The Master Of Strathburn

by Amy Rose Bennett

  With trembling fingers, Jessie undid the clasp and lifted the lid. Inside, nestled against a bed of midnight blue satin, lay a string of lustrous, creamy pearls and a matching pair of pearl drop earrings. She gasped, overwhelmed. She raised her gaze to Robert’s reflection and noticed he was grinning broadly at her.

  ‘Robert … I … this is too much,’ she breathed.

  He responded by placing another feather-light kiss behind her ear. ‘It’s not nearly enough,’ he said, reaching for the necklace before placing it carefully around her neck and then fastening the ear bobs to her ear lobes. The pearls glowed against her skin. Never before had she felt so beautiful. Or adored. The way Robert’s deep blue eyes glowed, she could almost believe that he loved her. Her heart leapt. Could it be true?

  ‘Now, my lady,’ he reached for her hand and placed a soft kiss on her fingertips, making her quiver anew. ‘Let me escort you to dinner. I believe some of the guests have already arrived.’

  Jessie placed her hand on his sleeve and together they descended to the drawing room.

  All heads turned as Gordon, the butler, announced their arrival. ‘The Viscount Lochrose, the Master of Strathburn, and Miss Jessie Munroe.’

  Jessie could see Lord and Lady Strathburn by the fireplace, the earl beaming proudly and the countess, unsurprisingly, glowering at her and Robert. To Jessie’s pleasant surprise they had been chatting with Lord Arniston and an attractive, dark-haired woman who appeared to Jessie to be of similar age to the countess. Lord Strathburn introduced her as Jean Dundas, Lady Arnsiton.

  Jessie was also intrigued to learn that the Lord Advocate had wed Jean, his second wife, a mere month ago. She wondered if Lord Arniston’s recent re-marriage had contributed to his obvious magnanimous attitude toward Robert. Perhaps the romanticism of a hand-fasting influenced his decision to grant a pardon as it strengthened the impression that Robert was over his wild ways. Jessie had a feeling that Lord Strathburn knew the engagement would work in Robert’s favour all along.

  Robert lead Jessie around the room, introducing her to the rest of the assembled guests—the minister of the nearby Canongate Kirk and his lovely wife, as well as long-time friends of Lord Strathburn, Baron Brose, his wife and their spinsterish daughter, Agnes. The last guest Robert introduced Jessie to was an interesting character indeed—Kenneth Drummond, the captain of Robert’s merchant ship, The Phoenix.

  Jessie warmed to the barrel-chested and bluff seaman immediately. There was an obvious camaraderie between him and Robert. Jessie liked the way Captain Drummond’s dark eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled and winked at her, which was often. She suspected that he had a trove of amusing stories about his travels around the world and Robert’s exploits. She certainly looked forward to hearing them.

  Following the round of introductions, Gordon and Janet served French champagne—courtesy of Captain Drummond—and Madeira to everyone. Glass in hand, Lord Strathburn lead his guests in a heartfelt toast to Robert’s return home.

  ‘And now, ladies and gentleman,’ he continued, scanning the room, catching everyone’s eye again. ‘I have one more pleasant duty to perform before dinner.’ He then gestured toward Jessie and Robert, smiling broadly. ‘It is with the greatest joy that I also officially announce the betrothal of my dear son, Robert to the delightful young lady you have all just had the pleasure of meeting, Miss Munroe. Please raise your glasses and let us also drink a toast to the hand-fasted couple.’

  The spontaneous applause and immediate good wishes that were bestowed by all—with the exception of Lady Strathburn—lifted Jessie’s spirits and she couldn’t help but smile back at the assembled group. When everyone turned back to their own conversations, she sipped her champagne and over the rim of her glass, she noticed Robert watching her. He leaned close and taking advantage of the cover the folds of her skirts provided, he reached for her hand. His voice was low in her ear. ‘It warms my heart to see you smiling so much. Should it always be so, my love.’

  She gently squeezed his fingers; her own heart, indeed her entire body felt suffused with warmth. But beneath the quiet pleasure of knowing Robert cared for her, she also felt wistful. Everything was perfect but for one thing.

  The guests began dispersing to the dining room, but Robert kept her by his side. He brought her captured hand to his lips. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I canna hide anything from you, can I?’ she said summoning a wry smile. She took a breath then let out a small sigh. ‘I’m just a wee bit sad tha’ my father is no’ here this evening to share these moments.’

  Robert caressed her cheek lightly with one long finger. ‘I understand completely. Father and I will send word to him at Lochrose tomorrow. And in a few days, after I have arranged my affairs here, we will return to see him. Will that be all right?’

  Jessie nodded and smiled her thanks. ‘Aye.’

  ‘Excellent.’ Robert tucked her hand into his arm, then escorted her into the dining room.

  The next few hours passed pleasantly over a dinner that Jessie suspected was fit for the king himself. By the end of the four course meal, Jessie felt quite sated and relaxed, warmed by the convivial conversation and the wine she had sipped during dinner. All the stresses and worries of the past few days had slipped away from her like a dissipating mist. She slanted a glance at Robert beside her, still quite bemused by the fact she was engaged to someone like him. Perhaps sensing her gaze, he turned and through the cool silk of her skirts she felt his large hand on her knee.

  ‘Remember that we both agreed to finish our conversation about our situation, sweet Jessie,’ he murmured, his breath caressing her ear. ‘Will you wait for me in your room after our guests depart?’

  A tremor of delicious anticipation slid down Jessie’s spine. ‘I look forward to it, milord,’ she whispered back, all trace of contented drowsiness gone, replaced instead with a feeling of heady expectation. She couldn’t wait.

  She took another small sip of her wine and glanced to the far end of the table where Lord and Lady Strathburn sat, and her breathing faltered. The countess was watching her—her lips twisted in a strange smile as she arched a brow and raised her glass to Jessie as if making a mock toast.

  The hair stood up at Jessie’s nape and she dragged her gaze away.

  Both Robert and Lord Strathburn might care for her, but how was she to live here, or at Lochrose, with that vindictive woman breathing down her neck, wishing her ill? Lord Strathburn had banished Simon from the house and she was certain Robert would take further measures to ensure his half-brother never crossed paths with her again. But unless Robert arranged an alternative situation for them once they were wed, it was likely that she would be living under the same roof as the countess.

  And how was she to endure that?

  As if attuned to her unease, Robert reached for her hand and entwined his fingers with hers fingers beneath the cover of the table. Jessie squeezed his hand and he turned to smile at her. The warm light in his eyes made her heart flip and she crushed down the foreboding inside her.

  Everything will be all right with Robert by my side. Come what may, Jessie was certain they could build a happy life together. She wouldn’t have it any other way.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Robert was quietly pleased that the gentlemen of the party did not want to linger over whisky and port after dinner; it was not long before the entire company retired to the drawing room. Jessie and his stepmother began to dispense tea to the other ladies.

  Stationed by the fireplace with Drummond, from across the room Robert watched Jessie ably filling Lady Arniston’s fine bone china cup. He felt a besotted smile curve his mouth. His fiancée had played the role of secondary hostess to perfection tonight. For one who had not yet had the opportunity to be formally introduced into society, he was quietly impressed. Jessie’s manners were impeccable and she displayed a natural, canny ability to converse easily about a wide range of topics with all of the assembled guests. Without a doubt, his Highland lass wou
ld suit him exactly as a wife.

  Drummond smiled knowingly at him. ‘So it looks as though ye’ve been lured and verra much snared by a veritable siren. I always thought tha’ ye would fall hard for some bonnie lass one day. I just didna think it would happen so quickly after ye arrived home.’

  Robert grinned. It was useless to try and hide his feelings. ‘Neither did I, my friend. And I have been well and truly ensnared by Jessie. Although, I am ashamed to admit the circumstances of our meeting were rather inopportune, to say the least. I’m afraid our first encounter was a near disaster—entirely my fault—and I’m amazed she appears to reciprocate my feelings, considering the circumstances.’

  Drummond raised a bushy eyebrow in query. ‘So ye came upon her dishabille? Ye trod on her toes? Ye spilt yer whisky on her dress?’

  When Robert shook his head at each of these suggestions, Drummond prodded him jovially in the ribs. ‘Come on. Oot with it man.’

  Robert grimaced at him over the rim of his whisky tumbler. ‘I shot her. In the arm. Thought she was a deer.’

  Drummond’s hearty guffaws drew bemused looks from all of the ladies and gentlemen, including Jessie; she caught Robert’s eye and raised a delicate eyebrow in query. He shrugged a shoulder at her before shooting Drummond a pained look.

  Heedless of his discomfort and the questioning stares, Drummond slapped Robert on the shoulder. ‘Ye truly have been away from the Highlands too long when ye mistake a lass for a hind. I’m astounded Miss Munroe would even speak to ye, let alone wed ye!’

  ‘So am I, Drummond. It must be fate that drew us together, that’s all I can say. It certainly wasn’t because of the charming court I paid to her.’

  Drummond swallowed the last of his whisky and placed the empty glass on the mantelpiece. ‘I willna stay for tea with the gentlefolk, Robert. But I’ll expect ye on the morrow at the docks to farewell The Phoenix. She’s verra much packed to the gunnels and ready to sail on the first high tide.’

  Robert clapped his friend on the back in a gesture of farewell. ‘Aye. It’s about time she was on her way back home to the Caribbean. But don’t look for me at the crack of dawn. I think I shall be keeping gentlemen’s hours tomorrow.’

  Drummond winked at him. ‘Quite rightly so. I’ll expect ye’ll be needin’ to regain yer strength after tonight.’

  It took all of Robert’s strength to resist the urge to cuff Drummond behind the ear as he walked his friend around the drawing room to say his farewells.

  * * *

  ‘Would you like me to help ye undress, miss?’

  Jessie started at Janet’s enquiry, nearly dropping her book, Pamela, onto the hearthrug in her room. She sighed—lost in delicious thought ever since Robert had bid her goodnight in the vestibule not five minutes ago, she doubted she’d be able to concentrate on the story about the plight of the young maidservant who in many respects, reminded her of herself and her own situation … until she had met Robert.

  Jessie smiled and pressed her hand to her cheek. She could have sworn that the flesh still tingled from where Robert had placed an intimate kiss. And the memory of his intensely blue eyes—the way they had also caressed her face and figure, promising so much more—it made her shiver with desire all over again. Could Janet tell how hopelessly distracted she was? And why?

  Jessie gave herself a mental shake and turned to the young maid. ‘No, I think I shall stay up a wee while and continue reading this verra interesting book tha’ I found in his lordship’s library this afternoon,’ she said, brandishing the novel in the air. ‘I really canna put it down. If you dinna mind lighting a candle or two more, and turning down the bedcovers, that is all I need … I am quite used to looking after myself.’

  Even to her own ears, her excuses for denying Janet’s help sounded weak. Jessie blushed again, knowing her real reason for staying awake must be blatantly apparent.

  But Janet, discreet as ever, did not even blink. ‘Yes, miss.’ The maid bobbed a curtsy and, after quickly fulfilling Jessie’s few requests, took her leave. Left alone at last, Jessie dropped poor Pamela onto a nearby table before sinking into the soft armchair by the fire. Kicking off her new brocade shoes, she elevated her recovering sprained ankle onto a small ottoman. No, reading was definitely not on her mind as she stared into the bright flames licking the fresh logs in the grate.

  How long would it be before Robert came to her? Although it was evident that he wanted her to be his wife, part of her still wanted, needed him to tell her that he truly cared for her. He had called her his love, mo ghaoil and mo chridhe—my heart. But could he say he loved her? It had only been a few days since they’d met after all.

  She closed her eyes against the light of the flames and smiled, recalling all of their encounters, the intimate moments they had shared since they had met. She suspected it would not be long before she found out the answer to her question …

  A sound—her bedroom door clicking shut—made her jump. She was not sure how long it had been since she had drifted asleep, but she suspected only a short space of time had passed; the fire still burned brightly in the grate and the candles on the mantelpiece had not burned down at all. The flames guttered slightly in the slight draft that had come in through the door, making the shadows dance.

  Her pulse thrumming in anticipation, she sat up a little and turned her head toward the door, expecting to see Robert. But there was no one. Frowning in confusion, she rose from her chair—and was immediately grappled from behind by a man.

  Simon. Oh God, no! The smell of brandy and the cologne he used assailed her senses as he roughly hauled her against his chest, his arm like a band of steel, crushing the breath from her.

  A scream rose in her throat, but Simon’s hand smothered her mouth and nose, stifling all sound.

  ‘Ah, sweet Jezebel.’ Simon’s breath was hot and foul in her ear. ‘I have been waiting too long for this moment.’

  Blazing, white hot anger speared through Jessie, lending her strength. She struggled, legs kicking, hands grasping at the arm across her chest, but it was all for naught. Simon dragged her inexorably backward toward the bed as if she was only a rag doll. A strangled sob caught in her throat when her bodice tore and then a rain of pearls pattered across the floor. With renewed vigour, she twisted wildly and clawed at the hand covering her face.

  Simon hissed as she drew blood. ‘Bitch,’ he cursed and flung her face down on the bed, roughly pushing her head down into the coverlet. ‘I was prepared to be gentle with you, but it seems you like it rough.’

  She couldn’t breathe. This could not be happening. Any minute Robert would come in the door and stop this. But now Simon was pushing up her skirts.

  No, no, no. Jessie thrashed again and managed to turn her head to the side. And screamed.

  ‘Shut your mouth.’ Simon clamped his hand over her face again, abruptly cutting off her cry. She jerked her head and his hand slipped a degree. She bit into his flesh as hard as she could, anything to make him stop what he was trying to do.

  He let go of her, shouting a string of oaths. His weight now slightly off her, she rolled away to the side, instinctively reaching for something to arm herself with. Her hand came into contact with the pitcher on the bedside stand. She grabbed it and swung.

  * * *

  It was close to midnight when Robert finally bid his father a warm goodnight. After the rest of the guests had departed, and Jessie and his stepmother had retired, the earl had suggested that the two of them share a ‘wee dram’ for old time’s sake before turning in. Impatient as Robert was to join Jessie in her room, he couldn’t deny his father this one simple request after all he had done for him since his return. Besides, to ensure a degree of discretion, he calculated the time it would take to share a whisky and some quiet conversation would be a sufficient interval for Jessie’s maid to have finished attending her mistress before he too ventured upstairs.

  All was silent in the house apart from the crackling of the apple-wood logs in the grate when
Robert returned to the leather wing chair before the fire in his father’s study to finish off the last sip of his fine malt—the same rich golden brown as Jessie’s eyes he noted as he held the glass up before the flames—when a scream rent the air. Jessie’s scream.

  Christ. Robert dropped his glass and sprinted from the library towards the stairs. What in God’s name could be happening? Panic searing through his chest, he took the stairs two at a time. He could have sworn her scream had come from the first floor, quite possibly her room. As he reached her door, he heard a man’s voice cursing, followed by a crash.

  ‘Jessie,’ he cried, then swore when he discovered her bedchamber door was locked. He took a step back, turned and aimed an explosive kick just below the handle. The door burst open to reveal a scene of nightmarish pandemonium.

  Her hair a dishevelled mess, her dress torn, Jessie stood by the bed, clutching the handle of a broken pitcher. At her feet sprawled Simon, wig askew, his face and one hand bleeding, shards of china and pearls from Jessie’s broken necklace strewn about him.

  ‘The bitch bit me then bashed me with the bloody pitcher,’ he moaned.

  With a roar, Robert lunged at Simon, hauled him to his feet and threw him up against the wall so hard his brother’s teeth rattled. It took every ounce of his restraint to stop himself from pounding Simon to pieces right then and there. ‘How dare you! How the hell did you get in here?’ he demanded, through clenched teeth.

  Simon, bastard that he was, smirked. ‘Through the front door of course. I thought I was invited to the party.’

  ‘You will pay for this,’ Robert ground out. ‘This is unforgiveable. I demand satisfaction.’

  Simon sneered. ‘My pleasure. Shall we say short swords, tomorrow at first light in Holyrood Park, at the common between Arthur’s Seat and Dunsapie Hill?’

  ‘Agreed.’ Robert stepped back abruptly and thrust Simon away from him, toward the splintered door. ‘Now get out, before I slay you like a dog right here and now.’