A Match Made in Heather

by Anna Harrington

  She stared at him, barely comprehending what he was saying. Garrick had served in the British Army, on the continent against Napoleon? Setting explosives? Her whirling mind couldn’t wrap itself around that, or that he had been awarded a title for his heroism.

  Turning to face her, he folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the sideboard. “Prinny was so impressed that he made me an earl. But only a life peerage,” he clarified. “No matter how many Frenchmen I killed, I’m still a Scot at heart, and he doesn’t want my tainted progeny soiling the Lords for generations to come.”

  In that unguarded moment, she saw the old Garrick, and her heart leapt into her throat. Was she wrong about him? Did part of the man she’d loved still linger somewhere inside him?

  But the mask of disdain and arrogance he’d worn since he stepped into the office returned, and the brutal realization pierced her of how changed he was. And how foolish she was to look for the past in him.

  “It’s a lovely little earldom,” he continued, a mocking undertone to his voice. “About fifteen thousand acres in the south of England, several dairies and sheep barns, a manor house . . . Not a single field of heather.” He paused. “But then I’m not very fond of heather these days.”

  If he meant to strike at her heart, he’d need to try harder than that. She smiled stiffly. “How lovely for you.”

  “But there’s one thing it’s missing.”

  “Which is?”

  He leaned forward, leveling his eyes with hers. “A Scottish castle.”

  Whatever traces of admiration had started to blossom inside her at learning that he’d carved out a brilliant life for himself vanished like smoke. “Well, you’re not getting mine.”

  He smiled slowly, a ghost of the charming grin she remembered, but one which lacked all warmth. “I think I already have.”

  “This situation is ridiculous, and you know it.” Uncle Malcolm was mad as a hatter to even think of it. “We cannot share the property, and we certainly cannot live together for the next month.”

  “I can.” He shrugged, and she gaped at his audacity. “Your aunt will be in residence as chaperone, and you’re affianced. Besides, the house is large enough that we’ll most likely never see each other. There’s more than enough rooms to settle the two of us comfortably.” He paused. “And Murray.”

  The way he’d bit out Ewan’s name made her defensive, not of Ewan but her situation. She was twenty-eight, and Ewan might just prove to be her last chance at a husband and children. Although she’d once had warm dreams of marriage, the thought of it held no romance for her now. She’d spent far more years than she wanted to admit thinking of Garrick and hardening her heart against love, and the downfall of her family had taken the rest. “Ewan is needed in Edinburgh. He’s a very important man and cannot linger for a month in the highlands.”

  “A pity.” He leisurely crossed his ankles in a gesture of such confidence that she blew out an irritated breath. “Perhaps you should give up now and go with him.”

  She lifted a brow. The Rowlands had never backed down from a fight, and she wasn’t going to start now. “I will be staying in Kincardine. You cannot chase me away that easily.”

  “Good,” he replied in a masculine purr.

  That single word twined down her spine, trailing goose bumps in its wake. At twenty-one, he’d been so full of raw masculinity that he’d made her ache with longing. Now as a fully grown man, he’d become so self-assured in that masculinity that his proximity was nearly overwhelming. And very dangerous. There was no mistake in his timbre, no quarter in the way he stared predatorily at her . . .

  If she stumbled, he would devour her.

  “Why are you doing this?” Her voice emerged soft and confused. “You’re not part of the highlands now. There’s nothing here for you.” Including me. “So why won’t you go back to England where you belong? Your heart isn’t in Scotland anymore.”

  The glint in his eyes grew hard. “I’m determined to keep Highburn.”

  “Why?” she nearly pleaded in her inability to fathom the creature he’d become. “What could it possibly mean to you?”

  His features turned stone-cold. “Revenge.”

  Arabel stared at him, disbelieving. The reason why he had come all this way, why he was being so cruel to her after so long—revenge? Could he really be that hateful?

  “You won’t get it,” she promised. “I won’t let you.”

  He said nothing for a long while, not moving a muscle except to rake his gaze deliberately over her. She forced herself to stand still beneath his scrutiny. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how much his reappearance had rattled her.

  “It’s been a long time, Arabel,” he acknowledged in a seductive voice that fell through her like a warm summer rain and stirred the long-dead ache inside her, proving exactly how dangerous he was. “All kinds of things have changed since I left Scotland.” His gaze lingered at her hips and breasts before rising to meet hers. “I’m no longer the lad you knew. Now I’m a man who always gets what he wants.”

  “Not this time,” she whispered, a prickly warmth springing up beneath her skin from a suspicion that he meant more than Highburn. “Not with me.”

  With an easy push away from the sideboard, he straightened to his full height and slowly stalked the short distance between them, until he stood so close to her that she felt the heat of his body seeping into hers. So close that she caught the familiar scent of him that sent her blood humming. Her body’s memory of his pulsed through her, and her belly tightened with a primal craving for him to come even closer.

  As she held her breath, he lowered his head and brushed his lips hotly against her ear. “Oh, I think I could have that, too, if I wanted.”

  “Never,” she breathed out weakly, which only earned her a low chuckle.

  When the tip of his tongue licked slowly around the outer curl of her ear, a delicious heat shivered through her. She remembered the feel of his body surrounding hers, the smooth slide of his manhood between her thighs, the soft words of love he’d dared to whisper against her bare skin as he claimed possession of her and made her heart soar—

  He took her earlobe between his lips and sucked, and a throaty moan tore from her.

  His lips curled into a self-pleased smile against her ear. “I could have you right now,” he murmured.

  A sickening shame crashed over her at wanting exactly that, and she slapped him. Hard.

  For a beat, he froze. Then calmly, he lifted his palm to his cheek, where a red streak had already formed.

  “I said never,” she repeated, shaking with both fury and arousal.

  His hand dropped to his side, and he laughed. She glared at him as he stepped around her toward the door, her hands clenching into fists and her breath coming in furious pants. The devil had the nerve to laugh at her!

  “Then it’s going to be a long month, Arabel.” Flinging open the door to reveal Ewan and Mr. Davidson waiting impatiently in the hall, he glanced back at her and made a mockery of inclining his head in deference as he excused himself from the office. “A very long month.”

  Day Two

  Good God.

  Garrick glanced around at the once-grand entrance hall of Castle Highburn, hardly believing his eyes. It looked nothing like he remembered.

  Broken windows gleamed in the sunlight, and jagged cracks scarred the walls. Sunlight had faded the red drapes to dull pink. Dust and cobwebs covered the chandelier, and the carved banister of the massive stairs looked as if it hadn’t been polished in years. The claymores that had once decorated the walls in mind-reeling geometric patterns to show off the power and influence of the Rowland clan were now in disarray, with several lying broken on the floor. Even the coat of arms hanging over the door had cracked.

  Sadly, the outside wasn’t much better. During the ride up the drive, he’d noted a sagging roof, cracks in the facade, overgrown gardens . . . The whole place looked as if it might come tumbling down at a
ny moment.

  Yet in his mind’s eye, he still saw it as it had been when he first came here twelve years ago, when the house had been grand and its furnishings immaculate. When the Rowland name still evoked respect across the highlands. But now . . .

  He hadn’t expected this.

  Nor had he expected Arabel. Which had been the biggest surprise of all.

  For ten years he’d cursed her, wondered about her, even dreamt about her . . . such dreams that would make a sailor blush. He did everything he could to purge her from his memory by charging into the fiercest battles and by bedding every woman he could. But there had never been any one else like her. No other woman had that same flame-red hair, those same piercing green eyes. No other woman had the same vitality and love for life that she possessed, certainly not the same stubborn temper. She was as untamed as the highlands and as beautiful to match, all wrapped in the sweet scent of heather. It had surrounded her like a cloud then, making him want to lose himself in her.

  Apparently, he still did.

  When he walked into the law office and saw her, she ripped his breath away. Arabel had always been lovely, but she’d matured into a woman, full and ripe . . . simply stunning. He hadn’t been prepared for that. Or for that bout of insanity that had him craving her so badly that he’d dared to lick her ear just to capture one small taste of her.

  He grinned as he rubbed his cheek. It had been worth the slap.

  Now he was expected to live with her for the next month. The only woman he’d ever loved and wanted to marry, yet who seemed to hate him even more now that her family had inadvertently made him an earl.

  Fate had a twisted sense of humor.

  “I’ve investigated the rest of the house.” His man Reeves walked into the hall with the proud bearing of a soldier, one that intimidated lesser men and set female hearts fluttering.

  Not quite as tall as Garrick and with a slightly more slender build, Reeves had spent his own time on the continent charging into both battles and ladies’ beds until an accident removed most of his left hand. Unable to fight, Reeves had become Garrick’s aide-de-camp, and he trusted no man more in his life.

  Since they’d left the army, Reeves still assisted him, now helping him with the responsibilities of the earldom. The two men never discussed it, but Garrick knew life for Reeves would have been a struggle if he hadn’t employed him. The same with all the other former soldiers he’d hired into his household staff.

  War changed men, and civilian life could never change them back.

  “What did you find?” Garrick prompted.

  Reeves grimaced, his normally charming grin twisting downward. “Worse than we thought. The roof on the east wing has caved in. The west wing still seems solid, but most of the rooms have been shut off.” He shook his head, tugging on the leather gloves he always wore. “As far as I can tell, the place is barely standing. A good strong wind might blow it over completely.”

  Exactly what Garrick had surmised himself from his exploration of the ground floor.

  “If I were you, I’d let the gel have it and count myself lucky to have escaped.”

  Garrick smiled grimly at that. He supposed he should. Simply gallop off and finally cut all ties with Scotland. He didn’t need what money his half of the estate might bring, and he certainly didn’t belong in the highlands anymore. After all, he was now an English lord with more loyalty to the crown than to the thistle.

  And wasn’t that his purpose for coming here in the first place, to prove to himself how much he’d changed? To take one last look around the highlands before heading back south and never returning? This time, it would be his decision to leave.

  He hadn’t lied to Arabel in the solicitor’s office. He wanted revenge against the Rowlands, and he’d spent every breath of the past ten years craving just that, even as what they’d done to him had inadvertently led to his skyrocketing rise. Inheriting Highburn had finally given him that revenge. The groom who wasn’t good enough to marry into the Rowland clan now held the fate of its ancestral seat in his hands. Truly, that was what mattered. Not the property, but its control. And proving to himself that the Rowlands no longer had any control over him by being able to walk away from the highlands without a second thought.

  But then he saw Arabel, and everything changed.

  Now he couldn’t simply walk away. Not when she still affected him like this. And certainly not when he could have once more what she and her family had taken from him—his home and heritage.

  “No,” he answered wryly. “I think the Townsend holdings could use a highland estate.”

  Reeves looked at him knowingly. “Or is it that Townsend could use a highland lass?”

  “Not that lass,” he muttered, his gaze returning to the coat of arms. “That one’s a true thistle.”

  The damn woman had made him believe she loved him, only to set her family on him. She probably did love him, in her own way; he’d give her that much credit. But not enough to defy her family and choose a life with him.

  A commotion went up outside as a small carriage pulled to a stop.

  Through the margin lights bracketing the front door, Garrick watched as Ewan Murray alighted and turned to help Arabel to the ground. She paused in the carriage doorway to glance up at the old house, and her face lit with emotion. The look of home.

  Then she stepped to the ground, took Murray’s arm, and allowed him to lead her inside.

  Garrick faced her, their eyes locking across the entrance hall. Neither moved as around them their arrival sent up a flurry of activity, with footmen coming forward to carry her trunks and bags into the house and the housekeeper giving orders on where they should all be taken. A fierce determination blazed in her green eyes.

  This was how it was going to be, was it?

  So be it.

  “Welcome to Castle Highburn,” he announced with as much arrogance as any lord of the manor, solely to irritate her.

  Not deigning to reply, she pulled back her shoulders, but the defensive stance couldn’t hide her stunning beauty. Not in that dress of crushed green velvet that made her hair resemble fire as it lay piled in soft curls on top her head. Pinned so loosely in place, in fact, that he wondered if he could shake it down simply by running his fingers through it. Her full lips were pressed into a tight line of annoyance, but he knew how soft that mouth was, how responsive and spicy-sweet. Try as she might to appear formidable, her anger only added to her allure. A hard-edged hellion wrapped in soft velvet. The contradiction she represented tied his gut into knots.

  Unaware of the turmoil she churned inside him, she turned toward Murray. The man had finally stepped to her side after chastising the servants for attempting to bring in his luggage and shouting at the driver and tiger to keep the carriage at the ready.

  So the banker wasn’t staying. Satisfaction rolled through him. Good.

  Murray possessively took Arabel’s elbow. “I want you to give up this nonsense right now and get back into the carriage with me. We’ll file suit and—”

  “Which will do no good.” She shifted away from him. Not far enough that anyone else would have noticed, but Garrick did. “It’s only a month and will pass before we know it. Besides, being here will allow me to finalize our wedding plans.”

  Garrick’s chest tightened.

  “I’ll finalize everything,” Murray corrected gruffly. Then, with his eyes never leaving Garrick, he lifted Arabel’s hand to his lips. Her engagement ring, now worn on the outside of her glove when it had been safely tucked beneath at the solicitor’s, glittered in the sunlight for all to see. Just as Murray wanted, Garrick was certain. To brand her as his. “I’d be a fool to let you get away.”

  An icy jolt pulsed through him, and he clenched his jaw. Did Murray know the true relationship between him and Arabel? No, surely Arabel had kept her secrets. Otherwise, Garrick couldn’t imagine that Murray would be daft enough to leave her alone with him.

  He certainly wouldn’t have.

&nbs
p; He raked his gaze coldly over the banker. How little this man knew her. Arabel’s independent spirit made her give freely of her passions, but she’d never allow herself to be owned by any man.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” she assured Murray, although her long-suffering sigh made Garrick smile to himself. Whatever was between the two, it wasn’t love.

  With a scowl, Murray took her arm and pulled her aside, then began to lecture her quietly enough that no one could overhear. But he jabbed his finger at her, belittling her with every point he made.

  Hot anger flared inside Garrick’s chest. How dare that bastard! Clenching his fists, he started forward—

  Reeves laid a hand on his shoulder.

  He stopped. And felt like a damnable fool.

  He turned away, to gaze once more up at the coat of arms and remember why he was here—and why he’d left. And to curse himself for the rush of jealousy spilling through him at seeing Arabel with another man.

  He rubbed at the knot of tension forming at his nape. Christ. He was behaving like some insecure lad instead of the man he was.

  Murray stepped away from Arabel, having finished the admonishment he’d leveled at her. And which she’d calmly accepted. From the way fire blazed in her green eyes, though, Garrick knew she’d not forget it. When Murray caught Garrick watching the two of them, he placed an improper kiss to her lips. One that left her glaring at the banker in irritation, and one that twisted Garrick’s insides.

  “Safe travels,” he called out as Murray marched toward the door, the devil inside him too powerful to resist. “I’ll be happy to look after Arabel for you.” He lowered his voice to a possessive purr, “Very closely.”