by Carmen Caine
At the thud of approaching hooves, they looked up as men emerged from the trees. Another loud crash sounded inside the ice house.
“Damnation,” Alistair cursed. More smoke billowed from the icehouse door. More brandy kegs must have caught fire.
Alistair released Oliver and rose. “There’s little worth saving, lads,” he informed the men.
After completion of the new icehouse the previous year, he’d used the old one to store empty brandy kegs and wine barrels. There was nothing left of them now. And since the icehouse was made of stone, once the fire died, there would be no lasting harm. He didn’t believe the fire could jump from within the cavern, but Alistair instructed his men to stand guard until they were certain the fire had died. He then returned his attention to Oliver, who now stood alongside Eliza. The lad pulled a felt green hat with a broken red feather from inside his shirt.
“I came here to fetch you this, sir.” He extended the hat toward him. “You said you wanted the man.”
Alistair accepted the hat. “You’ve seen this man before?”
Oliver nodded earnestly. “He comes here often.”
Alistair turned the hat over in his hands. Strange. “Do you know his name? Where he’s from?”
The boy shook his head.
“How did the fire start?” Alistair probed.
Oliver dropped his gaze. So, this question made him uncomfortable.
“You were inside the icehouse, I take it?”
Oliver nodded and Alistair’s chest tightened. If the boy had been trapped inside… He shook off the thought. You could have been harmed,” Alistair said in a stern voice. “You are to stay in the castle proper and not wander about the estate. If you have a matter of concern, you’ll speak with me first before taking matters into your own hands. Do you understand?”
Oliver nodded.
“Come, let’s return to the castle,” Alistair said.
Eliza looked pale, and he read the remnants of fear in her eyes. A sudden gust of wind tugged at her loose, errant curls, swirling them about her face. He wanted to hold her close, tell her all would be well, but he could do nothing now but wait.
Her eyes dropped to his arm. “You’re injured. You need treatment, my lord.”
He hardly noticed the pain. He enjoyed the softness in her eyes so much more. “After a bit of ointment, all will be well,” he said.
After retrieving his horse, they set off for Culzean again, a somewhat bedraggled party covered in grime and walking in silence. Alistair carried the hat. Who was the man, and what was he doing in the ice house? Alistair glance at Oliver. How had the boy known the hat was there to begin with?
The pain of Alistair’s burn grew with each step, but for a time, he distracted himself tolerably well with Eliza’s slender, winsome form and the memory of her kiss. Her lips had tasted so sweet, so pure. He could only think of devouring them again—and more besides.
They reached the castle, and were greeted by Foster and a mix of worried servants and guests. A doctor was summoned. Alistair found himself swept up the stairs. On the second floor, he came face-to-face with Lady Kennedy.
She’d heard news of the fire. “A fire? In the icehouse? How is that possible?” Her gaze fell to the green hat he still clutched and she paled.
Alistair’s thoughts snapped to attention. The woman had clearly seen the hat before. He folded it over in his hands.
She noticeably flinched, then, head held high, she sailed down the corridor toward her apartments.
He arched a brow. Perhaps, he merely had to find the owner of the hat to discover how Lady Kennedy planned to wrest Culzean from his grip.
“Your arm, my lord,” Eliza’s soft voice sounded by his side.
Alistair looked down to see her still standing there, holding Oliver’s hand. A frown marred her brow.
He smiled gently. Those lips. How he wanted to kiss them. “I’ll tend to it now, lass,” he promised. As an afterthought, he added, “Do not forget, Miss Plowman, I fully expect you to join me at the dinner table this evening.”
Her eyes widened and she opened her mouth to protest.
But he cut her off with the whispered words, “If you’re not there, I’ll fetch you down myself.”
* * *
The dinner hour found Alistair with his arm treated and properly bandaged. With the icehouse fire doused and with no lasting harm done, he’d settled in his study with Nicholas to ponder the recent events.
“Odd.” Nicholas tapped his long finger on his glass of whisky. “How could the lad set such a blaze?”
“He clearly didn’t set the blaze.” Alistair nodded at the hat. “The hat’s owner must have.” Again, Lady Kennedy’s reaction played in his mind. What was her relationship with the man? He shook his head, rubbing his bottom lip in thought.
“I’ll ride out to Maidens in the morning. Maybe folk there have seen the hat and can shed some light on the matter,” Nicholas offered. “I’ll see what this Thomas has to say about his newfound wealth, as well. No doubt, if I buy him a drink, he’ll sing like a songbird.”
“No doubt, indeed,” Alistair agreed.
The dinner gong sounded.
Alistair thought of Eliza and smiled. He would wager she had found some excuse to avoid attending dinner—not that he’d let her.
“You’re in love with her.” Nicholas’ soft voice intruded on his thoughts. “I can always tell when you’re thinking of her. Your smile betrays you.”
Alistair shrugged. Why deny it?
As the mournful strains of the pipes filled the air, they left the study and went to the dining room, each lost in their own thoughts. Alistair entered first, taking in the fine dinner table set with a silver candelabra, an epergne resplendent with artificial flowers, and rare bottles of Rhenish wine, but no Eliza.
“I fear your fair bird has flown,” Nicholas murmured at his elbow.
Catching sight of his stepmother entering the room, Alistair snorted, “No doubt, she’s been chased off by the vulture.”
Nicholas grinned.
As if sensing herself the subject of their conversation, Lady Kennedy called across the room, “Come, Alistair. Let dinner begin.”
Alistair paused. Sitting through course after course of casseroles, roasts, truffles, puddings, and Italian creams was bad enough. Add the ladies embellishing the same scandals over and over, and the thought of dinner was downright unbearable.
He strode toward the door and caught sight of Captain Edwards standing in a corner with a flower in his button hole and a container of snuff on his palm. Alistair shook his head. He would have to have a talk with Nicholas about his taste in friends.
Seeing the man only made Alistair hasten toward the exit.
“Alistair!” Lady Kennedy called. “Pray tell, where are you going?”
He paused and, unable to resist, answered, “I grow weary of hearing the same scandals, Lady Kennedy. I choose to create new ones.”
Nicholas burst into hearty laughter amidst gasps of shock—and Alistair strode out the door, headed to the grand staircase.
He took the steps two at a time. On the top floor, he found the object of his attention strolling the candle-lit corridor, her attention buried in the pages of a book while she balanced a tray on her hip.
He had her now. Alistair crept up behind her. Once within reach, he plucked the tray from her grasp. She whirled as he set it on a nearby marble-topped table.
Sir!” she cried.
He caught her about the waist and whirled her around, then pushed her back against the wall.
“My lord.” Her eyes widened with surprise as she hugged the book close to her breast.
Alistair braced his hands against the wall on each side of her head and smiled down at her. “Alistair,” he corrected. “Were you not to join me for dinner?”
Her lashes fluttered and she tilted her head towards the tray. “Oliver needed a milk posset—”
“Excuses.” He inhaled deep of the heady perfume of her
hair and leaned closer for a kiss.
She ducked under his arm and retreated two paces.
He pushed from the wall and arched a brow.
She lifted her chin.
He grinned. No matter. He had a few tricks of his own. He knew the value of patience.
“Surely, you should attend your guests,” she said. The devilish gleam he was coming to love returned to her lively hazel eyes. “You will disappoint the ladies. They’ll miss out on your carving of the beef, my lord.”
“Alistair,” he corrected. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned a shoulder against the wall. He frowned. “The carving of the beef? Is the carving of meat a manly thing admired by women?”
“To be sure.” She gave a solemn nod completely at odds with the teasing spark in her eyes. “Does it not prove you’ve been trained in good fashion? A graceful performance is presumed to mark a person—or so it says here in The Fine Art of Deportment which ensures it must be true.” She lifted the book she grasped.
With a dry chuckle, Alistair plucked it from her hand. He glanced at the title, then tossed the thing on the table next to the tray. “I see, Miss Plowman. You would rather read about such things than attend a dinner where I might impress you with a wondrous demonstration?”
She laughed, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “I fear I would not be properly impressed, my lord. At least, not until I’ve finished reading the book to learn just what exactly should impress me. I confess, until a moment ago, I never thought the carving of meat to be an art.”
He studied her. “Tell me, what does impress you?”
“I fear I’m not a proper enough lady to know—”
Quick as a flash, he yanked her into his arms. She squeaked. There was no book between them now. Her soft breasts pressed against his chest. Her eyes were large, wide, and soft.
“You swear like a sailor,” he murmured. How long would he be able to resist her? His body needed her touch. “And you’re unimpressed with manly knife skills at the dinner table, yet…” He allowed his voice to trail away as the alluring depths of her hazel eyes drew him in. “If you keep looking at me like that, Eliza, I’m going to kiss you,” he warned in a hoarse whisper. “Propriety be damned.”
This time, she didn’t slip away. He covered her mouth with his. She melted beneath him as his tongue demanded immediate entry. She opened at once. He delved inside her hot, sweet mouth and sparred with her tongue.
He pressed her against the wall as their tongues danced, entwined, and tasted one another. She felt so delicate in his arms. Her shapely body flooding his with an intoxicating warmth as she responded to his every touch, each nip of his teeth. Twirling one of her errant curls around his finger, he began to feather a slow line of kisses along her jaw and nibbled the sensitive skin beneath her earlobe. She shuddered and a soft gasp parted her lips.
“There she is,” he breathed in her ear.
“She?” Eliza panted.
He drew back enough to see her face “The minx I’ve glimpsed here and there.” Caressing the gentle curve of her jaw, he dropped another kiss on her mouth and grazed her bottom lip with his teeth before adding, “Do let her out to play more often, sweetheart.”
“Perhaps she should be tamed,” she suggested in velvet tones.
He snorted and raked his gaze down her body. “Tamed? Never. Never with me. I say let her run loose and as free as the wind. She’s welcome to rap my knuckles with a spoon and drink the rose water each day of the week.”
A glimmer of humor arced through her eyes and her long lashes fluttered.
He growled. He needed more of her. Nothing else mattered. He drew two fingertips lightly over her lips. “You’re so bonny, lass,” he said before he reclaimed her mouth in a hot, urgent kiss. He threaded his fingers into her hair, and tugged out the pins to free the curly tresses while crushing her closer. She leaned into him. He deepened the kiss. Hot need demanded he possess her. He slid his hands lower down her spine.
Eliza tore free. “Damnation.” She bit her bottom lip in a gesture that drove him mad. “I have no will when it comes to you.”
“How can I object to that?” He caught her bottom lip between his teeth and nibbled. She stilled, but he glimpsed the rise and fall of her breasts. His blood heated. He forced himself to break away. “I am not a dishonorable man, though you tempt me to the very hair’s breadth of it, I must confess.” Her gaze locked with his. “I am not my brother, Eliza. I will enjoy your lips, aye, but my intentions are honorable.”
Her eyes widened in shock. “Impossible.”
That made him chuckle. “Oh? You find it easier to accept me as your lover?”
She blushed. “Heavens, but…no…I…it…” Taking a deep breath, she lifted her chin and went back to simply, “Impossible.”
“Tell me, truthfully, Eliza. Would you hesitate to accept me were I a stable hand, a sailor, or a cartwright?”
“If only you were.” She sighed. “For then I could not refuse you.”
Alistair threw back his head and laughed. She frowned and he couldn’t resist nuzzling her ear again. “Then it is done, lass. For I have been all three, a stable hand, a sailor, and a cartwright. You cannot refuse me now, aye?”
She stared. Then she shook her head and laughed. Once again, he was lost. Crushing her against him like a man possessed, he lost himself in the heat of her kiss. He groaned against her mouth, and when she wrapped her arms around his neck and her tongue began an exploration of her own, he nearly came undone.
Aching with need, he pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses to her collarbone, but it was a mistake, the passion it unleashed almost carried him too far. He tore himself from her and rested his forehead against hers.
He drew a long, ragged breath. “You have an uncommon way of heating my blood, lass.”
She looked up, her eyes glittering in the candlelight.
“Go, Eliza,” he warned. He was moments away from sweeping her into his arms and carrying her to his bed. “Or else I’ll make myself a liar.”
She hesitated and hope surged that she might insist he take her to his bed. Then she slipped out of his arms. He watched her walk at a sedate pace until she rounded the corner up ahead.
Chapter Twelve
A Trap
Eliza neared the nursery. She covered her cheeks with her hands. How could she have acted with such abandon? Gooseflesh raced across her arms with the memory of his warm breath on her skin.
Make himself a liar? If only he would.
The hungry look in his green eyes had underscored the meaning of those words. She’d have let him take her to bed, right willingly. Eliza paused before the nursery door and took a deep breath to compose herself. Whatever beast she’d unleashed within her heart certainly wasn’t going to allow itself to become caged again—for better or worse.
When her breathing slowed, she opened the nursery door and entered.
Meg, sitting in front of the fire mending Charlotte’s petticoat, looked up in alarm. “Losh, what happened?” she asked, but then relaxed and chuckled. “Ah, I see. You’ve been with his lordship, aye?”
Eliza blinked. “What do you mean?”
“Your lips.” She chortled. “They call those kiss-swollen lips. Hie yourself to the mirror and have a wee look.
She didn’t go to the mirror. She didn’t dare. Covering her cheeks with her palms, she moaned, “I don’t think I can do this, Meg.”
“Think?” Meg rose and stretched. “It’s simple enough, lass. All you have to do is answer one wee question.”
Eliza drew a long breath. “What question is that?”
With a twinkle in her eye, the redheaded maid said in a conspiratorial whisper, “It’s ‘do you want to’?”
Did she want to? Damnation, that’s all she wanted to do.
Heat crept up her cheeks.
Meg grinned, and Eliza knew her cheeks were flaming.
* * *
Eliza yawned and indulged in a long, luxurious stretch in the sun tha
t streamed through the window. She hadn’t felt so relaxed in months. Releasing a long sigh of pleasure, she sat up and glanced out the window, into a bright, sunny day.
It took a moment to note the angle of the sun, far higher than usual. Sacre-bleu! It was midday. She bolted out of bed, threw on her dress, then fled into the nursery, still gathering her wayward curls into a knot.
Meg and the children, seated at the table, glanced up at her in surprise.
“I fear I have overslept,” she confessed.
“Och, no worries, lass.” Meg’s freckled face melted into laughter as she waved the children back to their studies. “His lordship came earlier, but when I told him you still slept, he ordered you not be disturbed.” Drawing herself up to her full height and planting her hands on her wide hips, she spoke in a low voice that imitated his lordship, “Let the lass sleep as long as she pleases, Meg. I’ll come for her later.”
Eliza groaned.
A sly look crossed Meg’s face and stepping close, she playfully dug her elbow into Eliza’s ribs. “Methinks I should start calling you ‘her ladyship’, aye?”
“Heavens, no,” she quickly shushed the jolly maid.
Meg merely laughed and hurried to the hearth. She scooped up a letter from the mantle and came back to Eliza. “Has his lordship’s seal.” She dropped it into Eliza’s hand with a knowing wink before returning to her chair.
Eliza stared at the letter. What could Alistair possibly have to say to her in a letter? She escaped to her room, broke the red wax seal, and read:
Come to the stables. At once.
Alistair
The letter’s curt, cold wording sounded unlike the man, but perhaps he’d been in a hurry…or worse, perhaps something was wrong. It didn’t matter. Her heart began to race at the thought of seeing him again. Buttoning herself into a newly-made, light blue pelisse, she informed Meg and the children she would return as soon as she could and hurried from the nursery.
Minutes later, Eliza slipped from the castle. Wind whipped her skirts as she crossed the lawn, heading for the clock tower and the stables beyond, trying her best to control her skipping heart. He wanted to see her. Concern flooded her. Should she brace herself against disappointment? Perhaps, he had called her to the stables to apologize for the kiss?