Chapter Four

“You didn’t tell me why your hair is unbound.” The Highlander’s smile didn’t falter. “No’ that I’m complaining.”

Melissa glanced again at the cloakroom door. She didn’t really mind being in here alone with him. In truth, she cared little for society’s rules, preferring straightforward honesty to false airs and silly propriety.

A trait she’d inherited from her mother, as Lady Clarice and her stepsisters were fond of claiming.

So she wasn’t concerned by the breach of manners in whiling here with the Black Lyon of Lyongate Hall. Indeed, if they were honest, she suspected every female present would envy her, including her hostess, Mrs. Merrivale, who was eighty years old, if she was a day.

No, all that worried her was being disturbed.

How often did she spend time with a dashing Scot?

Especially one so magnificently garbed in full take-her-breath-away Highland finery. He was sheer perfection, from his blue-and-green kilt to his snowy white Jacobite shirt and formal black jacket, not overlooking his tasseled sporran. She knew from seeing him earlier in the ballroom that he also stood head and shoulders over the other men in attendance. And his towering maleness only proved what her mother had always told her, naturally out of her father’s earshot…

Good, brisk Highland air grows bigger and better men than anywhere else on earth.

She believed it.

The proof stood before her. His broad shoulders made her pulse quicken. His smile stole her breath. And the way his black hair and sky-blue eyes glinted in the moonlight convinced her a more handsome man couldn’t possibly exist.

Indeed…

She had the most ridiculous urge to fling herself into his arms, grab his beautiful face and kiss him. Perhaps she was as wild and reckless as Lady Clarice and her daughters claimed? Not caring, she let her gaze flick over him, finding wickedness a wonderful state.      

“Well, Lady Melissa?” He arched one eyebrow at her.

“My family calls me Mellie.”

“Mellie or Melissa…” He said the names slowly, the delicious Scottish lilt in his voice making her heart flutter. “Which do you prefer?”

“I rather like Melissa.”

“Then Melissa it is,” he said, his smile deepening. “Now tell me about your hair. Or did you not know that Highlanders aren’t known for patience?”

“I do know.” She returned his smile, a whirl of images flashing across her mind – him as an ancient warrior, rushing down a hillside, his broadsword raised as he roared at his enemies. Then, likewise tartan-clad, but with moonlight silvering a heather-kissed moor as he whipped off his plaid and spread it on the ground, his lustful intent more than obvious.

As if he knew, he leaned back against a table, folded his arms and looked at her.

“Your hair, lass...” His smile turned devilish. “Dinnae keep me in suspense.”

“It’s quite an improper style, I know,” she admitted. “Even so, I found it necessary.”

He raised an eyebrow again, waiting.

She felt her face warm. “I wanted to appear less than ladylike,” she said. “It was my hope that doing so would chill Sir Hartle’s interest in me.”

“Sir Hartle Hutsby?”

“Is there any other?” She shuddered.

“I should hope not. The man might have deep pockets and a magnificent estate, from what I hear, but he’s old enough to be fossilized.”

“Exactly,” Melissa agreed. “The latter observation is the sole reason my stepmother wants me to marry him. As well, to have me gone from Cranleigh Manor, my home.”

He studied her for a long moment, his frown reminding her more than ever of his fierce Highland forebears.

“Though, really, Cranleigh is already hers,” she added. “My father left the estate to her.”

“So you have family troubles?”      

She placed a hand on her breast and tried to quell the bitter laugh rising in her throat. Unfortunately, she failed, though she did turn aside in an attempt to disguise it as a cough.

“I have more troubles than I could list,” she said, seeing no reason to be less than honest. “The most pressing is that someone is trying to kill me.”

~*~

Lucian stared at her. Surely he’d misunderstood. Regrettably, the seriousness of her expression said that he hadn’t.

“That cannae be so.”

“It is. I am to be murdered.”

Lucian felt his chest tighten, heard a rushing in his ears.

How could anyone wish to harm such a bright and lovely young woman? Even a grasping stepmother after a fortune – if the rumors were true that Lady Melissa’s father had bequeathed her a more than tidy sum. Monies the gossipmongers said she planned to spend on aged coach horses, if he recalled correctly.

Still, to attempt cold-blooded murder?

It was madness. 

“Lass, tell me I didnae hear you correctly. I cannae believe-”

“It’s quite true,” she said, looking as serene as if they were speaking of the weather. “A footbridge I use daily fell apart beneath me several weeks ago. Not long after that, a decorative rooftop urn crashed down onto Cranleigh’s terrace, missing me by a hair. I might have my mother’s Scottish spirit, even her belief in faeries, but I assure you my fanciful mind did not conjure such threats.”

Lucian pushed away from the table, pulled a hand down over his chin.

He did not like this.

Not at all.

Someone is trying to kill me.

Her words burned into him, searing across his mind, scorching their way down to his heart, and finally reaching into the depths of his soul to ignite all the inherent, raging fury a Highlander feels to see an innocent harmed, especially when that someone is a woman.

He couldn’t bear it.

And he’d do something about it.

Now.

Stepping closer to her, he ignored civilities and gripped her by the waist, looked deep into her eyes.

“You do not believe these incidents were accidents?”

She shook her head. “I do not believe in coincidence.”

“Neither do I.”

He frowned, the rage inside him blazing ever hotter.

“Do you have proof?” He kept his voice level, not wanting to unsettle her.

Again, she shook her head. “No, but when the footbridge collapsed I did think one or two of the cracked planks looked as if they’d been freshly sawed in places. I was more concerned with making certain I hadn’t broken any bones, scrambling out of the gorge-”

“A gorge?”

“I didn’t fall to the bottom. I only tumbled a way down its side.”

“That is already too much. What did you do then?”

“I hurried home. Once there, I was sure I’d imagined the saw marks, out of sorts as I was at the time.” She paused to smooth back her hair. “Even so, I went back the next morning. Men were already gathering the fallen planks and working to repair the bridge.”

“You didn’t see any damaged wood?”

“No.”

“Did you look everywhere?”

“Of course.” She sounded certain.

His nape prickled all the same.

“Can it be, lass, that someone removed the cut planks?” He didn’t want to frighten her, but the ancient warrior in him had wakened, demanding answers. “Did you think about such a possibility? Who sent the workmen to the footbridge? Your stepmother?”

“She did. And, yes, I wondered if someone took away the one or two suspicious-looking planks.” Her eyes lit for a moment and she lifted her chin. “Scots aren’t just impatient,” she said. “They’re also suspicious. That trait, too, I inherited from my mother.”

Lucian smiled.

“We’re also braw. Brave,” he added, should she not know the word. “So I’m betting you confronted your stepmother about the missing planks?”

“I did.”

He lifted a brow. “And?”

“She said such tampering was preposterous. And that if any planks were missing, they would have been swept away by the rain-swollen river.”

Lucian released her and stepped back, his mind racing as he paced the little room and then returned to her.

“Lass…” he began, then cleared his throat. “Lady Melissa-”

She touched his arm. “I do like lass.”

“You would,” he said, and his heart thumped.

“It’s Scottish,” she returned, the two words doing more damage than any saw could do to wood.

He set his hands on her shoulders this time, then thought better of it and cast all gallantry to the wind as he slid his arms around her and pulled her to him.

She gasped, but made no effort to break away, so he ran one hand up and down her back, then threaded the fingers of his other hand in her hair. He should feel guilt, but he didn’t. He only wanted to lend her his warmth and strength, to protect her from harm.

“Precious lass.” He drew back and lifted his hands to frame her face. He stroked her cheeks with his thumbs, tucked her hair behind her ears.

What he really wanted was to clutch her to him and kiss her deeply. Instead, he took a long breath, and readied himself to follow his gut...

“Will you trust me?”

She nodded. “Logic says I shouldn’t, not yet anyway. But I do.”

“That’s good because I’ve made a decision, and I’d like your agreement.”

“About going to Scotland with you?” She looked up at him, her cheeks a bit flushed. “I already agreed. Have you forgotten?”

“Nae, but I wasn’t sure you were serious.”

“Were you?”

I am now.

More than that, I’m ready to kill someone.

Instead, he looked her up and down, sure he’d go mad if anyone dared touch a hair on her head.

But he didn’t want to frighten her, so he just gave her a smile.

“You surely know you’re a bonnie lass,” he said in his deepest burr. “Any Highlander would love to sweep you off to his heather-clad glen. So, aye, my invitation was real, and stands.

“Now that you’ve told me about the danger you’re in, I want more.” He stepped closer and grasped her chin, tipping her face up so he could hold her gaze. “I intend to make certain you remain safe and unharmed. The wilds of Scotland are the best place to keep you that way.”

“Why do I think you meant that?”

“Because I do.”

She blinked. “Oh, my.”

“Dinnae think to change your mind or you’ll force me to toss you o’er my shoulder as my ancestors would’ve done, then ride north with you, no’ stopping until England was far behind us.”

She smiled, her eyes lighting. “What if I’d like that?”

“What, indeed?” He brushed his thumb across her lips. “The truth is, sweeting, I’d like it, too. I might even kiss you, a kiss for each northbound mile.”

“I have never been kissed,” she blurted, color blooming on her cheeks.

“Then I shall have the great honor of introducing you to the pleasure. But first…”

He released her and glanced again at the door. They’d been in here a long time and now that he was making plans, and such earnest ones, he didn’t want anyone to disrupt them.

So he turned back to her, determined to settle the matter.

“Where are you staying, lass? Does your family have a house here?”

“No. We did, a townhouse not too far from here. But my father left it to a distant cousin and he and his wife have dogs and cats. My stepmother doesn’t care for animals, so she will not sleep there.”

She shook her head, as if she found that absurd.

“Do you like animals?” She peered at him most seriously. “If not, we probably wouldn’t get on.”

“Nae worries.” He smiled. “You’ll find all manner of beasties at Lyongate, and they’re all well-loved.” He didn’t mention Conley the lion of old, or the shadow cat that haunted his family. “So where are you lodging?”

“Here.” She gestured to the ceiling. “The Merrivales give us rooms abovestairs whenever we’re in London.”

“Do you feel secure enough here?” He wasn’t so sure. “The Merrivales are no’ so young. Most of their servants appear equally up in years.”

“I’m not worried,” she said, lowering her voice all the same. “We aren’t the only party overnighting here. Every room is occupied. I doubt anything will happen.

“Once I’m back at Cranleigh…” She shivered a bit, rubbing her arms. “I can’t say what will go on there.”

“I can,” he said, her words both spurring him to action and troubling him. “Nothing will happen because if you return there at all, I will go with you.”

“With me?” She clapped a hand to her cheek. “I don’t know what to say. Though…”

He waited, aware that he’d shocked her.

“I can’t just leave,” she said. “I have things I’d need, matters to tend.”

“Of course, you do. You will have ample time to see to your affairs and we’ll fetch anything you require.”

For a moment, he envisioned her directing a stream of servants, all carrying an endless array of luggage and what-not out of Cranleigh Manor, the mountain of her belongings never fitting into or atop his carriage.

But then he knew better.

The lass would travel light, he’d bet his best sporran.

The matter settled, as far as he was concerned, he took her elbow and led her to the door.

Before he opened it, he looked at her. “Can you meet me at Hyde Park Corner in the morning? About eight o’clock?”

Her eyes rounded. “So early?”

“Aye.” He touched her cheek. “No one will be about. And those who are, willnae pay us any heed. We’ll have a ride and discuss all arrangements. I’ll wait for you with two matched bays.”

“I’d enjoy that.” She didn’t say more, and her brow pleated. “It’s just, it might be difficult…”

“If you can’t, I will call on you here, in the afternoon,” he said. “But that won’t allow us to talk as freely.”

“Let me think.” She tapped a finger against her chin. “Lady Clarice and my stepsisters sleep till almost noon, so they shouldn’t miss me. And with so many guests, I doubt the Merrivales would notice if I didn’t appear at breakfast.”

“So you’ll be there?” He couldn’t believe how much her answer meant to him.

She smiled, and his heart split.

“I will,” she agreed. “Eight o’clock.”

“Then until the morn,” he said as he cracked the door to check the corridor. “The way is clear.”

But rather than leave, she leaned in and kissed his cheek. And this time, his heart didn’t just split.

He lost it.

She took it with her as she slipped out the door and disappeared into the shadows.

And when, a short while later, he left the cloakroom and headed in the opposite direction, he would have sworn he heard an old woman’s delighted cackle.