by Nora Roberts
Lord Cameron winked at his uncle, then turned to their guest. “I’ll need you to start first thing in the morning. Tell me what you’ll need, and I’ll see that young Fergus makes it available.”
“The first thing I’ll need is a workroom, big enough to set up some tables where I can examine the artifacts.”
“A workroom…” He paused a moment, deep in thought. “Since time is of the essence, I’d hoped you could merely walk through each room and tag those items that are most valuable. As I explained to the director of Smythe-VanPell, I must complete the sale before the end of the month. In fact, in order to assure that I have the money in time, I’d prefer that the sale begin within the next few days.”
She took a deep breath, choosing her words carefully. “I must caution you that you’ll receive far less for these items if you sell them quickly, without a chance to have competitors bidding against one another. If you would allow our staff to take a year…”
“It’s out of the question. Can you choose the most valuable items for quick sale?”
She nodded. “I can. I’ve brought along my computer and a digital camera, so I can take photos of the items you wish to sell, and send them to prospective buyers over the Internet. The buyers can respond in the same manner. But in order to authenticate each item, I’ll still need a place where I can do a thorough examination. I suggest someplace where I won’t be in the way. I will need a phone line for my computer’s modem. And plenty of good natural light.”
“How about the old playroom, Rob?”
“I don’t think…”
Seeing that his nephew was about to refuse, the old man added, “It’s big enough to set up several tables. A phone line was added years ago. It has those big windows. And it’s certainly out of the way.”
Lord Cameron started to shake his head, then gave a grudging nod of approval before turning to his guest. “It’s in the west wing, where it would get the benefit of afternoon light.”
“Excellent.” Estelle brightened. “Do you suppose I could see the room after dinner?”
“Of course. I’ll take you there myself.” He looked up as Desmond knocked and entered. “Is dinner ready, Desmond?”
“It is, your lordship.”
“Tell Alfred he may begin serving.” Rob wheeled his uncle’s chair to the table, positioning it on one side, then holding the chair across from it for Estelle.
When they were seated, Alfred Snow entered, followed by Arley, who was pushing a serving cart laden with silver dishes.
They began with a clear broth to which spring vegetables had been added. Estelle felt her mood lighten considerably as she tasted it. Like the wine, the food was proving to be delicious.
Charles glanced at his nephew. “You’re not eating, Rob?”
“Yes. Of course.” Lord Cameron forced his attention to the food and made an effort to look enthusiastic.
Satisfied, the old man glanced at Estelle. “How is it that an American is an expert in Scottish antiquities, my dear?”
She smiled and lifted her wineglass. “It’s all I ever heard from my aunt.” The thought of her Aunt Rose brought a mist to her eyes. “After the death of my parents, she took me in and raised me as her own.”
“It’s what family does, my dear.” Charles sipped his Scotch, watching her over the rim of his glass.
His nephew did the same.
She found the effect disconcerting.
“That’s true. But it was quite a sacrifice on my aunt’s part. She was single, with a challenging career. In retrospect I realize that she was passed up for promotions because of the demands of a child. Her private life suffered as well. She never married.”
“All the more reason why she would have appreciated having you in her life,” Charles said softly. “I’m sure she was very proud of your accomplishments.”
“I hope so. She spoke so lovingly about Scotland that when it came time for me to choose a course of study at the university, I never had any doubt what it would be.”
Charles lifted a brow. “I’m surprised your aunt didn’t accompany you on this trip.”
“It would have been my fondest wish to bring her. She…” Estelle carefully controlled her tone. “She died last year after a long illness.”
“I’m sorry, my dear.” Charles reached across the table and squeezed her hand.
“I have a confession to make.” She managed a shaky smile, grateful for his kindness. “When your nephew’s letter came to the firm seeking our advice, I couldn’t help thinking it had been guided by my aunt’s hand.”
“That’s a lovely thought.” The old man winked. “I’ve always believed in spirits myself.” He turned to his nephew. “With good reason, wouldn’t you say, Rob?”
Lord Cameron seemed relieved when the cook interrupted at that very moment, directing the serving of the main course. With a sigh the old man set about devouring a meal of succulent roast beef and potatoes, with biscuits warm from the oven.
“Alfred,” he said between bites, “as always, you’ve prepared an outstanding meal.”
“Thank you.” Though he didn’t smile, the cook did manage to nod his head before taking his leave.
A short time later he returned with crystal bowls of creamy caramel pudding and a platter of shortbread, as well as a pot of strong, hot tea. With an economy of movement he filled their cups, then nodded once more before exiting the room.
As if by magic, the moment their desserts were finished, Arley slipped silently into the room to retrieve their empty dishes. Estelle found herself wondering if the servants stood at attention just outside the door, counting the minutes between each course. The thought had the corners of her lips quivering with suppressed laughter.
When Desmond entered the dining hall, Charles motioned toward his empty glass. “I’ll have another Scotch, Desmond.”
The butler shook his head. “You know Dr. MacCallum left orders that you were to have no more than one a day, Sir Charles.”
The old man scowled. “The bloody doctor probably has two or three drinks a night. But who’s to tell him otherwise?” He waved a hand to his nephew. “I’d like to sit by the fire now. I’m beginning to feel a chill.”
As his wheelchair was being pushed across the room, he said, “Didn’t you say you’d like a drink, Rob?”
“Aye.” Lord Cameron kept a perfectly straight face as he turned to their guest. “And you, Estelle?”
“No, thank you.”
Lord Cameron nodded toward the butler. “I’ll have a drink, Desmond. Scotch. Neat.”
Desmond walked to a cabinet and opened the glass doors, pouring a generous drink into a tumbler, which he placed on a silver tray.
“Thank you, Desmond.” Lord Cameron accepted the drink and waited until the butler left the room. Then he placed it on a table beside his uncle’s wheelchair.
He turned to Estelle. “Perhaps you’d like to see the workroom.”
“Yes, of course. I’d like that.”
“Uncle Charles, would you like to accompany us?”
The old man waved him away. “It’s far too chilly on that side of the castle. I’ll just wait for you here by the fire.”
Lord Cameron led the way across the room. While he was opening the door, Estelle turned in time to see his uncle lift the tumbler to his mouth and sigh with pleasure. When he caught sight of her watching him, he gave her an impish wink.
As Lord Cameron walked along a dimly lit corridor, he muttered, “I suppose you think I’m making light of the doctor’s orders. But that little glass of whiskey is one of the few things my uncle actually looks forward to these days.”
“There’s no need to explain. I understand completely. My aunt had a fondness for chocolate. Near the end, when the medicines had stolen her appetite, those little nighttime chocolate treats were often the only things she had to look forward to. It gave me such pleasure to be able to do something, no matter how simple, to ease her burden.”
He paused a moment, staring at
her in that way that made her uncomfortable. “Yes. I suppose that’s it. There’s so little I can do for my uncle. And it gives him such pleasure to think he’s getting away with something. Desmond is in on it, of course. But it would spoil my uncle’s fun if he were to guess that. And so Desmond plays his part, and I play mine.”
As he turned and continued down the hallway, Estelle found herself wondering about this dour man. A man of such contradictions. Despite the fact that he’d offered a less than cordial welcome and had seemed thoroughly distracted throughout their meal, it was clear that he had a soft spot in his heart for his aged uncle. She was touched by the charade he and his butler were willing to play for the sake of one old man.
After many twists and turns along several different hallways, they paused outside a heavy oak door. Lord Cameron produced a set of keys from his pocket and unlocked it. The hinges creaked as he forced it open. Estelle waited while he switched on the lights, then stepped inside and looked around.
Like all the rooms in the castle, this one was oversized, with massive fireplaces on either end. The outer wall had three floor-to-ceiling windows that would allow a flow of natural light. In the darkness all that she could see beyond them was the tall spires of trees and the soft glow of moonlight.
The floors were covered with a layer of dust, but it appeared that they were made of wood. In one corner was a lovely Oriental rug that Estelle estimated to be at least two hundred years old. In front of the fireplace stood an ancient cradle, still draped in dusty fabric that looked fragile enough to shred if it were touched.
Across the room were toys that would have been modern several generations ago. A hand-carved rocking horse. A wooden wheelbarrow. A wagon, with smooth wooden wheels.
On one wall hung a child’s sword, an exact replica of the one hanging in the great dining hall.
She began to circle the room, pausing to touch the dusty cradle, the wooden toys. “Did you play here as a boy?”
“Aye. Often. It was my refuge.”
She found herself wondering what a boy of wealth and privilege could possibly need with a place of refuge. Perhaps he merely wanted to escape from a world of adults to one of childish pleasures.
She took some mental measurements, then nodded. “This room is more than adequate for my needs. If you can find a couple of tables…” She turned.
Lord Cameron was standing at the window, staring into the darkness. As though, she thought, searching for something just beyond the circle of light.
With an effort he pulled himself back. “I’ll have Fergus see to them first thing in the morning. Now, if you don’t mind, I think we should get back to my uncle.”
“Yes, of course.” She followed him out the door and back along the darkened hallways.
“Ah. There you are.” Charles looked up with relief when they entered. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten me.”
“Not a chance.” Lord Cameron smiled and hurried to his uncle’s side. “Are you ready to turn in?”
“More than ready. I don’t know whether to credit the whiskey or the warmth of the fire.” He caught Estelle’s hand. “Or maybe the lovely company. At any rate, I’m warm and content and eager for my bed. I should think you would be as well, my dear, after your long journey.”
“Like you, Sir Charles, I need no coaxing tonight,” she said with a laugh.
They looked up when Desmond entered. “Will there be anything else before I retire, your lordship?”
Lord Cameron nodded. “You can accompany my uncle up to bed.”
“What about you, Rob?” Charles asked.
“I have some bookkeeping to do.”
“Give it a rest, Rob,” the old man muttered.
His nephew’s tone held a note of weariness. “How I’d like to. But I can’t keep avoiding it.” He turned to Estelle. “Good night. I hope you’ll be comfortable here at Castle Clough.”
“I’m sure I will be.”
She followed Desmond, who pushed the wheelchair out the door. At the bottom of the stairs young Fergus lifted the old man out of his chair and began to carry him up the steps. Halfway up, Estelle turned to see Lord Cameron striding down the hallway.
He looked, she thought, like a man who was going to his own hanging.
3
ROB SAT AT the desk that had once belonged to his father, his grandfather, and his great-grandfather, and worked on the rows of numbers. The fire burned low in the grate. A tumbler of whiskey rested untouched on the desktop. A clock on the mantel chimed the hour. Two o’clock.
He looked up, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He was weary beyond belief. But he knew that if he were to go up to his room, sleep would elude him. He was too tense. There was too much at stake here.
How could his father have plunged the estate so deeply into debt? It didn’t seem possible. And yet the figures didn’t lie. There were the bank notes, all properly signed and witnessed, using Castle Clough and the surrounding land as collateral. Fifteen million pounds borrowed, and none of it repaid.
At the thought of what he could do with that much money he had to close his eyes against the pain. The improvements to the castle. The additions to the barns. As well as to the herd. More aid to the villagers who had lived for generations in the shadow of this place.
Instead, his father had squandered his family’s birthright on his own weaknesses.
Rob picked up the tumbler and crossed to the fireplace, staring into the glowing embers. Time was running out. It seemed impossible to believe that something that had been in the Cameron family for more than four hundred years was about to be lost forever.
With a muttered oath he lifted the tumbler to his lips and drained it. He thought fleetingly about tossing it against the hearth, and having the satisfaction of seeing it smashed to bits. Then he reminded himself that it was Baccarat crystal. Like everything else in the castle, it would fetch a good price at auction. He could no longer afford to indulge himself. Even in a fit of temper.
He was about to set it on the desk when he heard a sound and turned toward the door. He saw a flutter of white as someone hurried past. Curious, he walked to the doorway and watched as the door to the butler’s pantry closed.
With the tumbler still in his hand he made his way to the kitchen. “Alfred, while you’re up, do you suppose you could…?”His voice trailed off as he caught sight of Estelle. She had opened the refrigerator door and was pouring a glass of milk. She turned, and the light from the interior illuminated her eyes, wide with alarm.
“Your lordship…Rob. I’m sorry. I thought by now everyone was asleep.”
“It’s quite all right.” Intrigued, he stepped closer. She didn’t look anything like the woman he’d met earlier. That woman wore her hair in a plain bun and hid behind owlish glasses. Now her hair fell in wild disarray around her face and shoulders. And what glorious hair. It was a tangle of red-gold strands that would rival autumn leaves. Her face, without a trace of makeup, was absolutely stunning. All flawless, porcelain skin and the sort of high cheekbones a model would kill for.
He watched while she replaced the container of milk in the refrigerator. Then, needing something to do, he opened a cupboard and poured himself another drink. “Can’t sleep?”
She shook her head, causing her hair to kiss her cheeks in a most provocative way. He had to curl his hand into a fist to keep from touching it.
“It’s probably jet lag. I was exhausted a few hours ago. Now I’m wide awake.”
“You’ll be fine after a day or two.” He took a sip of whiskey to soothe his parched throat. Up close, despite the modest terry robe, he could see the dark cleft between her breasts.
“I’m sure I will.” She drank her milk, feeling distinctly uneasy at this nighttime encounter. She’d been as quiet as a mouse, hoping she could slip downstairs without disturbing the household.
She rinsed the glass, then turned and found him staring at her in a way that spread heat through her like slow, liquid fire.
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“I’ll say good night now.”
“I was just going up.” He tossed back the rest of his drink, then set the empty tumbler beside hers.
In silence they climbed the stairs. The only illumination came from torche`res spaced evenly along the hallway.
At the door to her suite she reached for the knob, only to find his hand already there. At the touch of him she pulled away as though burned, then regretted her action when she looked up to see him watching her with a strange, knowing smile.
She swallowed and forced herself to meet his eyes. “Good night…Rob.”
“Good night, Estelle. Pleasant dreams.”
When the door closed, he continued on to his room, lost in thought. He ought to be grateful for this unexpected nighttime encounter. Up close, the good professor smelled like a field of wildflowers and had a touch that was as potent as a kick from an angry heifer. In a matter of minutes she’d managed to wipe all unpleasant thoughts from his mind.
He prayed the lovely image would last long enough to grant him at least a few hours of sleep.
Estelle awoke and lay very still, struggling to remember where she was. Then she smiled as sunlight peeked around the edges of the draperies and spilled across the bed.
Excitement rippled through her at the thought of what she was about to do. For the next few weeks she would be privileged to touch and feel and examine at length objects that had never been seen outside these castle walls. The Cameron family heirlooms had never before been catalogued. They were a collector’s dream.
The unexpected encounter with the lord of the manor had threatened to rob her of precious sleep, but exhaustion had won. Now, too eager to remain in bed, she tossed aside the covers and made her way to the shower. A short time later, dressed in comfortable charcoal wool slacks and sweater, she descended the stairs, clutching her briefcase. Though the castle was still in darkness, she followed the sounds of activity until she found the huge butler’s pantry, where Alfred and Desmond Snow were already hard at work.
They looked up in surprise. Though they appeared startled, they quickly composed themselves.