Heart Melter (8 page)

“Aye, but Fiona looked the other way. She wanted Ian to have a normal childhood and not be sent to boarding school. She was devoted to Ian and loved his company. Fiona knew how much Ian loved animals and they spent most of their afternoons outdoors, hiking and fishing.” She shook her head in bewilderment and shrugged. “Fiona loved Malcolm, in spite of his faults, and he had many.”

“Oh.” Natasha didn’t know how to respond.

Maggie’s mouth tightened. “God rest his departed soul, but the man was imposing and dictatorial. He didn’t relate to Ian and for some odd reason, it seemed to annoy him that the lad was verra smart and mature for his age. Even as a
bairn
, Ian had astute vision and a huge heart. Malcolm never appreciated that Ian was born to be a doctor. He wanted his only son to be a ruthless businessman like himself. Selfish. That’s what he was!” she spat out.

Natasha was floored by Maggie’s outpouring of emotion. It was as if she was unloading years of pent-up frustration. “I had no idea it was like that. Ian is brilliant and formidable, and I just assumed that he took after his father since Malcolm was so successful.”

Maggie shook her head. “They weren’t close.”

“No wonder. After the funeral, any time I brought up his father, Ian shut down the conversation. I thought it was because his loss was too recent and raw.”

“Ian is nothing like Malcolm. He doesn’t even look like him. Straight from the womb, Ian was a brilliant
bairn
. He excelled in all areas, especially maths and science. As a teenager, he spent more time in the science lab and learning to heal animals than at social functions. He was so handsome, the girls swarmed to get his attention. He dated a lot, but never fell in love.” She paused and gazed at Natasha. “Until he met you.”

“Oh,” Natasha said in a small voice, trying not to feel even worse.

“Chin up, lass. All will be resolved soon enough,” Maggie said cheerfully as she rose from the bench. "Will you listen to me ramblin’ on? I'm going inside to check on dinner. Stay awhile and enjoy the fresh air."

“I think I will.” When Maggie left, Natasha’s gaze followed the stone path to the roses named after her. Ian had probably renamed them "heartbreaker" by now. She rubbed her arms as the temperature plummeted along with her heart. Drawing in a shivery breath, she rose from the bench and headed inside.

Back in the bedroom, she hung her clothes in the armoire and neatly arranged her toiletries in the bathroom. Lifting the lid off the glass jar of her perfumed body cream, she inhaled deeply and closed her eyes. The rose fragrance sent tingles through her when she remembered Ian used to tell her, "your rose scent intoxicates me.”

With a sigh, Natasha closed the lid and turned her attention to the empty suitcases. Where to put them? She closed the smaller one and put it on the bench in front of the bed. When she tried to close the larger one, she noticed the inside lining close to the handle was frayed. She tucked the loose threads inside the seam and her hand touched something hard under the lining. She slipped her hand through the seam and retrieved a small, rectangular object.

Her stomach did a nosedive when she realized she was holding a flash drive. 

The missing flash drive!

Stunned, Natasha’s heart lodged like a fist in her throat. When and how on earth had Tony put the flash drive in her suitcase? He’d only been to her apartment a few times! Her pulse pounded a warning beat in her eardrums. Things just got very complicated and she hadn’t even spent one day in Ian’s Highland refuge. She sat on the bed and bent her head forward, gulping deep breaths to calm herself.

Should she tell Maggie and Ranald straight away, or wait and contact Ian first? Or should she call the police? She’d wait until tomorrow to contact the detectives. She ran to her laptop and opened it, hoping she still had battery left. She plugged the flash drive into the side of her laptop and waited for it to load up.
Damn!
It wasn’t working. She took the flash drive out and slid it back into the suitcase lining where she’d found it.

Natasha shoved the suitcase in the armoire and locked it. Forcing strength in her wobbly limbs, she changed into a scoop-necked, ivory angora sweater and a long black tulip skirt with high-heeled lace-up booties. Knowing Maggie and Ranald, they would be dressed nicely for her welcome dinner tonight. She put extra effort in her appearance, fluffing her hair, adding her pearl earrings and a swipe of apricot lip gloss. Somehow, she’d have to get through the evening in a cheerful mood without letting on that she had just found the damned flash drive.

Tonight her acting would be tested to the limit.

Natasha entered the grand dining room with her arms linked through Maggie’s and Ranald’s. Just as she’d imagined, they were decked in finery with Ranald in a tartan kilt and starched white dress shirt and Maggie wearing a hunter green wool dress. They were in a festive mood and it was contagious. Natasha felt like an honored guest when she saw the gleaming mahogany table set with Wedgwood china and sparkling crystal. Sleek alabaster tapers glowed in silver candelabras in various sizes along the center of the table.

The cook stood next to it with a silver breadbasket in her hands. Rosy-cheeked and with a head full of cropped white curls, Dugie, short for Dora MacDougal, greeted Natasha with a warm smile. “Welcome, Miss.”

Natasha smiled. “Thanks, Dugie. It’s good to see you again.”

“Four settings? Are we expecting someone else, Dugie?” Maggie asked.

“The fourth setting is for Dr. Ian.” Dugie’s gap-toothed grin widened as she set the basket on the table and rushed out of the room as if she’d just spilled a secret.

“I thought he wasn’t coming,” Natasha said, trying to calm the wild flurry in her stomach. “You thought wrong." Ian’s voice boomed from the doorway. 

They turned and stared at Ian as he strode into the room in a black leather bomber jacket and snug jeans with a dark red and blue MacGregor tartan wool scarf streaming behind him. Looking like a hunter come in from the wild Highlands, Ian’s urbane celebrity surgeon persona in America contrasted sharply to the untamed laird he became in Scotland. In his homeland, he was a man’s man who enjoyed the outdoors with gusto. 

Natasha’s breath caught in her throat when his silver-green eyes zeroed in on her. She met his nod with a smile and was surprised to see a flicker of uncertainty in his keen eyes. The candlelit room did nothing to soften his austere features or the tautness of his jaw, sharp as a Highland peak.

The moment Maggie rushed toward him with outstretched arms, his eyes softened.  "Welcome home, my lad,” she said, giddily kissing both his cheeks.

Ian lifted her and swung her around in an arc, laughing at her protests. Natasha couldn’t help smiling as she watched him twirl his plump little aunt in the air.

"Put me down, naughty pup," Maggie admonished, wiping happy tears from her face. “I’m an old woman.”

“Rubbish, you’re not old. Why the tears, daft auntie? I haven’t been away that long.”

Maggie wagged her finger at him. “Too long for sure!” She smoothed her wool dress in place and patted her errant curls. “I’m glad you came in time for dinner.” 

“Welcome, lad,” Ranald said, clapping him on the back. “Dugie has prepared a feast for our Natasha.”

Ian’s eyes gravitated to Natasha and a jolt of desire held him captive. Her lustrous copper hair fell in soft waves framing a glowing face and sparkling blue eyes. A soft sweater molded her high, round breasts and her narrow skirt hugged her shapely dancer’s hips and long legs. She stood at the sideboard watching him curiously.

Natasha’s sultry dimple deepened at the corner of her lush mouth as she raised an eyebrow.  “Long time no see, Dr. Who,” she drawled, her melodious voice vibrating through the dining room. 

Maggie looked surprised. “Dr. Who? I don’t miss an episode! Is that what you call Ian?”

“Yes, and he used to like it,” Natasha said mildly. 

Ian barely managed a smile. He was still irritable after his meetings in London. He took Natasha’s arm above her elbow and led her toward the high-backed chair. "Natasha?" he said, seating her cordially.

Natasha glanced at him just as his gaze slid down her spine. The delectable curve of her heart-shaped bottom taunted him as she leaned forward to sit down.

"Thanks," she murmured with a smile.

"You're welcome," he said, rounding the corner of the table to sit across from her.

Dugie carried in a tray of poached salmon steaks topped with béarnaise sauce and capers, accompanied by tiny red potatoes and garden peas. Her daughter, Emma, helped Dugie serve the meal, while Gerald, Dugie’s husband, poured a small amount of wine for Ian. He stood by while Ian swirled the wine before tasting it. At his nod of approval, Gerald poured wine for everyone. 

Natasha lifted the Baccarat goblet in a toast. “May the roof above never fall in; may we below never fall out,” she said in a saucy Scottish accent, eliciting chuckles from Maggie and Ranald.

“Hear, hear.” Ranald lifted his glass and clinked it with Natasha’s.

“Where did you learn that? From one of your plays?” Ian asked, spearing a potato.

“Maybe,” Natasha said lightly. 

“How did your trip to London go?” Maggie asked Ian.

“Not very well. I had to cut it short before I murdered someone,” Ian said.

Maggie’s eyes popped open. “Murder! Such tough talk.” She patted his hand. “Have some wine, luv, and forget about it for now.”

“I’ll probably have to return to London next week.” He tasted the salmon. “Ahh, there’s nothing like our Scottish salmon. Dugie outdid herself tonight.”

“Indeed,” Maggie said, glowing.

“I thought you were going back to New York,” Natasha said.

“Not yet,” Ian replied cryptically. His plans had changed, but he saw no need to explain. He only wanted to enjoy Dugie’s excellent meal and not think about the witch in London standing in the way of his plans.

Maggie kept the conversation light, while Ranald talked about their upcoming trip to Ayr Racecourse in November.

When they finished eating, Maggie told Dugie, "Ranald and I will take our dessert in the library.” 

Dugie nodded and left the room.

“I’d rather eat it here,” Ranald said.

Maggie squinted at Ranald and gave him a meaningful look. “Ian and Natasha have much to discuss. And so do we,” she said, taking his elbow when he stood.

Ranald threw his hands in the air and left with a hangdog expression.

Dugie returned and served a golden apple tart and cinnamon ice cream. "Will you be taking whiskey with your coffee, sir?"

"No, thanks. I'll have some in my room later."

Dugie nodded and glanced at Natasha. "Would you like one of my special toddies, lass?"

“I’d love one of your special toddies,” Natasha said with an eager smile. “Thank you.”

“No whiskey,” Ian said firmly. 

“Yes, whiskey,” Natasha countered, bristling.

Dugie cleared her throat. “Shall I bring out the boxing gloves, then?” she said, glancing from Natasha to Ian with a raised brow.

“That’ll be all, Dugie,” Ian said.

Natasha frowned at him. "Why can’t I have whiskey?” she asked when Dugie was out of earshot.

“I’m looking out for you. Liquor and antibiotics don’t mix well,” Ian said, noting her disgruntled look. “You’ll survive.”

Natasha patted her lips with her napkin and set it down on the table. "I think I’ll join Maggie and Ranald in the library," she said, rising from the table.

Ian’s hand closed over her wrist, noting how delicate it felt in his grip. "Don’t go.”

She stood before him with her hand on her hip and her head tilted to the side. “Why should I stay? I don’t want to argue. Your mood hasn’t exactly been light this evening.”

"I want you to stay, Tasha," he said inflexibly.

His iPhone buzzed with a text message and he released his grip on her. He read the text and seethed at what he read. “What the fuck,” he said, staring at the phone before he shoved it in his pocket.

“What’s wrong?” Natasha asked, shocked at his sudden outburst.

“Bloody hell.” He slapped his palm on the table. “I’m going to throttle the conniving bitch!”

Natasha sank down on the chair and stared at Ian. She could feel his simmering rage from across the table, in his severe eyes and the harsh set of his jaw. 

“Who sent you the text?” she asked softly.

“The woman claiming half of my rightful inheritance,” Ian grated through clamped teeth.

“Who is she?”

Ian’s mouth formed a grim line as he struggled to contain his temper. “My father’s mistress.” The veins in his neck stood out as he knocked back the rest of his wine. “I inherited the bulk of Dad’s estate, but he left half of Glenhaven castle and the surrounding land to her.”

According to Maggie, since his father’s death, Ian had purchased a Kensington Garden flat and a New York penthouse in Central Park West. But none of those properties held the strings to his heart as his family estate. No wonder he was livid that he had to share it with his father’s mistress.

“If your dad was already a widower, why didn’t he marry her?”

“Because she was married to another man,” Ian said scathingly. “She and Dad had a clandestine affair for over a dozen years.”

Natasha’s jaw dropped. The whole thing sounded like a soap opera. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m contesting the will. Dad signed it on his deathbed, probably delirious from morphine. His mistress kept his illness a secret and had her lawyer draw up a new will when she knew he was close to dying.”

“That’s so evil. Are you sure your father was in love with her?”

Ian snorted. “She has the galling nerve to claim she was the love of his life,” he said roughly, his face flushed dark red. “It’s a lie. Dad adored Mum to her dying day. They were childhood sweethearts.”

The way Maggie had stated things, it hadn’t sounded as if Ian’s parents had had such a loving relationship. Of course, Fiona died when Ian was only eight, so he had seen it through a child’s eyes.