Day Two
Good God.
Garrick glanced around at the once-grand entrance hall of Castle Highburn, hardly believing his eyes. It looked nothing like he remembered.
Broken windows gleamed in the sunlight, and jagged cracks scarred the walls. Sunlight had faded the red drapes to dull pink. Dust and cobwebs covered the chandelier, and the carved banister of the massive stairs looked as if it hadn’t been polished in years. The claymores that had once decorated the walls in mind-reeling geometric patterns to show off the power and influence of the Rowland clan were now in disarray, with several lying broken on the floor. Even the coat of arms hanging over the door had cracked.
Sadly, the outside wasn’t much better. During the ride up the drive, he’d noted a sagging roof, cracks in the facade, overgrown gardens . . . The whole place looked as if it might come tumbling down at any moment.
Yet in his mind’s eye, he still saw it as it had been when he first came here twelve years ago, when the house had been grand and its furnishings immaculate. When the Rowland name still evoked respect across the highlands. But now . . .
He hadn’t expected this.
Nor had he expected Arabel. Which had been the biggest surprise of all.
For ten years he’d cursed her, wondered about her, even dreamt about her . . . such dreams that would make a sailor blush. He did everything he could to purge her from his memory by charging into the fiercest battles and by bedding every woman he could. But there had never been any one else like her. No other woman had that same flame-red hair, those same piercing green eyes. No other woman had the same vitality and love for life that she possessed, certainly not the same stubborn temper. She was as untamed as the highlands and as beautiful to match, all wrapped in the sweet scent of heather. It had surrounded her like a cloud then, making him want to lose himself in her.
Apparently, he still did.
When he walked into the law office and saw her, she ripped his breath away. Arabel had always been lovely, but she’d matured into a woman, full and ripe . . . simply stunning. He hadn’t been prepared for that. Or for that bout of insanity that had him craving her so badly that he’d dared to lick her ear just to capture one small taste of her.
He grinned as he rubbed his cheek. It had been worth the slap.
Now he was expected to live with her for the next month. The only woman he’d ever loved and wanted to marry, yet who seemed to hate him even more now that her family had inadvertently made him an earl.
Fate had a twisted sense of humor.
“I’ve investigated the rest of the house.” His man Reeves walked into the hall with the proud bearing of a soldier, one that intimidated lesser men and set female hearts fluttering.
Not quite as tall as Garrick and with a slightly more slender build, Reeves had spent his own time on the continent charging into both battles and ladies’ beds until an accident removed most of his left hand. Unable to fight, Reeves had become Garrick’s aide-de-camp, and he trusted no man more in his life.
Since they’d left the army, Reeves still assisted him, now helping him with the responsibilities of the earldom. The two men never discussed it, but Garrick knew life for Reeves would have been a struggle if he hadn’t employed him. The same with all the other former soldiers he’d hired into his household staff.
War changed men, and civilian life could never change them back.
“What did you find?” Garrick prompted.
Reeves grimaced, his normally charming grin twisting downward. “Worse than we thought. The roof on the east wing has caved in. The west wing still seems solid, but most of the rooms have been shut off.” He shook his head, tugging on the leather gloves he always wore. “As far as I can tell, the place is barely standing. A good strong wind might blow it over completely.”
Exactly what Garrick had surmised himself from his exploration of the ground floor.
“If I were you, I’d let the gel have it and count myself lucky to have escaped.”
Garrick smiled grimly at that. He supposed he should. Simply gallop off and finally cut all ties with Scotland. He didn’t need what money his half of the estate might bring, and he certainly didn’t belong in the highlands anymore. After all, he was now an English lord with more loyalty to the crown than to the thistle.
And wasn’t that his purpose for coming here in the first place, to prove to himself how much he’d changed? To take one last look around the highlands before heading back south and never returning? This time, it would be his decision to leave.
He hadn’t lied to Arabel in the solicitor’s office. He wanted revenge against the Rowlands, and he’d spent every breath of the past ten years craving just that, even as what they’d done to him had inadvertently led to his skyrocketing rise. Inheriting Highburn had finally given him that revenge. The groom who wasn’t good enough to marry into the Rowland clan now held the fate of its ancestral seat in his hands. Truly, that was what mattered. Not the property, but its control. And proving to himself that the Rowlands no longer had any control over him by being able to walk away from the highlands without a second thought.
But then he saw Arabel, and everything changed.
Now he couldn’t simply walk away. Not when she still affected him like this. And certainly not when he could have once more what she and her family had taken from him—his home and heritage.
“No,” he answered wryly. “I think the Townsend holdings could use a highland estate.”
Reeves looked at him knowingly. “Or is it that Townsend could use a highland lass?”
“Not that lass,” he muttered, his gaze returning to the coat of arms. “That one’s a true thistle.”
The damn woman had made him believe she loved him, only to set her family on him. She probably did love him, in her own way; he’d give her that much credit. But not enough to defy her family and choose a life with him.
A commotion went up outside as a small carriage pulled to a stop.
Through the margin lights bracketing the front door, Garrick watched as Ewan Murray alighted and turned to help Arabel to the ground. She paused in the carriage doorway to glance up at the old house, and her face lit with emotion. The look of home.
Then she stepped to the ground, took Murray’s arm, and allowed him to lead her inside.
Garrick faced her, their eyes locking across the entrance hall. Neither moved as around them their arrival sent up a flurry of activity, with footmen coming forward to carry her trunks and bags into the house and the housekeeper giving orders on where they should all be taken. A fierce determination blazed in her green eyes.
This was how it was going to be, was it?
So be it.
“Welcome to Castle Highburn,” he announced with as much arrogance as any lord of the manor, solely to irritate her.
Not deigning to reply, she pulled back her shoulders, but the defensive stance couldn’t hide her stunning beauty. Not in that dress of crushed green velvet that made her hair resemble fire as it lay piled in soft curls on top her head. Pinned so loosely in place, in fact, that he wondered if he could shake it down simply by running his fingers through it. Her full lips were pressed into a tight line of annoyance, but he knew how soft that mouth was, how responsive and spicy-sweet. Try as she might to appear formidable, her anger only added to her allure. A hard-edged hellion wrapped in soft velvet. The contradiction she represented tied his gut into knots.
Unaware of the turmoil she churned inside him, she turned toward Murray. The man had finally stepped to her side after chastising the servants for attempting to bring in his luggage and shouting at the driver and tiger to keep the carriage at the ready.
So the banker wasn’t staying. Satisfaction rolled through him. Good.
Murray possessively took Arabel’s elbow. “I want you to give up this nonsense right now and get back into the carriage with me. We’ll file suit and—”
“Which will do no good.” She shifted away from him. Not far enough that anyone else would have noticed, but Garrick did. “It’s only a month and will pass before we know it. Besides, being here will allow me to finalize our wedding plans.”
Garrick’s chest tightened.
“I’ll finalize everything,” Murray corrected gruffly. Then, with his eyes never leaving Garrick, he lifted Arabel’s hand to his lips. Her engagement ring, now worn on the outside of her glove when it had been safely tucked beneath at the solicitor’s, glittered in the sunlight for all to see. Just as Murray wanted, Garrick was certain. To brand her as his. “I’d be a fool to let you get away.”
An icy jolt pulsed through him, and he clenched his jaw. Did Murray know the true relationship between him and Arabel? No, surely Arabel had kept her secrets. Otherwise, Garrick couldn’t imagine that Murray would be daft enough to leave her alone with him.
He certainly wouldn’t have.
He raked his gaze coldly over the banker. How little this man knew her. Arabel’s independent spirit made her give freely of her passions, but she’d never allow herself to be owned by any man.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she assured Murray, although her long-suffering sigh made Garrick smile to himself. Whatever was between the two, it wasn’t love.
With a scowl, Murray took her arm and pulled her aside, then began to lecture her quietly enough that no one could overhear. But he jabbed his finger at her, belittling her with every point he made.
Hot anger flared inside Garrick’s chest. How dare that bastard! Clenching his fists, he started forward—
Reeves laid a hand on his shoulder.
He stopped. And felt like a damnable fool.
He turned away, to gaze once more up at the coat of arms and remember why he was here—and why he’d left. And to curse himself for the rush of jealousy spilling through him at seeing Arabel with another man.
He rubbed at the knot of tension forming at his nape. Christ. He was behaving like some insecure lad instead of the man he was.
Murray stepped away from Arabel, having finished the admonishment he’d leveled at her. And which she’d calmly accepted. From the way fire blazed in her green eyes, though, Garrick knew she’d not forget it. When Murray caught Garrick watching the two of them, he placed an improper kiss to her lips. One that left her glaring at the banker in irritation, and one that twisted Garrick’s insides.
“Safe travels,” he called out as Murray marched toward the door, the devil inside him too powerful to resist. “I’ll be happy to look after Arabel for you.” He lowered his voice to a possessive purr, “Very closely.”
Murray’s stride hitched, and he jerked up straight. Then thinking better of confronting Garrick, he hurried on, snatching his hat and gloves away from the butler and stomping on to the waiting carriage.
“So what’s your plan, now that we’re here?” Arabel demanded, turning on Garrick. “Sell the livestock, raze the house . . . salt the earth so nothing ever grows here again?” She raised her chin. “Just like your cold heart?”
She’d meant to insult, but satisfaction pulsed sweetly inside him that he was able to get a rise out of her so soon on the heels of Murray’s parting. At this rate, she’d flee Highburn by week’s end.
He ignored her comment and drawled instead, “It’s always so heartwarming to see an affianced pair so deeply in love with each other.”
She glared at him but said nothing, knowing not to antagonize him further. For now. With a dismissive sniff, she turned to the housekeeper. “Mrs. Stewart, would you be kind enough to show me to my room? Then I’d like to visit with Aunt Matilda.”
“Aye, Miss. This way.”
The housekeeper led her up the stairs. She didn’t deign to cast a parting glance at him.
Reeves arched his neck to watch her leave, his eyes shining appreciatively as he tugged at his gloves. “Thistle, hmm?” A grin broke across his face. “Might be worth a few pricks.”
“Perhaps,” Garrick said quietly, struck by the force of her. Arabel was never more alluring than when the untamed spirit inside her flared to the surface.
“So it seems you’re determined to remain,” Reeves mused. “Do you wish me to stay as well?”
He shook his head. “I need you to oversee the earldom while I’m gone. I’ll have my hands full here.”
“Oh, I’m certain of it.” Reeves accepted his caped greatcoat from the butler and then glanced meaningfully up the stairs with a grin. “But what would Scotland be without its thistles?”
Knowing to ignore that, Garrick nodded toward the door. “Make certain the banker returns to Edinburgh, will you? I don’t want him interfering here.”
Reeves arched a knowing brow. “So you do have plans.”
“Pursue that hellion?” He smiled grimly at that. Hadn’t he learned the hard way where pursuing Arabel Rowland led? It had taken him a decade to crawl out of the hell she and her family had thrown him into. He wasn’t about to go back. But . . . “It would be sweet.”
“Because you’d seduce the estate from her?”
“Because having her would be the perfect revenge,” he muttered, contemplating the irony as he looked once more at the Rowland coat of arms. But that revenge he had no plans to enact. Arabel had burned him once. He had no intention of getting that close to her fire again.
The butler cleared his throat. “Yer lairdship.”
Garrick’s gaze darted to the man. He’d forgotten the butler was still there. “Yes, Jamieson?”
“Mrs. Stewart requested that I show ye to yer room, m’laird. She dinna think ye’d find it on yer own.”
“Thank you.” He nodded toward Reeves, then started up the stairs. “Safe travels to you.”
Reeves doffed his hat. “And safe staying at home to you.” Before slipping out the door, he laughed as he threw one last glance upstairs after Arabel. “You’re going to need it!”
Grimacing, Garrick took the stairs two at a time, leaving the portly butler struggling to keep up. When they reached the first floor landing, he let Jamieson lead the way down the hall . . . and right toward where Arabel stood with Mrs. Stewart. The door to the guestroom was open wide, with Mrs. Stewart giving orders to the footmen about where to put Arabel’s luggage.
Jamieson opened the door to the room directly across from hers.
Garrick stopped in pleasant surprise and smiled. “Mine?”
“Aye, yer lairdship.”
When Arabel’s face paled at the sleeping arrangements, Garrick nearly laughed. This day was getting better and better!
“We’ve shut off most o’ the rooms, ye see,” Mrs. Stewart explained. “Only those in this wing are open, an’ none on th’ floor above.” When the two of them stared silently at the other, with Arabel clenching her teeth and Garrick grinning like the cat who’d gotten into the cream, the housekeeper shifted nervously. “But they be good rooms,” she assured them, misunderstanding the tension between them. “Practically the same. An’ her ladyship’s is just there, at the far end o’ the hall.”
“How cozy,” he murmured, goading Arabel by dropping his gaze to her mouth. “And how convenient for wishing you a good night.” Her full lips parted temptingly at his audacity. “Or a good morning.”
Her face flushed scarlet, and he bit his cheek to keep from laughing. But he wasn’t naive enough to think her blush was anything more than barely restrained fury.
Knowing she was beaten on this front, Arabel tossed her head and spun on her heel to march into her room. “This will be perfect, Mrs. Stewart. Thank you.”
Yes, he thought, as he sauntered into his own room. Perfect.