan’s pulse surged until he could feel it in his throat.

  Lady Campbell stepped inside while Duncan hesitated at the door. He saw Grace immediately. Light glanced off the tendrils of blond hair escaping from the knot at her nape as she rose and hurried to her sister, enveloping Claire in a warm embrace.

  And then she saw him. Their eyes caught, and Duncan’s mouth went dry.

  Grace’s hands dropped from her sister as she stared at him over the smaller woman’s shoulder, her mouth falling open.

  “Duncan?” she whispered.

  Grace.

  A part of him registered Lady Campbell greeting and speaking to the earl, but he couldn’t peel his gaze away from Grace. The slashes of pink across her cheeks. The lush lips his mouth watered for. The bonny eyes, bright with surprise and pleasure.

  But then Duncan felt another set of blue eyes burning into him, and he finally was able to look away from Grace to the earl. The man was a stern, older, and far more masculine rendition of his daughters. His lips and eyes were both thin with suspicion, his brow furrowed as he stared at Duncan.

  “Papa, may I present Duncan Mackenzie,” Lady Campbell said. “He was a soldier in Rob’s regiment. Mr. Mackenzie, this is my father, the Earl of Norsey.”

  “Milord.” Duncan bowed.

  The earl gave a curt nod, and Duncan knew right then and there that the man disliked him.

  “I’ve called for tea,” Grace murmured, her eyes darting between Duncan and the earl. “Shall we sit down?”

  Lady Campbell agreed, and they all sat, the sisters on the silk-upholstered sofa and the earl on a leather armchair. Duncan took the armchair across from the earl.

  The tea arrived, and they all sat awkwardly as Grace poured. The earl’s gaze passed shrewdly from Duncan to the two ladies, and discomfort crawled across Duncan’s skin as he took the delicate teacup and saucer from Grace. As the porcelain rattled, Duncan wondered if this was what the future would hold. Awkward cups of tea in fancy drawing rooms while being scrutinized by thin-lipped, pompous aristocrats. He’d almost prefer to be battling the French in some remote village on the Continent.

  Almost.

  What would his sisters say if they saw him now? They’d laugh themselves silly.

  The thought brought a small smile to Duncan’s lips, which only drew the earl’s sharpening gaze.

  “So.” The earl broke the silence and spoke directly to Duncan. “I noticed my daughter said you were a soldier in my son-in-law’s regiment. Were you discharged from the army, then?” His gaze focused on the sling. “Was it due to your injury? Is it that serious?”

  “Aye, I was discharged,” Duncan said. “But it had naught to do with my arm.”

  “They have all been discharged,” Lady Campbell said. “All seven of them were released from their commitments to the army yesterday.”

  “Oh?”

  Duncan and Lady Campbell exchanged a glance. Lady Campbell drew in a deep breath. “My husband and his men now work as part of a group at the Home Office in the service of the office’s interests.”

  “I see,” the earl said slowly, his expression shrewd. He knew more than he was letting on, Duncan realized.

  Duncan glanced at Grace and found her looking at him, the surprise flaring in her eyes once again. He wondered what she was thinking, how much she understood.

  The group lapsed into another long silence, punctuated now and then by pleasantries and brief comments on the weather. No topic seemed to hold for long, and the air in the room grew ever tenser. Duncan felt the strange desire to pull on his neck cloth so he’d be able to drag in more air.

  Finally, the earl rose. “I must go. It is good to see you well, daughter.”

  “And you, Papa,” Lady Campbell murmured.

  “Give my regards to your husband.” The earl didn’t spare a glance at Duncan before leaving the room.

  When the door closed behind him, it seemed he’d sucked all the stale air out with him, and Duncan took his first deep breath in what felt like hours.

  Lady Campbell gave him an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry about our father. He’s not the friendliest man in the best of circumstances. Even men who’ve been members of the same club with him for a score of years tend to label him cold and uncompromising.”

  “He’s not, though,” Grace added. “He’s…Well, he can be a bit difficult, I admit. But that hard exterior is simply a shell. Inside he’s soft as cake, truly. Claire and I have spent our lives in his house, and we just now feel we might finally understand him.”

  “It only took twenty-two years,” Lady Campbell said with a small laugh. “Twenty-three, in Grace’s case.”

  Duncan gazed into his teacup, then looked up at Grace. He’d been wrong coming to see her. It hadn’t taken the edge off his need. Instead, it had drilled in the impossibility of anything developing between them. “Maybe this wasna a good idea,” he said quietly. “I shouldna come.”

  Grace’s eyes widened. “Of course you should have! Do you realize how much I’ve—”

  She broke off midsentence. Lady Campbell rose to her feet, and Duncan followed suit.

  “Will you be all right alone for a while?” the lady asked Duncan, smiling apologetically. “I’ve so much I want to take back to the house. I should get started packing.” She gestured at her sister. “I’m sure Grace wouldn’t mind keeping you company.”

  Duncan didn’t miss the look the sisters exchanged before Lady Campbell exited the room. After the door closed behind her, he heard the sound of a key being inserted, then a lock turning.

  He glanced at Grace with raised brows. “Is she lockin’ us in?” he asked in utter bewilderment.

  A flush colored Grace’s cheeks, and she looked down at her hands. “It seems so.” Slowly, her head rose until she was smiling up at him.

  He stared at her. She was thankful for her sister’s sudden departure. Thankful for being locked in this room with him. She wanted to be alone with him.

  And they were. Finally alone.

  Chapter 9

  It was all Grace could do not to lunge at him. So much for her lofty plans of letting all thoughts of Duncan Mackenzie fall to the wayside as soon as she stepped onto English soil. It had been hopeless from the beginning.

  She clutched her hands in her lap and planted her slippered feet on the floor and smiled at him instead.

  He lowered himself back into his chair and gazed at her for a long moment. “I’ve missed ye so much, Grace,” he said in a low voice.

  Her heart melted. “I’ve missed you too.”

  They were drawn to each other. They genuinely liked each other. And they were attracted physically to each other. Even now, Grace’s heart raced, and heat flushed through her body. He appeared equally affected, his hands clutching the armrests and his breaths making his broad chest rise and fall heavily.

  He glanced at the door. “Will they return soon?”

  She shook her head no. Her father would be leaving for his club shortly, if he hadn’t already gone. And Claire would give them some time.

  Duncan and Grace rose and stepped toward each other at the same time. And when they came together she threw her arms around him. Their lips clashed in an explosion of heat, and she yanked him closer just as he wrapped his good arm around her and drew her flush against his body.

  She moaned into his mouth. God, her body needed this. Needed his strength and heat and warmth. She’d known him for only a week, but some part of her had already grown addicted to him.

  He drew back and cupped her cheek in his big, calloused palm, making her look up at him. He was breathing heavily, and the expression on his face was one of such awe, it made her chest constrict.

  “Why?” he whispered.

  She blinked at him, confused.

  “You’re a fine lady. Beautifu
l, intelligent, good. Any man would be yours with a wee crook of your finger in his direction. Why me?”

  She huffed out a laugh. “I could say the same. Why me? You’re a strong warrior, a powerful, capable, virile man. You could have any woman you wanted.”

  He touched his forehead to hers. “I don’t want any woman. I want you.”

  “And I want you.”

  With that declaration, a rush of misery so powerful rocked through her that she almost sank to her knees—would have, if Duncan hadn’t been holding her up.

  What were they going to do?

  Nothing, that’s what. There was nothing that could be done.

  “Don’t think about it,” he warned softly.

  “I miss you already, and you’re not even gone.” She wanted to wail in frustration.

  “Dinna do that.” A touch of sternness entered his voice. “I’m here now. That’s what matters.”

  “But you won’t be soon.” Her eyes stung at the thought. Her arrangements and letters and invitations and dinner plans—all of it seemed so insignificant when her body was pressed up against this man.

  “Are you going to be staying in London?” she asked hopefully. Maybe they could see each other again…

  “Aye,” he said. “For the time being, at least. We’ve much to learn.”

  She looked into his eyes, searching. “What kind of work will you be doing for the Home Office?”

  He hesitated, but only for the briefest of moments. “We will be working in the service of the Crown. To protect it from those who might attempt to undermine it.”

  “Like traitors and rebels? Anti-monarchists?”

  “Aye. All of those.”

  She shuddered. “That sounds like dangerous work.”

  “It will be,” he admitted, “but no more dangerous than being in the army.”

  “Still…I will worry for you. For your safety.”

  He smiled and brushed a gentle kiss over her lips. “The thought of you thinking of me when I’m on a mission will steady me. Make me stronger.”

  “It will?”

  “Aye.”

  Her gaze moved to his injury. “Tell me you’ve been caring for it.”