Chapter Seven
“So, MacMasters, how’s that brother of yers doing? Is he still a somber fellow?”
“I presume ye’re referring to Simon.” Gerard settled his frame into an overstuffed chair in the solarium and stretched out his legs.
“Of course. He was always so bluidy serious.” Houghton took a cheroot from a carved teak cigar box and snipped off the tip. “In four years at university, I don’t think I ever saw him smile. Except when he’d separated some son of a lord from his blunt over a hand of cards. In all the years since, I’ve never encountered a man whose ability to read a man’s bluff equaled Simon MacMasters’.”
“He hasn’t changed. Still by the book.”
“God above, ye’d have thought he wrote the blasted book.” Houghton laughed heartily. “Cigar, MacMasters? They’re the finest in the land, imported from Cuba.”
“No, thank ye.” The habit had never appealed to him.
Houghton lit his cigar. Pungent smoke curled from its glowing tip. “I was surprised to receive Simon’s message—of course, I didn’t hesitate to offer my assistance, the situation being a matter of grave importance. I must admit, I was shocked the man is still working in the Queen’s service. I’d have thought he’d have made his fortune at the gaming tables and retired to some country estate by now.”
“Like this one?” Gerard smiled to himself. “He took money off of ye, did he not?”
“I lost my fair share.” Houghton took a puff off the cigar. “But I got wise to his ways quick—quicker than most.”
“Is that so?” Gerard affected a casual tone. In truth, he’d heard tales of how Houghton had tried in vain to beat Simon at his own game. The results of Houghton’s efforts had proven exceedingly lucrative for his brother. Damn good thing the laird had not yet come into his fortune during those days, or Simon might well be the master of this ancient, drafty castle.
“He’s as shrewd at cards as he is at chess.”
All this talk of Simon was getting duller than one of those dog-eared history tomes on his brother’s bookshelf. He knew full well how brilliant his younger sibling was, how sharp his mental acuity and manner. But while Simon sat behind a desk planning missions as if he were playing a game of chess with real-life pawns, Gerard was in the field, putting his own neck on the line to protect a woman against a killer as merciless as a viper.
“He’s always been a cagey one. Sly as they come,” Gerard said. Time to change the subject to something more productive. Given Lady Houghton’s apparent disdain for Lady Evelyn, her husband might have some knowledge about their guest that might serve Gerard’s purposes. “My brother hasnae prospered, not like ye. Ye’ve found yerself a wife any man would be proud of.”
“Ah, my bride. The lass is fiery as they come. I’m a lucky man to have a woman like her.”
“And a fine hostess as well. I understand she is McLeod’s sister.”
“Aye.” Houghton gave a nod. “Younger by all of ten minutes, he is, but she still looks upon him as her little brother. She’d do anything for him and that bride of his. Sally’s a gem, she is.”
“I made Miss Brennan’s acquaintance in town while she was on an excursion with Lady Houghton. Is Lady Evelyn kin to ye as well?”
Houghton chuckled under his breath. “Good God, dinnae let Cathy hear ye utter the word kin in connection with that lass.” Houghton took another drag from his cheroot. “She doesnae approve of her…thinks she’ll be a mar on Sally’s good name, and by extension, her brother’s.”
Gerard shrugged, even as he considered Houghton’s revelation. What cause would she have to turn her elite nose up at a woman like Lady Evelyn? True, she’d played the flirt. But he sensed that had been an act, more for Lady Houghton’s benefit than for his.
“One could not say Lady Evelyn is graceful. And she is bold, there’s no denying that. But I sensed she wanted to prove a bit of a thorn in yer wife’s side, if ye dinnae mind me saying so.”
“Ye’ll get no denial from me on that. If my wife had her way, the Englishwoman would not be a part of this wedding, but Sally would not hear of excluding her. Lady Evelyn is an old friend, ye see. Just so ye understand, we’ve no objection to hosting her in our home. Lady Evelyn is welcome as a guest. But she’ll be standing at the bride’s side during the ceremony. Catriona fears tongues will wag.”
Something in the man’s tone stirred Gerard’s ire. The woman he’d encountered in the bookseller’s shop had shown courage and compassion. How could anyone hold Lady Evelyn in contempt?
“What has caused this mark on her reputation?” he asked, averting his face to avoid a puff of smoke.
“My wife refers to Lady Evelyn as the Tarnished Bride. I dinnae know all the details. Lord knows, I can only listen to her ramblings for so long before my mind wanders, if ye know what I mean. But there was a scandal—the lass was left at the altar. A near miss for the groom, or so they say.”
“The bloke must have been a damned fool.” Gerard cleared his throat. “Walking away from such a beauty, that is.”
“A pretty face is no substitute for a faithful heart, if ye take my meaning.”
A faithful heart. Damn it, he’d seen Evelyn come to the aid of a stranger in need, even in the face of danger. He’d witnessed the concern in her eyes and heard the conviction in her voice as she’d sought help for the injured bookseller. He could not imagine she possessed a faithless bone in her lovely body.
He tamped down his thoughts. He’d say as little as possible while learning what he could about Evelyn. “Aye, truer words have not been spoken. What else do ye know of her?”
“She’s an heiress, or so I’m told. A rather significant fortune—more than enough to offer the lass her independence.”
“She’s alone in the world?”
“Nay,” Houghton said. “Her parents are alive and well. Lord and Lady Barrington provide a generous allowance. It goes without saying they’ve come to terms with the fact their daughter is likely never going to marry…not after the scandal.”
“Who’s to say she even wants to wed?” Gerard shocked even himself with the observation.
Houghton laughed. “Doesn’t every woman?”
Gerard shook his head. His independent, spirited sisters back at Dunnhaven, their family home, had shown no desire to wed. “I’ve known lasses who preferred their freedom.”
“’Tis a lie,” Houghton said. “No woman wants to go through life without the benefit of a good man, not to mention a passel of brats.”
“A passel of brats.” Lady Houghton’s voice drifted from the portal, far smoother than it had sounded earlier in the day. “I do hope that when we are blessed with children, you will not refer to them as such.”
“Of course not, darling.” Houghton squared his shoulders, as if his wife were a general who’d come to inspect a wayward private’s sloppy uniform. “I’m confident ye will have high expectations for their conduct…and will monitor their nanny’s performance at all times.”
“Indeed.” Lady Houghton’s mouth curved into a thin smile. “Mr. MacMasters, I’m so pleased ye’ve had a chance to become better acquainted with James. I am sorry to interrupt, but I thought ye’d like to know yer room has been prepared.”
“Thank ye.”
“Supper will be at eight, Mr. MacMasters. I do so want my guests to feel comfortable and welcome in our home.” Lady Houghton’s words were gracious, far warmer than the frost in her expression. “If there’s any problem—anything at all—please do let me know.”
“I appreciate yer hospitality. There’s no need to go to any trouble on my account.”
“Edson is still indisposed, and the butler is attending to a problem that’s developed among the kitchen staff.” Lady Houghton motioned to the housemaid who’d followed her to the solarium. “When ye are ready, Brenda will show you to your room. I’ve recently redecorated the chamber you will be occupying during your stay. I do hope you find the accommodations to your liking.”
“As long as it has a bed, I’ll be grateful,” he said. “I must confess, these bones are weary after bouncing around on the carriage bench. I’d appreciate a few minutes to stretch out my muscles and take a rest. If the room has a tub, that’ll be all the better.”
Lady Houghton gave a little sniff, as if to emphasize her agreement with his words. Gerard bit back a choice epithet. How had an amiable fellow like Houghton wound up with such a foul-tempered woman? She was comely enough, more than pleasing to the eye. But the shrill notes of her words brought to mind a wee lass learning to play the pipes.
“Every chamber is equipped with its own bathing facilities. If ye need anything, the butler will be along to check on ye shortly,” she said, turning to the maid. “Please show Mr. MacMasters to his room. I’m sure it will meet his expectations.”
…
Soaking in warm water up to her neck, Evelyn scrubbed her skin with fragrant soap. The scent of lavender washed over her, and she let out a breath, feeling the tension ease from her chest, from her arms, from her muscles. Sally was right. A hot bath was precisely the thing she needed to pull her from an increasingly cross state of mind. The maid had drawn a bath scented with fine oils and heated to the perfect temperature. It was utterly luxurious.
Laird Houghton had evidently spared no expense in providing his guests with the modern conveniences. Each chamber featured a cozy, tiled nook of a room equipped with a beautiful claw-foot tub, running water, and even the most current advances in plumbing. Shelves built into the walls held baskets filled with plush towels, while a basket of fragranced oils and soaps had been brought in by Millie for her convenience.
After this pampering, she might even be in the mood for a touch more flirtation with the Scot. Of course, she’d have to tone it down. Her desire to shock Catriona had gotten the better of her. She’d overplayed the role of wanton, and now she had to atone for that error in judgment, if only for Sally’s sake.
She closed her eyes, pondering what one wore for the occasion of subtly stirring lust in a dashing Scot. She’d no true interest in luring a stranger into her bed. But it was intriguing to consider the possibilities. At the very least, the Highlander would provide ample fodder for a decadent dream or two.
Given the way the man’s intriguing golden-brown eyes and rough-edged burr appealed to her, she supposed she should consider his arrival at Houghton Manor to be a fortuitous coincidence. A grand stroke of luck. Or so Sally had dubbed it.
If only it didn’t all seem rather too convenient. When she’d sought help for the injured man, MacMasters had come upon the scene as she rushed from the bookseller’s shop. Minutes later, he’d readily agreed to stay with the wedding party as an impromptu guard while they visited the milliner’s shop. He’d even secured their driver after the Houghtons’ regular man had unexpectedly fallen ill.
And now, he was here—mere hours after their carriage had pulled up to the mansion.
Could something other than mere chance be at play?
She brushed aside the nagging suspicion. Goodness, she was letting her imagination run amok. Would she soon be seeing cleverly disguised villains lurking in the shadows? It wasn’t as if deception lurked around every corner.
The peculiar events of this day had taken a toll on her nerves. She drew in a leisurely breath, savoring the softly perfumed aroma of her bath as she calmed herself. After all, she’d no reason to question the Highlander’s presence at the wedding. The nuptials in this historic castle would be a grand affair. No doubt many of the Highland elite would be in attendance. MacMasters was one of dozens of guests who would soon descend upon the majestic castle.
Suddenly, an image of the playing card the bookseller had entrusted to her flickered in her mind’s eye. Such a unique, intricately detailed design, certainly unlike any in the deck she used for bridge.
Promise me you will protect it. The old man’s whisper drifted through her thoughts.
Her momentary peace shattered.
Evelyn’s eyes opened wide as her hands clutched the sides of the tub.
The bookseller had been so desperate to give her that unusual playing card. An image of a dragon, like something out of a nightmare, had stared back at her when she’d glanced at it. In the rush of activity since the reckless ride from Inverness to Houghton Manor, she had not even thought to take another look. There’d be time later. Not that it would matter. In his nearly delirious state, heaven only knew what the old man had believed he was entrusting to her. He might have thought he was handing her the key to the Queen’s vault.
Still, the memory of it peppered a little chill over her skin. The bookseller had spoken of dragons—of a dragon’s eyes, to be precise. Had the old man been seeing things—had a monster from ancient lore come to life in his not-quite-lucid mind? Or could his words have borne another meaning—perhaps, it was a secret code.
Then again, perhaps not. When she was a girl, her mother had often chastised her penchant for intrigue. It seemed Mama had been right—she should have devoted more time to cultivating her meager skill at piano technique and far less time burying her nose in sensation novels and tales of gothic mystery that spurred an abundance of fanciful thoughts.
Well, there was nothing to be done about it now. Considering her unsettling experience in the bookseller’s shop, it seemed little wonder she was tempted to read intrigue into the appealing Scot’s appearance at the very castle where she was a guest. One—possibly two, if the Scotsmen had been correct in their assessment that she’d been duped—criminals were on the run. Anyone with a rational mind would understand her doubts.
Evelyn sank back against the pillow she’d set behind the back of her head. The water wouldn’t stay so warm for long. Soon enough, she’d have to leave the comfort and solitude of the tub and face the barb-tongued Scotswoman again. She’d simply avoid as much contact with her sharp-edged hostess as possible. At least Mr. MacMasters would provide an enjoyable diversion. Closing her eyes, she smiled to herself.
A female voice drifted through the door. Blurred by the wood, she could not make out the words. Had Millie returned with another small luxury? Evelyn stretched her arms over her head, drinking in the soothing heat and relaxing scent of the perfumed water. She really could get used to this pampering. Upon her return to London, she’d definitely have to acquire lavender oils and soaps for her own bath and change out her scratchy, serviceable bath linen with fine cotton.
The notes of another voice—deeper and definitely male—permeated the barrier of the door. Evelyn shrugged it off. The butler, most likely, offering some instruction or other to the young maid.
Could it be that she was about to be summoned for supper? She’d have sworn Lady Houghton had stated the meal would be served at eight. Perhaps she’d decided to host an informal gathering before dining, an opportunity for the guests to become better acquainted.
Ah, wouldn’t she enjoy becoming acquainted with MacMasters. She smiled to herself while she examined her fingers, now shriveling like not-quite-dried prunes. The water had grown a bit lukewarm.
Pressing her hands against the edges of the tub, she rose from the water.
A tinny sound—the latch, perhaps—cut through the conversation just beyond the door to her chamber. The door closed with a thud.
Muffled footsteps thumped over the floor, the steady beat of boot heels against plush carpet. Crossing the room. Coming toward the bathing room.
Absolutely, positively not Millie.
Good heavens, had a man invaded her sanctuary?
“Who’s there?”
A male voice responded, a husky brogue that was all too familiar.
“Bluidy hell.”