Janet hastened below stairs but stopped before opening the door to the dining hall. She took a deep breath, patted her hair to ensure all the pins and curls were still in the right places, then proceeded inside to find Robert and Emma dancing.
“One, two, three, four, five, six. That’s right,” he said with a sweet gentleness. “If you ken the steps, your partner will lead you and prevent you from bumping into the other dancers.”
Emma giggled as her brother began a circular promenade. The lass followed well and efficiently executed the steps, though instead of carrying herself rigid as girls were taught to do by being made to balance books on their heads, Emma swayed and flitted gaily as if there were actually music playing. Wearing an ivory damask gown, she made a picture of a bonny Highland lass, though she may have been overshadowed by the magnificence of her brother. He was bold and imposing in his kilt, waistcoat, and short black doublet, and his neckcloth was perfectly tied at his throat. The hem of his kilt swished in time to the dance steps, accentuating his stockings, tied with plaid flashes—or was the accent made more alluring by the flexing calf muscles beneath? Whatever the reason, Janet wouldn’t have been able to hide her smile for a hundred guineas.
When the dance ended, she applauded. “You pair are marvelous.”
“Miss Janet!” Emma spun toward the sound. “Did you see us? I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Then you must have been having a great deal of fun, because you have the best hearing of any soul I have ever met.”
Robert led his sister forward. “I agree.”
Grinning, Emma sashayed. “I wish I could go to a real ball.”
“I think your brother ought to take you.” Janet looked at Robert pointedly. They’d had this conversation. “Perhaps to a smaller affair at least. I’ll have to set my mind to finding the ideal occasion.”
“Then I will await your recommendation.” Robert took Janet’s hand, bowed deeply, and kissed it. “You look especially radiant this eve.”
“As do you—most handsome, that is.” She took Emma’s elbow and led her to the table. “But you, my dear, are bonny enough to steal the heart of any gentlemen within forty miles.”
“You jest.”
“I never jest about beauty.”
“Take heed, Sister. Miss Janet kens what she’s on about.” His Lairdship strolled along behind them. “As I recall, at the ceilidh in Inverlochy, every man in the hall queued all night just for a chance to dance with her.”
Emma clasped her hands. “Och, I dream of such a night.”
“Then you must have it.” Janet arched her eyebrow at Robert. He alone must see to his sister’s prospects.
Robert held a chair for each of the ladies before taking his own. The table was set with fine china depicting pastoral scenes in pastels. There were crystal goblets, polished silver, and two footmen to serve the meal.
“My, this is as lavish as a royal feast,” Janet said while a footman poured the wine.
“Have you been to a royal feast?” asked Emma.
“Only one—held by the Duke of Gordon in Glasgow. His Grace hosts a grand ball every year.”
Robert raised his goblet to his lips. “Do you go there often?”
“Occasionally—when Da has business to conduct. I always plead with him to bring me along for the shopping.” Janet admired the china plate in front of her, which depicted a couple enjoying a meal beneath a sycamore with roses encircling the edge. “Dearest Emma, what wonderful dishes have you planned for the menu this eve?”
“I’m afraid I didn’t plan twelve dishes per course like there should be at a real ball.”
“That was very smart and prudent of you.” Picking up her goblet, Janet swirled her wine. “I daresay the three of us will have difficulty finishing off one dish.”
The door from the kitchen opened, and in walked a footman carrying a tureen of soup from which wafted a delicious aroma.
Emma clasped her hands and inhaled deeply. “The first course is beef broth with leek. The main course is roast goose and cabbage, bread of course, and then we will need to save room for apple tart with honey.”
“My favorite.” Robert licked his lips.
“And ’tis the last of the apples from the cellar.”
Emma had done as lovely a job as the hostess as if she’d been born to it, and everything proceeded like a king’s feast.
During the second course, Janet delicately cut a bite of goose. “This is the finest supper I’ve had in all my days.”
“Even the one served by the duke?” Emma asked.
“Absolutely, and as tasty, for certain.”
Robert reached for the saltcellar and used a wee spoon to season his food. “It is very good. We must ensure we compliment Cook come morn.”
“Aye, we must.”
After the footmen had cleared the second course, just as Emma promised, an apple tart baked in individual crockery was set in front of each of them. “Och, I believe I could live on the final course alone,” said Emma, spoon in hand.
Janet closed her eyes while a bite of the tart melted on her tongue. “This has been a meal I shall never forget.”
“To make the evening perfect, I believe a bit of entertainment is in order.” Robert tapped Emma’s arm. “Would you play for us?”
“Oh, yes.” Janet clapped. “You promised to play your harp for me.”
“I did, and Jimmy moved it to the hall just for this eve.” Emma pushed back her chair and stood. “This is exactly why I have been practicing all these years.”
Robert stood and took his sister’s hand. “I’m certain there will be many more performances to come.”
While Robert helped Emma situate her harp, the footmen moved two chairs in place. Taking her cue, Janet shifted to one of them. Once Robert joined her, Emma looked up expectantly—though not at them, at the far wall. “Are you ready?”
“I’m always ready to listen to your music,” Robert said.
A mesmerizing cascade of notes began the performance. The hall came alive with sound as Emma’s fingers expertly plucked the strings.
Janet leaned in to Robert. Covering her mouth, she whispered, “Where did she learn to play? She is a virtuoso.”
“The vicar’s wife comes once a fortnight. It began as an act of charity, but I’d say the student has become the master in this instance.”
“’Tis such a shame not more people are able to hear her play.”
“It is.”
“You could invite the locals for a recital—you said she is accepted by the clan.”
“Perhaps I will. She has played at gatherings, but a recital would be something she could plan for—something that is entirely her own.”
The tune ended with a magical scale of notes and the two of them applauded animatedly, Janet making as much noise as she could by holding her injured arm against her ribs and clapping with her right. “That was the most delightful, stunning, flawless Celtic harp I have ever heard.”
A furrow formed in Emma’s brow. “But you pair were chatting all the while. I heard your whispers.”
“We were discussing how practiced you are,” said Robert.
“And I think you should plan a recital,” Janet said.
Robert gave her a stern look.
But Emma beamed. “Truly?”
“Ah…” Robert waffled. “You should think on it. Select your best.” Why wasn’t he ready to commit?
Janet believed Emma far too talented to let the issue pass without some sort of commitment. “I would plan something for this winter when everyone is home and the work is minimal. Mayhap after Christmas and Hogmanay have passed. What say you, Robert?”
“I think—”
“Oh please, Brother. My mind is already running rampant with the repertoire.”
“In the new year, then.” Robert gave a thin-lipped nod. He knew it was time to face the facts that his sister was coming of age and he could no longer cosset her. Surely there was a man out there for her. She was too endearing to keep hidden. “But.” Robert held up his finger. “I would like you to play a minuet, for I haven’t had the honor of dancing with Miss Janet yet this eve.”
“I’ll play you a dozen minuets. I’ll play all night if you’d like.” Smiling, Emma began to play again.
Robert stood, bowed, and offered his hand.
Janet placed her palm in his and allowed him to lead her to the dance floor. “That went rather well,” she whispered.
“Aye, though I would have liked to have some time to ponder the idea first.”
“What’s to ponder? She’s magnificent. Such talent should not be hidden.”
“But…”
“What?”
“I do not want to see her hurt.”
“Something tells me you will ensure she will not be.”
“True. I’d challenge anyone who would dare.”
“I expect no less. Though…”
“Hmm?”
“Everyone experiences setbacks. ’Tis part of life.”
“Believe me, my sister has endured enough setbacks.” Instead of taking Janet’s hand for the promenade, Robert pulled her into his arms and dipped his chin, pressing his lips to her ear. “But I do not want to talk about recitals this eve. I want to kiss you everywhere.”
Forming an O with her lips, Janet pulled back while he shushed her with his finger. A grin played on his lips while that same wicked finger turned downward and traced the exposed swells of her bosom. Gooseflesh rose over Janet’s skin. She shook her head, mouthing, “We mustn’t.”
The scoundrel waggled his eyebrows and slipped his finger directly inside her cleavage before he resumed the dance. “Come to my chamber this eve,” he whispered.
“Why not mine?” she asked.
He inclined his head toward his sister. “Mine is in the quiet wing of the house not frequented by some.”
Janet arched her eyebrow. She hadn’t ventured past the rose bedchamber, though she’d noticed the bend at the end of the corridor where Robert disappeared at night. That was the laird’s wing and his alone.
* * *
In his chamber, Robert paced in front of the hearth. What in God’s name was he doing? It was no harlot he’d invited to his private rooms. Miss Janet was the daughter of Sir Ewen Cameron, a knight and, as chief of Lochiel, one of the most powerful chieftains in the Highlands. Again he berated himself for not taking her home rather than bringing her to Moriston Hall. The woman was too tempting. He awoke every morn thinking about Janet. Every time he entered a room he looked to see if she was there. He longed to see her in the blue taffeta gown again, because no woman would ever again look the same in such a color. She was more beautiful than roses and sweeter than water from a mountain spring.
He would do anything for her, yet she could never truly be his.
Groaning, he marched to the sideboard and poured himself a dram of whisky. I should not have been so brash. Dammit, I need to take her home. Bugger the healer’s recommendations and bugger my bloody feud with her father.
He tossed back the drink and poured another.
A soft tap sounded on the door.
After two steps he opened it.
There she stood, eyes mesmerizing, hair of gold and a broken arm she never should have had to endure. She took a hasty glance over her shoulder. “I-I came to say what we did last night is wrong. I never should have—”
He pulled her inside and smothered her excuse with a kiss. A kiss that told her exactly how mad she had driven him. A kiss that showed her exactly how deep his passion ran—how much she had bewitched him, mind, body, and soul. He kicked the door shut and backed her toward the bed, his hands untying the laces of her gown while she sighed into his mouth.
When the backs of her legs hit the mattress, she toppled to her bum, her lips swollen, her eyes heavy-lidded. “No, Robert. We mustn’t.”
“You want it as much as I,” he said, removing the kilt pin from his shoulder.
“It doesn’t matter what I want. We can never be wed, and I will not become a fallen woman, birthing an illegitimate bairn. Things between us have grown precarious enough. Please, you tempt me far too much.”
He sat beside her and brushed a curl away from her face. “Och, mo cridhe.” Never in his life had he used the Gaelic endearment, “my heart,” but it flowed over his tongue as surely as if it demanded to be uttered. “I ken ’tis hazardous for you to be here. I have a sister, and if anyone misbehaved toward her, I would challenge him to a duel of swords and give no quarter.” He took her hand and kissed it. “You have turned me into a man driven by insatiable want, yet I give you my oath I will not take your innocence.”
“Even with that promise, I fear I am already ruined. Merely by staying here I am compromised.”
“I will testify that you are not. Every servant in this house will do so as well. And I have already explained to your father that you are under the care of my sister and my housekeeper.”
“Yet here I sit in your bedchamber at midnight.” She looked him in the eye and whispered, “Wanting you.”