Arran shook his head. “I know it, but that’s not what angers you. The man I heard wasn’t the man I know. The man I know wouldn’t frighten an innocent girl.”
“No, no!” There was pain in Max’s denial. “She has spirit. She wasn’t afraid of me. Never that.”
“You’re in love with her, aren’t you?” Arran said. “You as good as admitted it to me on more than one occasion. You’re still in love with her.”
“Leave me be.”
“You denied your love of her to satisfy your father. It’s a noble thing to honor your father, but a man has to stand by what matters most to him.”
Max fell back in his chair and gripped the arms. “I am not in love with her. She’s nothing to me but a good mind worth putting into service. I’m to marry Lady Hermoine Rashly. Or had you forgotten?”
“To please your father.”
“How many wellborn women, titled women in their own right, do you think would be prepared to marry an adopted bastard? I bring very little to the match.”
The boy could be a hardheaded fool. “Very little but money, of which the lady in question appears to have all but none. Ask your father why he married Justine.”
“I already know. He adores her. He has from the moment they met.”
“Well, then? An interesting thought to ponder, don’t you think?”
“Nothing at all to ponder,” Max said, his nostrils flared. “It doesn’t change the duty I owe my father. Love cannot be for me, Uncle.”
Arran regarded him a few seconds more, then nodded and left the room.
• • •
Kirsty reached the hall and curtsied, but his lordship, who had clearly just left the breakfast room, had already walked past, a thunderous expression pulling down his brows. She glanced toward the corridor from which he’d come and guessed he’d just left Max, and that harsh words had been spoken. She looked at the flagstones and blinked, and gathered her courage. Living in fear of someone, even if he did consider himself your master, was no way to live at all, and she wouldn’t do it.
All the fine, strong words in her head didn’t make the steps to that breakfast room easier, nor did they take the sweat from her palm as she opened the door and went in.
“I’d a good look at mysel’ in that black thing, and ye were right,” she said lightly. “A terrible fright I was. But mayhap ye miscalculated. I could have frighted all your people into respectin’ me.”
Max sat at the table where, Kirsty noted, there seemed a considerable muddle of china and silver, and a puddle of whatever had spilled from an overturned cup.
Then he looked at her, really looked at her. Their eyes met and she saw, with a clarity that twisted her stomach, the old Max. Naked to his heart, the heart she’d only guessed he’d been hiding these past years. She guessed no longer.
He broke the moment by lowering his gaze to her dress, and she felt the wrench of his pulling away from her again. Next time he’d be more careful not to let her see that he had any gentle feelings for her, if there were ever to be a next time.
His sudden bark of laughter made her flinch. He pushed to his feet and planted his hands on his hips. “Contrary miss,” he said, still laughing. “I should have known taming you would take more than a day or two.”
“I assure ye I’m quite tame, sir,” she told him, struggling not to smile.
He approached, pointing at her dress. “That doesn’t look like blue taffeta to me.”
“I agreed t’change. I didna agree t’wear any blue taffeta.”
“So you thought you’d aggravate an already troubled man by putting your own dress back on.”
Trusting his changed mood would be foolish, but she would make certain he knew he couldn’t break her will with his roaring. “I’ll wear what fits. And what shouldna displease anyone. And what pleases me.”
“So I see.” He reached her, settled a hand on the back of her neck, and steered her from the room. “And, as I’ve already acknowledged, I should have known taming you wouldn’t be easy. But tame you, I will, my girl.”
Chapter Nine
Noon, and she’d done nothing more interesting than sit at a beautiful, but much too small desk for practical purposes, and write regrets in response to invitations addressed to Max.
Well, she had done something more interesting—she’d looked at Max whenever she dared, and that was whenever she could tell he was too engrossed to catch her eye.
A discreet tap came at the door, and Shanks entered. With his head thrust forward in a manner that reminded Kirsty of a strutting chicken, he approached Max’s desk with a silver tray in hand.
Max continued to write, to frown, and to write more. From time to time he referred to cumbersome ledgers, and to estate maps.
Shanks didn’t honor Kirsty with as much as a glance. Finally he cleared his throat, and Max raised his face.
“Luncheon is served, sir,” Shanks said. “I wouldn’t normally disturb you, but then, you wouldn’t normally be late, would you?”
Max pushed back from the desk. “I’ll ignore your very thinly disguised rudeness, Shanks. I don’t have time for lunch. Kindly have a cold plate sent in for me. Will a cold plate suit you, Kirsty? Or should you prefer to go to the dining room?”
“I’ll eat at my desk if ye please,” she said.
Shanks sniffed so ferociously she wondered he didn’t topple backward. He said, “If that’s what you require, sir.”
“It is. Thank you.” Max looked at the tray. “Is that something for me?”
“Just delivered, sir.” The tray was extended, and Max removed an envelope. “Thank you, Shanks. That will be all.” He took up a paper knife and slitted open the envelope.
Shanks stood absolutely still.
Max removed a sheet of paper and flattened it on the desk.
Shanks slowly leaned toward Max, his chin even farther forward on his neck, obviously attempting to read the letter upside down.
“Yes?” Max said, looking up sharply.
Shanks jumped and backed rapidly out of the room.
Kirsty took up her pen again and looked at the next invitation, this one to a ball at The Hallows. “I expect I’m to accept this one for ye,” she said.
“Decline them all,” Max said vaguely.
“It’s from The Hallows. A ball. In honor o’ the presence o’ the countess’s nephew, the Honorable Horace Hubble.”
“Decline.”
The snarl was back in his voice. Kirsty took a refreshing breath, and said, “D’ye not think ye should accept an invitation from your betrothed’s aunt?”
“I damn well . . .” Rocking back in his chair, he ran both hands through his thick hair and clasped his fingers behind his head. “I’m a bad-tempered devil, aren’t I?”
“Aye, ye are.”
“Hmm. You aren’t supposed to agree with me. Do you know what this is?” He indicated the letter on his desk. “It’s from my father. He’s on his way back here. Even as we speak. And he’s not alone. My sainted great-grandmother— Mama’s grandmother—and her insufferable companion are with him.”
“The viscount’s a wonderful man.”
“That dress has to go.”
“We’re talkin’ about your father. He’s lovely. Kind and generous. And your mother is beautiful inside and out—and a saint t’have put up wi’ ye.”
Max rocked forward and rested his elbows on the desk.
“I’ll allow that piece of impertinence to pass.” He tented his fingers. “You do remember Great-grandmama?”
“I do indeed. A wonderful old lady.”
“A sly, demanding, determined harridan.”
“Och, Max! What ever can be the matter with ye, speakin’ so o’ the dowager? Age deserves reverence, so my parents taught me. Age and the wisdom it brings.”
He smiled, and for the second time in one day she saw the old Max. Devilish and proud of it. “A harridan. And Blanche Bastible in attendance. The troops are gathering, my girl.”
�
�For what purpose?”
He regarded her steadily, and for much longer than was comfortable. “Never mind. Decline the invitation to The Hallows.”
“Are ye certain?”
His raised hand silenced her protest. “I have no time to devote to such foolishness. Great changes are afoot in Scotland. If we don’t stand firm, before long the order of things will be very different for all. We at Kirkcaldy have done well to protect the old ways for as long as we have.”
Kirsty’s heart beat faster. “Ye mean it could happen here, too?”
There was no need to ask her what she meant by “it.” “No family will be put from Kirkcaldy lands to make way for sheep or anything else. The clearings have been a tragedy— so many innocent people driven from their houses by greedy lairds. But that isn’t all of it. Nothing stays the same. We shall care for our own, but the task will only become more troublesome.”
“Aye.” She thought of her mother and father, and of Niall, Niall who had a lifetime ahead of him and who had never known any other way of things but living and working on Kirkcaldy land—any more than she had. “I thought ye were to have me dealin’ wi’ estate matters.”
“All in good time. First we must be very accustomed to working together. We must develop a . . . rapport. That’s French for—”
“I know what it’s French for, thank ye. We used to understand each other well enough.”
“And we will again, but we do need to spend considerable time together to be completely comfortable. Ideally you should be able to catch my meaning from no more than a look. We’ll be dealing with some very sensitive issues.”
They were already dealing with a very sensitive issue. Kirsty twiddled her pen and chastised herself for errant thoughts. How would the future unfold? How would it be to watch him with his wife and share what he termed a close rapport with him, to read his mind without his having to speak it?
Oh, she’d like to leave this study now and walk upon the hills with Max at her side. She’d like to forget the truth of it all and pretend they were as they’d once been. Beyond the windows streaks of grubby clouds hustled their way over their puffy white brothers and sisters, bringing the promise of rain to come. Sunlight glowed along the ragged edges of a hole to the sky as if its heat had burned a path through the demanding clouds.
Trees bent before a wind. On the moors that wind would grab her skirt and hair, and toss Max’s dark red curls about. And the higher they climbed, the stronger the blow.
• • •
Only the time of Hermoine’s arrival surprised Max. She burst into his study when the hour approached six. He’d sent a servant to The Hallows with his response to the invitation immediately after lunch. But since he knew Hermoine was in the habit of resting at that hour he had not expected to hear from her before the following day—or at worst, much later that evening.
“Max, you must get rid of this person,” Hermoine said, casting angry looks in Kirsty’s direction. “She is a jealous opportunist.” With that she tossed his response to the countess’s invitation onto his desk.
“Perhaps ye’d like me t’leave?” Kirsty said.
Max said, “Not a bit of it. Stay where you are, if you please. Finish your work. Now, Hermoine, what’s all this about?”
Gold eyes flashing, she leaned across the desk and for one rather dreadful moment he feared her breasts might spill entirely free of her bodice. As if she knew his thought, she wriggled a little to bring his fears as close as possible to fruition. “Send her away,” she whispered ferociously. “I wish to be alone with you.”
“Oh, you can feel free to speak in front of Kirsty,” he told her in hearty tones. “The soul of discretion, I assure you. I’d trust her with my life.”
“She’s doing things behind your back, I tell you. She’s not to be trusted.”
“Rubbish. Honest as the day is long.” My God, how would he tolerate this woman as his wife?
Hermoine’s dress was pink, overly frilly, and unsuited to her mature figure. Ostrich plumes bobbled above her satin bonnet, and pink roses clustered beneath its brim. “Very well,” she said, straightening and turning so that Kirsty could also see her face. “This devious creature interfered with your acceptance of my dear aunt’s invitation. She wrote that your declined.”
Kirsty looked at him directly, and there was a challenge in that look, an “I told you so,” challenge.
“And so I did. With regret. I wouldn’t dream of troubling your pretty head with the very serious matters presently facing me as commissioner of this estate. Sufficient to say that I have no time for frivolities. I’m sure you understand.”
Hermoine’s blank expression assured him that she did not understand.
“For that reason,” he continued, “I shall not attend the dear countess’s ball in your cousin’s honor.”
“Not attend my ball?” Lady Hermoine said faintly. “When my aunt intends to announce our betrothal, and you should have concern for nothing other than myself?”
He would not become angry with this foolish creature. She was to be his cross, and he would bear her with as much grace as possible. His eyes met Kirsty’s. Heaven help him stand not being able to have her.
Hermoine’s voice rose to a shrill tone, “Did you hear what I told you?”
“Indeed,” he said quietly, holding Kirsty’s gaze. “But the ball in question is in honor of your cousin. There will be no announcement of any betrothal that includes me until I say it shall be so. Is that understood?”
“Oh!” Hermoine staggered back a step. “How can you be so cruel? And in front of a stranger.”
“Not a stranger,” Max said. “But no matter. I am not cruel, merely factual. No formal negotiations have been completed on the matter of any betrothal. Those will not be dealt with unless my parents are present. I’m sure you understand this. Please tell your aunt that I appreciate her kind intentions, but that I cannot, at present, accept them.”
“I am wounded,”’ Hermoine said. “That you should find it necessary to place such calculated restrictions on a matter of the heart is crushing to a woman such as myself, a woman of strong passions who puts those passions ahead of such distasteful matters as money.”
Max found that Hermoine had a strange effect on him. He listened to her and became numbed by boredom. “Yes,” he said vaguely.
She turned to Kirsty. “Where are you from, girl? I assume you must have special training to be able to take such a position as this. Not that I was aware that females ever did so. Speak up. Where did you come from? Edinburgh?”
“Och, no!” Kirsty appeared shocked at the suggestion. “I’ve never been to that city. I’m from here.”
Hermoine’s eyes narrowed. “Here? What can you mean, here?”
“I was born on Kirkcaldy land, and I’ve lived here all my life.”
“Who are your people?”
Max decided he could not do a better job of dealing with this than Kirsty could.
“My people? Ye mean, my mother and father? Why, they’re Robert and Gael Mercer.”
“Mercer?” Hermoine shook her head. “I don’t believe I know anyone by the name of Mercer.”
“Och, ye wouldna know us,” Kirsty said. “I should ha’ said we’ve been tenants here for many a year. My father’s father before him, too. We count ourselves verra lucky.”
Hermoine clapped a hand to her breast. “A tenant’s daughter? Here at the castle? And you say she is your right hand? What can you be thinking of, Max? Why she’s nothing more than an ignorant peasant.”
“I’ll thank you to—”
“I’ve been assistant to the tutor for the marquess’s children,” Kirsty said rapidly, breaking off his outburst. “I’m book learned and verra capable; otherwise, Mr. Rossmara would no’ have hired me.”
“Max?” Hermoine held her free hand pleadingly toward him. “If this becomes known, I shall be a laughingstock. Please do not do this to me.”
“What are you saying?” he asked her.
>
“A nursery maid—a peasant—masquerading as your assistant. Why, you know perfectly well what everyone will think. And they’ll be right, won’t they?”
“Hermoine,” he said, standing, “I do think it’s time you returned to The Hallows. Before your aunt and cousin become concerned for you. And you are wrong in your assumptions.”
“But—”
“Good-bye, my dear.”
“Max, I insist that you listen to—”
“You will discover that I am a man who does not react well to unnecessary upsets. Kirsty, would you please ring for Shanks and have him see Lady Hermoine out.”
“Why, o’course.”
But before Kirsty could go to the bell cord, Hermoine tossed her head, flipped her skirts about, and swept from the room, affording a view of an exaggerated bustle topped with yet more pink roses.
Arran passed Hermoine in the doorway and turned to watch her stomp away. He raised his brows to Max, came in, and plopped down in a chair. Stretching his long, strong legs before him, he said, “A man knows he’s not as young as he once was when he can’t be in the saddle for ten hours without dreaming of a hot bath.”
“You’re as strong as an ox,” Max said. “We all know you’re the only man for miles around who can lift a wagon while its wheel is replaced.”
Arran “hmphed,” but appeared pleased.
“Well,” Kirsty said to Max, “if ye’ll excuse the interruption, I’d best be off to my mother and father. That is if ye don’t need me further today, sir.”
“Well, I suppose it’ll be all right. But don’t forget the modiste.”
She sighed. “Aye, I’ll no’ forget, but I’d as well go home while the light’s strong.”
“I saw your parents today,” Arran said.
Max grew alert. He stared at his uncle until the other met that stare.
Kirsty smiled. “I’ve never spent a night away from home before. I feel I’ve been gone a long time. I’m anxious t’be off.”
“Wait, please,” Arran said, still looking at Max. “Your father asked me to tell you this wouldn’t be a good night for you to visit.”
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