She was about to ask Aunt Judith, her erstwhile guardian, if she’d noticed the stranger’s pointed interest when a young, fair-haired woman, in a scandalously low-cut gown of scarlet and gold brocade, touched his arm in a familiar fashion before murmuring something in his ear. The man’s wide, well-shaped mouth curved into a slight smile and his attention shifted to the dancers. Was he studying Malcolm now? How peculiar. Sarah’s nape prickled with unease.
Something odd was going on, she was sure of it. She would discreetly mention the stranger to Malcolm when he returned to her. Perhaps they were just old acquaintances…
‘Sarah, my dear, I’m afraid I’m feeling rather poorly.’ Aunt Judith grasped her hand and when Sarah turned to examine her, she was quite alarmed; lines of tension bracketed her aunt’s mouth and eyes and her cheeks were ashen. Although she was only three-and-fifty, this was the third event she’d been to this week. The hustle and bustle of large group gatherings and the late nights were clearly beginning to take their toll.
‘You have a megrim again, don’t you?’ Sarah said gently. ‘Let me find you somewhere quiet to rest.’
Aunt Judith gave her a weak smile. ‘I’m so sorry, dear child. But yes, I think that would be best.’
Sarah glanced back towards the ballroom floor but Malcolm and Damaris were now too far away; she doubted she’d be able to catch their attention. But she wouldn’t be long. She’d install her aunt in the ladies’ retiring room, or somewhere nearby, then return. She suppressed a small unladylike sigh as she took Aunt Judith’s arm and carefully steered her through the crowd toward their destination. Malcolm probably wouldn’t even notice her absence.
She’d been reluctant to acknowledge how mercurial he’d become of late. Their nuptials were only three weeks away and as she was feeling nervous, she reasoned it was only natural for Malcolm to be out of sorts too. One moment he was sweetly attentive and eager to be in her company—perhaps too eager, considering how ardent his kisses had become whenever they happened to be alone. Then there were other times when Malcolm was hopelessly distracted and irritable. She didn’t like it when he snapped at her about the most trivial things. Of course he would always apologise afterwards for his ill-mannered behaviour and ask for her forgiveness, which she freely gave. How could she not?
She’d trusted her father’s judgement in choosing a suitable husband for her. And in his last moments on earth she’d promised him she would wed the Earl of Tay, an honourable peer of the realm who would protect and provide for her. She’d never go back on her word. Besides, for all Malcolm’s faults, she’d grown to care for him—deeply—since they’d become engaged nine months ago. Perhaps it was even love. And even though Malcolm hadn’t professed any deep and abiding affection for her yet, she was certain he cared for her too.
‘Are you quite all right, my dear?’ Aunt Judith asked as she lowered herself onto a small tapestry-covered settee. They’d found a vacant parlour only a few doors away from the ladies’ retiring room. ‘You seem… not quite yourself. Perhaps you could call round the carriage and we might both return to Tay House. I’m sure his lordship wouldn’t mind—’
‘No, no.’ Sarah waved away her aunt’s concern with a forced smile. ‘I am fine.’ She didn’t want to admit to Aunt Judith that she was worried Malcolm would be cross with her if she left early. He was always concerned about appearances and of course she understood. She might be an heiress in her own right now that she’d recently come of age, but in the eyes of society, she was the daughter of a mere merchant. A nobody who’d been lucky enough to ensnare a nobleman. She must never put a foot wrong. Ever.
Besides, she wanted to speak to Malcolm about the curious stranger.
‘If you are sure, then…’ Aunt Judith pressed a hand to her forehead. ‘Perhaps you could arrange some refreshments for me. Some elderflower cordial or barley water would be nice. And a cold compress for my forehead. It aches so. And if it’s not too much bother, perhaps you could procure a book for me to read while I wait for you? I’m sure Lord and Lady Kenmuir wouldn’t mind if you borrowed something from their library.’
Sarah patted her aunt’s shoulder. ‘Of course. It’s no bother at all. I will even polish your spectacles as well.’
On exiting the parlour, she found a maid, requested the items her aunt wanted, then obtained directions to the library. Thankfully it wasn’t too far from the ballroom. Malcolm was probably looking for her. She might see him along the way.
But she didn’t. Scanning the sea of people gathered in the ballroom, she saw neither hide nor hair of her affianced, or her sister-to-be for that matter. Perhaps they were in the card room; both were partial to faro. Thankfully she didn’t spot the man in black either. Feeling a little less anxious, Sarah traversed the marble floor in the main hall and followed the long, oak-panelled gallery as the housemaid had directed until she reached the Kenmuir’s library.
To her surprise—and relief—it was vacant when she entered. Aunt Judith had often warned her about poking her nose into out-of-the-way rooms at affairs like this, as one was liable to come across courting couples or even worse, have one’s reputation ruined if caught alone with a man. But perhaps her aunt was no longer concerned about such things because her betrothal to Malcolm was common knowledge. A man would be foolish indeed to attempt a dalliance with the Earl of Tay’s affianced.
Closing the door behind her, Sarah advanced into an impressively appointed room; a blazing fire and several large branches of candles revealed towering oak bookcases, beautifully polished occasional tables, and fine leather chairs. The comforting scents of wood smoke, beeswax polish, and leather permeated the air, reminding her of her father’s study in their old Northumbrian home by the sea, Linden Hall. A home she would have to give up once she and Malcolm were married. Instead, she would be the mistress of Taymoor Castle.
A countess. She could scarcely fathom it.
Oh, Papa…I wish you were still here to see me wed. Blinking away a rush of bittersweet tears, Sarah crossed to one of the bookcases and pulled a random volume from the shelf; she had no idea what the title was, as the letters on the cover were nothing but a blur. With a sigh she tugged off her gold half-mask, placed it on the shelf, then dabbed at her eyes with her satin and fine lace sleeve. She could almost hear Aunt Judith admonishing her for being so unladylike but she hadn’t a kerchief to hand.
‘Looking for something?’
Sarah jumped like a startled rabbit and dropped the book at the unexpected question—spoken by a man. Her pulse skittering, she whirled around to find her mystery stalker from the ballroom standing only a few feet away.
Before she could even think or utter a word, he stepped forward and retrieved the book from the rug near her feet.
‘Ah, Clarissa,’ he said in a soft Scottish burr, offering her the leather-bound volume with a smile. ‘I’ve been told it is quite a good read if one likes weighty tomes about virtuous maidens. And then, of course, there is Pamela.’ He nodded towards the shelves behind her. ‘Although I hear it is a little more scandalous. I suppose it depends on what sort of mood you are in.’ His deep, smoky voice was just as potent as his gaze, his words heavy with secret meaning. It was as though he’d uttered a jest that she didn’t quite understand.
Sarah took the book with a shaking hand and held it against her chest. Now the man was closer, she could see his eyes were dark too—storm-cloud grey fringed with long sooty lashes that would make any woman green with envy. And he was much taller and more physically imposing than she’d previously thought. His black velvet frockcoat and brocade waistcoat were perfectly tailored to show off his muscular frame, and the snug fit of his black silk breeches did nothing to hide his long powerful thighs. Indeed, his masculine presence seemed to dominate the room. And to her great shame, despite her suspicions that this man was up to no good, she couldn’t look away. He was, in a word, mesmerising.
‘Wh—who are you? What do you want?’ she managed to stammer when she found her voice.
He shr
ugged and his chiselled mouth tipped into a half-smile as he leaned a wide shoulder nonchalantly against the bookcase. ‘I thought it was rather obvious, my dear Miss Lambert,’ he drawled as he slid a book from the shelf then flipped through its pages. ‘Like you, I thought I’d seek another diversion.’ He grimaced and put the book back before catching her gaze again, regarding her from beneath half-lowered lids. It was a sensual look, lazy but watchful at the same time. The look of a predator feigning disinterest, right before it pounced. ‘These affairs can be frightfully boring sometimes, wouldn’t you agree?’
‘How… how do you know my name?’ she asked, breathless with nerves. The stranger was standing much too close but she couldn’t seem to summon the urge to step away. Her cheeks felt hot and she had the awful feeling she was blushing.
The man’s mask didn’t hide the amused quirk of one slashing black brow. ‘Why, I was in the ballroom when you and your affianced were formally introduced. Lord Tay is a lucky man.’
Good. He knew who she was betrothed to. That should provide her with some measure of protection. Only a fool would cross a nobleman of Malcolm’s stature. Sarah felt some of the tension leave her body. ‘Thank you,’ she replied with an incline of her head. ‘Which reminds me, I should be getting back to my aunt.’ She picked up her discarded mask from the shelf. ‘She’s expecting me. And so is Lord Tay.’
The stranger smiled as he gave a small bow. ‘I’m sure he is, so don’t let me keep you. Good evening to you, Miss Lambert.’
‘Good evening.’ With her mask and Clarissa in hand, Sarah turned and left the library. Even though she didn’t look back, she swore she could feel the enigmatic stranger’s eyes upon her. It was only as the door shut behind her that she realised he’d never actually given her his name.
***
Damn, bloody damn.
Leaning an arm along the bookshelf, Alex rubbed his jaw as he scowled at the closing library door. Why did Miss Sarah Lambert have to be so… so damned lovely? A young woman who, at first meeting, seemed completely free of artifice. Likeable. His spies had reported she was from a good family and despite her questionable choice in men—or one man in particular—there was no hint of scandal attached to her name. He hadn’t wanted to believe Miss Lambert might actually be agreeable. But then, all things considered, his scheme would be much easier to carry out if she wasn’t the social climbing, conniving bitch he’d supposed her to be.
Even though their meeting had been brief, his gut instincts told him he was right about her. When she’d regarded him with wide, innocent blue eyes and had taken a book from him with a trembling hand, he’d been quite disarmed. Good Lord, she’d even blushed at his innocuous attempts at flirtation.
Alex heaved a sigh as he pushed away from the bookcase and crossed to a cabinet, where he helped himself to a glass of Lord Kenmuir’s brandy. After observing Miss Lambert from afar in the ballroom, he’d thought it would be a good idea to assess her firsthand before he made his next move. To take her measure so he’d have an idea of what sort of woman he would be dealing with and how she would react to what he had planned for her.
How inconvenient that he should be afflicted by a sudden pang of conscience.
He hadn’t expected that.
He downed the brandy in one savage gulp, then released the catch on the onyx ring he always wore on his right hand. A tiny tri-coloured braid and a snippet of blue ribbon lay curled beneath the glass. His jaw clenched. He wasn’t going to alter his plans even though Miss Lambert appeared to be a proper young lady who’d stammered breathlessly when he’d stood too close to her. A woman who reminded him of Maggie when he’d first courted her…
He might feel a little sorry for Sarah Lambert but the emotion paled into insignificance when he recalled why he was doing this. He would not be swayed.
He flipped the ring closed. As planned, Tay was currently busy with Nell. Lady Glenleven, his sister, was shamelessly flirting with whomever she could in the card room, and Miss Lambert’s chaperon was conveniently indisposed.
Alex slipped his hand beneath his frockcoat and withdrew a silver flask from the satin-lined breast pocket. He uncapped it and carefully topped up the bitter contents with Lord Kenmuir’s brandy.
A mirthless smile curled his lip as he repocketed the flask. It seemed there was no time like the present to at long last set events in motion.
Chapter 2
After she’d seen Aunt Judith settled with Clarissa, a compress, and a decanter of elderflower cordial, Sarah donned her gold domino again and returned to the ballroom to look for Malcolm. Even though she’d only been gone a short time, the atmosphere had changed: the laughter had grown raucous, the chatter louder, the dancing wilder. She wrinkled her nose a little as she carefully wove her way between the tight clusters of masked guests; the candles in the chandeliers had burned low and the air was heavy with the smell of melted wax, smoke, and perspiration barely masked by the scent of stale perfume. Pausing at the edge of the dance floor where a lively gavotte was taking place, she searched for Malcolm’s tall, broad-shouldered form, but despite the fact he was shrouded in a crimson cape, she failed to spot him anywhere. But then, perhaps he was playing cards as she’d earlier surmised.
On entering the card room, she spied Damaris playing faro with an older, bewigged gentleman in a leering Pulcinello mask, his cheeks ruddy with drink. However, her sister-in-law-to-be wasn’t much help. She tossed her dark auburn curls over one slender shoulder, barely looking up from the cards in her hand as she answered Sarah’s query about Malcolm. ‘I have no idea where he is, my dear. I’m not my brother’s keeper. Why don’t you try the supper room? Or Lord Kenmuir’s private study. He’s probably sampling our host’s cognac.’
Sarah pressed her lips together but she was unable to suppress a small sigh of frustration. Damaris could be annoyingly self-centred at times. She was a young widow—only six-and-twenty—and like Malcolm, quite beautiful with a high forehead and cheekbones and eyes the colour of golden-brown topaz; she certainly received a lot of attention from men, both young and old. Her faro opponent was a case in point; he was quite transfixed with Damaris’s décolletage rather than what was in his hand—and Damaris did not seem to mind his unseemly interest. In fact, she seemed to be deliberately drawing attention to her bosom; one of her fingertips trailed lazily back and forth along the low sweeping neckline of her turquoise silk bodice. Bewitching her card-playing partner was clearly more of a priority than helping her find Malcolm.
‘Well, if you see your brother before I do, please tell him I’m looking for him,’ Sarah murmured as she began to turn away; she wasn’t surprised in the least when Damaris simply waved a dismissive hand by way of a reply.
A brief search of the supper room proved futile as well. Sarah hovered by a glass-panelled set of doors leading to the empty, snow-dusted terrace. She was wondering whether she should give up her quest and just take a plate of sugared sweetmeats and dainty cakes to her aunt when she sensed the presence of another guest by her shoulder.
‘Still looking for something, or should I say, someone? Lord Tay perhaps?’
Sarah’s brows snapped together as she whirled around to face her enigmatic stalker. ‘Why are you following me?’ she demanded, not caring if others in their vicinity overheard. What on earth was this man up to? Surely he wasn’t attempting to seduce her… He’d be mad to try such a thing. Malcolm would kill him.
Clearly unperturbed by her brusque tone, the stranger simply smiled, ignoring her question, just as she’d ignored his. He tilted his head towards the doors leading to the terrace and the enclosed garden beyond. ‘Have you looked outside?’
‘For Lord Tay? I seriously doubt he would be taking a turn about the terrace on a night like this.’
The man in black shrugged. ‘It was just a thought,’ he said softly in that rich, deep voice of his that seemed to wrap around her like smoke. ‘I’d be willing to escort you. It is rather dark out there.’
‘I don’t think s
o,’ replied Sarah, steadfastly turning her head away. ‘I don’t even know your name. We’ve not been formally introduced.’
‘No, we haven’t,’ he said. ‘But then, isn’t one supposed to be in disguise at a masquerade ball? It’s a night designed for all manner of clandestine activities, don’t you think? Who knows what might happen.’
‘You’re incorrigible, Mr Whoever-you-are.’
Mr Whoever-you-are laughed. ‘True.’ He took a step back and affected a courtly bow. ‘Allow me to introduce myself then. My name is Alexander Black.’
‘Mr Black.’ Sarah arched an eyebrow. ‘How clever of you to match your attire to your name. And possibly your nature.’
Alexander Black grimaced. ‘You wound me, Miss Lambert. We’ve only just met.’
‘I know a rogue when I see one.’
Mr Black or whatever-his-name-was flashed a grin. ‘Do you now? Have you met many?’
‘Enough. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must be getting back to my aunt.’
‘What about your affianced?’
‘Yes, of course. Lord Tay too.’
‘Well then, I bid you adieu yet again, Miss Lambert.’
Sarah stepped away but then turned back, her rose silk skirts brushing the tops of Mr Black’s silver buckled shoes. Something was still bothering her. ‘You know something about Lord Tay’s whereabouts, don’t you? You keep alluding to it.’
She narrowed her eyes, studying Mr Black’s countenance but his expression was inscrutable behind his black domino. ‘You’re toying with me. I saw you watching my fiancé as he danced with his sister, Lady Glenleven, earlier this evening. And you were watching me too. I want to know why.’
He didn’t deny her assertions. Instead, his mouth tipped into a grin that was both maddening and appealing in equal measure. ‘You are a very lovely young woman, Miss Lambert. I’m sure I’m not the first man to have admired your,’ his gaze blatantly raked over her bosom, ‘person.’
A blush scalded Sarah’s cheeks. ‘What rot. There are innumerable beautiful women here tonight that you could ogle. Indeed, there was a young woman dressed in red flirting with you earlier this evening. Why should I, in particular, catch your interest?’ She folded her arms. ‘What do you want from me? And do you know where Lord Tay is or not?’
The Laird Of Blackloch (Highland Rogue) Page 2