A Mackenzie Family Christmas: The Perfect Gift

But he'd learned that he could look at his brothers if he wanted to. And if it meant they went away and left him in peace, so much the better.

Hart at last gave Ian a nod, turned around, and stalked away, as though going had been his idea. Ian heard Beth and Ainsley begin talking at once, Cameron's growl, less edgy than before, and Curry's exasperated exclamation that looking after Ian was putting lines on his face.

Daniel closed the door and beamed a wide smile. "What a setup. For Beth, you say?"

"For Jamie and Belle." Ian liked that Daniel moved carefully, not disturbing what Ian had put into place. "Which will make Beth happy again."

"You're amazing, Uncle Ian. The only man in Scotland who can put an entire house in an uproar by locking a door."

"I didn't want the dogs in."

"Good thinking. Now." Daniel put his hands on his kilt-clad hips. "I have a few gadgets I could add--clockwork figures, clockwork noisemaking machines, and . . . clocks. Will you let me?"

Ian imagined it, the timing, speeds, and events. "Yes," he said.

Another thing Ian liked about Daniel was that he didn't need long explanations and reassurance. He only laughed and rubbed his hands.

"Right," Daniel said. "Let's get to it."

*** *** ***

David Fleming walked into Castle Kilmorgan and made a rude gesture to the Mackenzie ancestors glaring down from the walls at him. David was connected to these people, as his great-great aunt, Donnag Fleming, had been daft enough to marry a Mackenzie. David was descended from Donnag's brother, and that was as close as he wanted to become to being a Mackenzie.

The quantity of whiskey sloshing around inside him didn't help when looking up at all these people. Nor did the long journey and lack of sleep.

At least Hart had comfortable beds, David thought. He knew he should be at home managing his own estate, but that seemed boringly tedious, and too much like the life his father had wanted him to lead. Hence his eager acceptance of Hart's Christmas invitation.

I'll be a staid lord of the manor when I can't stand up anymore.

There was one drawback about staying in Hart's house, however. When the footman took David's wraps, he informed him that His Grace was waiting for David in a chamber in the duke's private wing.

Ah, well, best to get it over with. David straightened his cravat in front of a mirror on the second landing, brushed back his dark hair, and tried to convince himself that his eyes weren't as bloodshot as they felt.

At least his valet had stuffed him into a new suit. Hart would have him in a kilt for the rest of the visit, but David was happy he'd been able to make the drafty train journey with his legs covered.

He knocked on a door near the end of the corridor as directed by a helpful maid dusting in the hall. Not Hart's bedchamber. However, he knew that Hart had changed his bedchamber after his marriage, declaring he wouldn't sleep in the monument dedicated to his father any longer. Not that David blamed him, but that meant he was being directed to . . .

A maid opened the door from the inside, gave David a deferential smile, then slipped away, carrying out whatever tray she'd come here to remove.

Hart Mackenzie, the Duke of Bloody Kilmorgan, sat on a gilded chair from the last century, ruining its finish by rocking back on the chair's legs and resting his feet on the large bed beside him.

In that bed, like a queen on her throne, reposed Eleanor, Duchess of Kilmorgan, formerly Lady Eleanor Ramsay, the woman whom David, once upon a time, had fallen madly in love with.

Tonight she lay in a modest dressing gown, pillows behind her, covers pulled up under her arms. Nothing could hide the large bulge of her abdomen, the symbol of her love for David's oldest friend, Hart Mackenzie.

Chapter Nine

"David." Hart brought his legs down and swung up and out of the chair, sounding genuinely glad to see him. "Welcome."

His handshake was warm and strong, Hart's clap on David's shoulder as hard as ever.

"Forgive me for not rising," Eleanor said, her smile as lovely as ever. "For obvious reasons. I had an awful morning, and I was told unequivocally that I needed to rest." She glanced at Hart, who paid no attention. "It's good to see you, David. Come and give me a kiss."

Oh Lord. David pasted on a smile as he crossed the room, took Eleanor's outstretched hands, and leaned down to kiss her cheek. She smelled of honey and lavender, and she was still beautiful, even with, or perhaps because of, her face and hands plump with her pregnancy.

"I'm so glad you've come," Eleanor said softly.

No false politeness. She meant it.

David didn't deceive himself, however. He'd always known he hadn't stood a chance with Eleanor, no matter how besotted he'd become. Eleanor had refused David years ago, after Eleanor and Hart's very public breakup, and she'd never married at all until she had a chance again with Hart. It had always been Hart with her.

"Better than me rotting at home alone at Christmas," David said in a jovial voice. "A Christmas cracker isn't much fun to pull open on your own."

Eleanor winked at him as she released his hands. "There will be plenty of people to break them with here. Especially a few young ladies."

David backed away from the bed and dropped into a chair. Dear God, even the decorative furniture in this room was comfortable.

"No matchmaking, El," David said. "Don't you dare. I'm a drunken sot, and the women who like me are not the sort I'd introduce to my mother. I prefer it that way."