Aileen jumped at the sound of her sister’s voice.
Blake was equally surprised, but his immediate reaction was to protect Aileen. He stepped forward, pulling her behind him.
Tara stood in the doorway, her eyes alive with the outrage of an avenging angel. “What were the two of you doing?” she demanded again, as if it hadn’t been obvious.
A good amount of whisky coursed through Blake’s veins, but he was very sober right now.
“It is nothing, Tara,” he said with a calmness he didn’t feel. “Everything is fine. Return to your room.”
“Are you ordering me about as if I was a child?” Tara craned her neck, as if she wanted to see her sister. Aileen started to move away, but Blake blocked her with his arm.
Tara shook her head with scorn. “You weren’t happy to see me this afternoon with Mr. Jamerson, were you? What makes you believe I am happy with what I just witnessed? Or is this your way of treating me in kind?”
“We will discuss this later,” Blake answered. “Calmly.” But first, he needed to talk to Aileen. He knew enough of her character to understand this would not set well with her.
“We will discuss this now,” Tara said, demonstrating the brattiness that had been so much of her character of late, a defect he could no longer ignore.
“We shall not,” Blake said in a tone that made her take a step backward. “If you want to rant like an offended fishwife, you may do so. However, I’m for my bed, and your sister is as well.”
“Obviously” was Tara’s cheeky reply, and Blake was tempted to turn her over his knee.
Aileen tried to explain. “It really isn’t what you think—”
“Don’t speak,” Tara barked out. “How could you do this? You are my sister. I’ve trusted you with confidences of my heart and you’ve taken advantage of them.”
“Tara—,” Aileen started, but she spoke to air. Tara had run from the room, her feet pounding down the hall.
Aileen started to go to her, but Blake caught her arm.
“Don’t. Let her be,” he advised.
“I can’t let this be. What were we thinking? What madness took hold of us?”
“It wasn’t madness, my lady, it was—” He stopped, uncertain how to put what had happened in words. He hadn’t planned on kissing her . . . well, yes, perhaps he had. The idea always seemed ever present in his brain whenever she was around.
“It was something that shouldn’t have happened,” she finished for him. “I have no excuse. I was wrong. It is me. It is my nature to ruin relationships—”
“You weren’t alone in the kiss,” he interjected, trying to reason with her. “And it was barely a kiss. Our lips had hardly touched.” No, he wouldn’t have classified that as a complete kiss at all.
“It was the whisky,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “You didn’t know what you were doing. We must tell her that.”
“But I did know what I was doing,” he answered. “In fact, I’ve been attracted to you since the first day when you argued so passionately against Tara being forced to marry me.”
Aileen eyed him warily. “You should have been angry.”
“I should have. I was tired, had spent two miserable days with your father in a coach driving as if the devil was on our heels. I also believed I was being played for a fool. But I’ve never known anyone to speak out for another person with as much intensity as you did. I could see you were surprised when Tara decided for the marriage.”
“That is what is so ridiculous in all this,” she said. “There isn’t even goodwill between you and Tara. But that doesn’t mean I want to be a part of any argument you have. Oh, no, I’ve had enough of scandal to last me a lifetime. This is not for me.” She began backing toward the door.
“Aileen, no, don’t be this way.” He reached for her. “I didn’t plan the kiss. You didn’t either, but now that we know what is between us—”
“What is between us?” She gave a small, hysterical laugh. “There is nothing. Nothing. No-thing,” she said. “What happened here was lust. Pure and simple and so insidious it wants you or me to believe that it was special, magical. And it wasn’t. I’ve walked this path before. I shall not walk it again.”
She was a step away from the door. In a second, he would lose her. Blake caught her arm, meaning to take hold of her so that they could talk just a moment more. She shouldn’t be so upset.
However, when he drew her forward, she came directly into his arms. Their lips naturally found each other.
This was a kiss.
She didn’t want to kiss him. There was a hint of resistance, but it melted at his insistence. Her lips softened, and he pressed home his advantage.
His arm moved to her waist. She felt good against him.
The whys of this moment were complicated, but he didn’t need to worry about them now. Instead, for the first time in his life, he tried to let his kiss say all she had refused to hear. He attempted to convey his understanding of her fears. He had fears as well. This was not something he had anticipated; how could she?
But he knew that if he let her go, he might be missing something very important to his life. Something of great value.
He leaned her back against the door frame. There was so much he admired about her. She was direct, passionate, and understood something of human weakness.
Certainly she would forgive him for his powerlessness over his character now—
She slipped from his arms and escaped, moving out into the hallway.
Holding up her hands to ward him off, she whispered sadly, “I can’t. I’m not brave enough to pay the price. Not anymore.”
In the next beat, she was dashing down the hall.
Blake leaned an arm against the doorjamb.
For a moment, she had been his and he’d wanted her very much, but not in the way of rutting lust. Aileen touched something inside him no one had ever moved before. There was a connection between them, one he didn’t understand, and he could not turn away.
He picked up the candle from the desk and went upstairs to stand in front of her bedroom door. He knocked lightly. There was no response. He hadn’t expected one.
But in that way he was becoming accustomed to sensing her presence, he knew she was there, right on the other side of the door.
“Don’t close me out,” he said, keeping his voice low, aware that Tara might be listening and ready to create another scene—and then where would he be?
He thought he could hear Aileen breathing, could catch the scent of her, more potent than any perfume. “We aren’t done with this,” he promised. “We will talk.”
She did not answer him.
Blake walked to his room, and once he was there, he doubled his fist and slammed the door shut with it.
Pain shot up his arm, but he didn’t care. The action relieved some of the tension pent up inside him.
Jones was waiting up, snoozing in a chair by the room’s wardrobe. He came awake with a start at the sound of wood cracking and frowned as he pieced together what Blake had done. Unruffled, he said, “Did that do the trick, sir?”
Blake turned. “No, no.” He pushed his hair back with one hand. He looked at the valet and confessed, “I think I may have found the one thing I want in life.”
“Truly, sir?” Jones said, crossing to help Blake remove his jacket. “Is that why you are hitting the door?”
“It was either hitting the door or hitting myself.” Blake paused a moment and then said, “I believe I’m falling in love.”
For a second, that last word sounded alien to his ears. He was a practical man. He’d given no credence to love before. However, the more he considered this revelation, the more real and true it became.
“Can it happen that quickly?” Blake wondered aloud. “And without good reason?”
“What would be a good reason, sir?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about love.”
“Most men don’t” was Jones’s reply.
Blake frowned, trying to reason out his feelings.
His mother had been a victim of love. He’d watched numerous men go in and out of her life. After one disappointment, she’d warned him that the only person who could be trusted was oneself. It was simpler that way, and he had believed her.
Still, her attitude hadn’t stopped him from searching for approval from Penevey. Blake had stretched himself to be all he could to win his father’s respect—and was that not a form of love?
But what he was feeling—at this moment—was something entirely different.
It was as if he’d discovered in Aileen a part of him that he’d never known. There was something about her presence that felt right. And, of course, she had the other qualities he noted in women. She was not a stunning beauty like her sister, but he liked looking at her. And he enjoyed her intelligence. He respected it. When he spoke to her, he could talk as an equal. She didn’t have missish ways, nor did she feign silliness. “There is substance to her.”
“I beg your pardon, sir?” Jones said.
Realizing he had just spoken aloud, Blake turned to his man and said, “I am in love.”
“Very good, sir,” Jones answered, sounding slightly befuddled by Blake’s meanderings.
“Yes, it is,” Blake agreed. “But I am in love with the wrong sister.”
Jones’s lips formed a round and heavy “Oh.”
“Yes,” Blake confirmed. “I am falling in love with Aileen Hamilton . . . and there will be hell to pay.”
“What are you going to do, sir?”
“I don’t know.”
“Sir, there are plans being made for your marriage to Lady Tara.”
“Thank you for stating the obvious, Jones.” Blake frowned, considering his options. “Tomorrow. I’ll to Lady Aileen. We’ll work this out,” he said and felt a sense of expectancy, of the rightness of his feelings.
He also needed to speak to Tara. That conversation would be the difficult one. Now he was glad he’d caught her with the horse master. The man was welcome to her.
Sleep didn’t come immediately. He didn’t count on good things just happening to him. Everything he had, he’d worked hard to attain.
However, this was one of those rare times when he let himself believe that he was meant to be here. He had been destined to meet Lady Aileen. Her reputation didn’t put him off. Indeed, he had a reputation of his own. They might have been made for each other.
When he did finally sleep, it was deep and dreamless. His mind and body were content. He woke refreshed and filled with determination.
He was going to make Aileen his wife. He would speak to her, and then together, they would discuss this with Tara.
All would be well.
Blake went down for breakfast as early as he could, hoping to catch a moment alone with Aileen.
Dishes had been freshly set out, but according to Ingold, none of the family had been down yet.
“Not even Lady Aileen?” Blake asked.
The butler hesitated a second before saying, “No, sir.”
It was that hesitation that didn’t set easy with Blake.
He went about serving himself from the dishes on the buffet but found he had little appetite. Something was not right, and he didn’t feel better when the earl came lumbering in the room, looking the worse for wear. His clothes were rumpled. He had been shaved, but that only made the circles under his eyes seem deeper.
“Good morning, my lord,” Blake said.
A grunt was the reply.
“I assume you slept well,” Blake said. He planned on this man blessing his union with a different daughter. He believed Tay would come around, although Blake was certain it would cost him a pretty penny.
The money was no matter. He was willing to pay the price. He’d never been more certain of anything in his life than he was of his feelings for Aileen.
The earl forked sausages onto his plate. “I need ale for my breakfast,” he mumbled to Ingold. He then toddled over to the head of the table and sat down. Pushing back his sleeves, ready to tuck into his plate of food, the earl said, “Sorry I’m not better company.”
“I understand,” Blake said, steeling himself for Tay’s story of last night’s adventure. Men like the earl always bragged.
“Aileen woke me out of a sound sleep and ordered me home. Can you believe that? She had me on the road and back to Annefield before I realized my eyes were open.”
“This morning?” Blake said, uncertain if he understood.
“Aye. Aileen pounded on the door of Mrs. Bossley’s house. She was so loud, she could have woken the dead.” He popped a sausage in his mouth and reached for the tankard of ale a footman had delivered.
“Why did she do that?” Blake asked.
The earl wiped the grease from his mouth with the back of his hand. “Who knows? She insisted I return to Annefield immediately. In the wee hour of the morning and when I was very comfortable, if you know what I mean.”
“I do, but what was her reason?” Blake pressed, his patience growing thin.
“So I could chaperone you and Tara. Aileen has been called away suddenly. She said her cousin Sabrina, you met her in church, has taken ill and needs her. Aileen said she may be absent from Annefield for a good long spell.”
“Do you believe her?” Blake demanded. This was too convenient. People didn’t go running around in the night to tend to sick relatives. Aileen had left because of him. Because of the kiss.
“Why should I not?” the earl asked. “Are you suggesting she wanted to leave her home for another purpose.”
“No, of course not,” Blake said, realizing that no good would come of declaring himself without Aileen present. He sat back in his chair.
She’d left—without a word to him.
And he didn’t know what to do about it.
Love was new to him. Did one chase love? Or respect the wishes of a woman who obviously wished to keep a distance between them?
Blake didn’t know.
Growing up, he’d learned in life not to rely on people. They walked away—his mother, the duke . . . those who made him work a hundred times harder than his half brothers for the same respect. Money could keep them close. Money could buy anything a man wanted.
Except this was different, and it didn’t make sense.
Aileen wasn’t like any other person in his life. The kiss they had shared had held a promise beyond sex, a promise for something Blake didn’t know if he could trust as real.
But he did believe he was in danger of losing someone very important to him, and he was powerless to bring her back.
The sight of Blake and Aileen kissing had sent Tara’s mind into a frenzy. It had taken her hours to find sleep, and then it had been restless.
Everything was out of control. Everything.
But then she’d realized that she could use catching Blake with Aileen to her advantage.
She would tell Ruary what she’d witnessed. He would want to protect her in the way Blake had Aileen. Ruary would understand, at last, that she was free to give her heart to him. He could love her without fear of recriminations.
And if Mr. Blake Stephens kicked up a fuss, then Tara would tell the whole world she’d seen Aileen in his arms, and all would understand her position.
Because Ruary started his work early with the exercising of the horses, she’d slipped out of the house shortly after dawn, to find that Ruary was not scheduled to be at Annefield that morning. A well-placed question to the stable lad who was saddling Dirk had yielded the information that Mr. Jamerson would be working for Laird Breccan that morning. Breccan Campbell’s estate was over beyond Kenmore and was not a far ride.
She did not waste any time setting out. She wanted no questions or having someone like Angus catch her leaving and demanding she have a groomsman ride with her.
Laird Breccan was a distant cousin of the earl of Breadalbane. He was a tall, giant figure of a man and not well liked in the valley. Then again, few Campbells were. They had a bad history, and a canny Scot knew better than to trust one, perhaps Laird Breccan more so than the others. By nature, he was a lone wolf. He rarely participated in the local society and seemed intent on buying all the land he could, even if that meant taking advantage of others’ misfortunes.
Apparently he also planned on building a stable to rival those at Annefield.
Tara drew this conclusion as she trotted up to the new stone-and-timber structure on the laird’s estate. Laird Breccan was said to live in a modest home built in the last century and not improved upon since—but the stable was, even to Tara’s eye, a magnificent building.
The stalls were laid out in long rows. Paddocks marked off the property. The laird apparently had a good thirty horses. Tara knew how high Annefield’s expenses were, and she could not imagine how much the laird was spending to breed and maintain this many racing animals.
On the far side of the paddocks was a training field, where a group of riders exercised their mounts. Seeing Ruary’s horse shut in one of the stalls, Tara assumed he was over with the riders.
A stable lad saw her approach. He knew she was Quality and hurried forward with an awkward bow.
Tara suddenly felt nervous. Perhaps she was being too bold?
“Is Mr. Jamerson here?” Tara asked.
“Aye, my lady, he is,” the boy said.
“Tell him Lady Tara Davidson wishes to speak to him. It is imperative.”
The lad ran to do her bidding.
Tara helped herself down from Dirk’s back. She was curious about the stables, and, after tying her horse to a post, she couldn’t help but pry a bit. She stuck her head into one of the stalls, impressed how large it was.
Her investigation came to a quick end when she heard male voices and realized she was not alone. She crossed to Dirk in time for Laird Breccan himself to come around the far corner of the row of stalls across from her.
He was talking to a lad who was leading a sleek, well-bred Thoroughbred. Tara could recognize good horseflesh. Annefield didn’t have a horse like this one in the stables.
Trailing in Laird Breccan’s wake was a pack of the mangiest dogs Tara had ever seen. They were in all shapes and sizes, a striking contrast to Annefield’s hounds, bred for their uniformity and good looks. Seeing Tara, they came racing up to sniff her boots.
One hapless creature stood off to the side and howled Tara’s presence as if the laird could not see the visitor himself.
Tara sidled back. She didn’t mind dogs. Her cousin Sabrina had one, but these animals were rude with those noses. She pushed them away. They also weren’t obedient until Laird Breccan whistled. Then they all went running to his call, their tails wagging.
“Sit, you bastards,” Laird Breccan said. The dogs immediately went down on their haunches, tongues hanging out.
Noting Tara with a nod, Laird Breccan finished his instructions to the lad before giving him a leg up and sending him off to exercise with the others. He watched the rider a moment, then turned his full attention on Tara.
She held her head high, pretending it was not unusual for her to be there.
He approached.
“My lady,” the laird said in greeting, “to what do I owe this pleasure?”
He had a deep voice. He was also, she was surprised to note, younger than she had assumed. Of course, she’d never paid very close attention in the past, and with his shaggy dark hair and unshaven jaw, she wasn’t about to pay mind to him now.
He wore work clothes, woolen tweeds locally sewn, and heavy boots that were good for marching through muck. He was brawny enough that he needn’t worry about padding or tailoring, although he would never be mistaken for a tulip of the ton or a Corinthian. Just the thought of him in a yellow waistcoat almost made Tara laugh.
“I have a request from Father for Mr. Jamerson,” she said in her imperial voice, the lie coming easily to her.
He laughed, the sound not pleasant. “Do you truly expect me to believe Tay sent his precious daughter, the one whose marriage portion will keep him gambling for life, on a mere errand? I’m no fool, lass. You’d be best to remember that.”
“I needn’t remember anything, Laird,” Tara answered, “since it is not you I’m here to see.”
He did not like her saucy response. Tara didn’t care.
“You’d best mind your tongue,” he murmured.
“Or the Campbells will be after me?” She laughed. “There is nothing you can do to me, Breccan Campbell, not if you want to give a pretense to being civilized.”
Anger lit his eyes, and she was surprised to note they were gray, icy gray like Loch Tay on a winter’s day. Well, she didn’t care if he felt insulted. She had matters other than humoring him on her mind.
And fortunately, Ruary came riding up on one of the exercise horses. He dismounted and said with some urgency, “My lady, what is it? Is there a problem at the stables?”
She hadn’t thought he would equate her presence with being a matter for alarm, although it did work to her advantage, so she used it. “Yes, Mr. Jamerson. We need you. Can you leave with me right now?”
Ruary looked to Laird Breccan. She couldn’t help but notice that Breccan was taller than Ruary by almost half a foot. “The lads are doing fine,” Ruary said. “May I leave?”
“Will you be back later?” the laird said, his words clipped. He was obviously not happy.
“If you wish, Laird.”
“I do. I expect all that I’m due for the money I’m paying you.”
“Are you not pleased with the results I have delivered, Laird?”
Instead of answering, Laird Breccan glanced at Tara before he cautioned Ruary, “Be careful of that one.”
Tara didn’t know whether to be offended or to laugh. She decided to ignore him. “Are you ready to leave, Mr. Jamerson?”
“Aye, my lady.” He helped her mount Dirk, then gathered his own horse. Within minutes they were on the road.
When they were out of sight of Campbell’s stables and alone on the road for Annefield, Ruary asked, “What is the problem? Why did you come fetch me?”
In answer, Tara rode off the road into the shelter of trees beside a racing stream. She slid off Dirk.
Ruary, too, dismounted. “What is it?” he asked again.
She answered him by throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him with all she was worth.