How to Abduct a Highland Lord (12 page)

 A door at one side of the foyer opened, and a tall man emerged from a side room, a neat swath of linen folded over his arm. “Mrs. Tarlington, I believe this is—” He stopped when he caught sight of Fiona. “Oh, I am sorry. I did not see—forgive me, Miss—?”

 “Lady Kincaid.”

 The butler blinked, then bowed. “Good morning, my lady. I am Devonsgate, his lordship’s butler.”

 “It is a pleasure to meet you,” Fiona said. “I am looking for his lordship. Do you know where he might be?”

 Mrs. Tarlington sniffed but didn’t say anything more.

 Fiona gave the plump housekeeper a stern look before turning back to the butler. “His lordship went out last night shortly after we arrived. I thought he would be home before now, but he is not. Unless he is taking breakfast?”

 The butler cleared his throat. “His lordship doesn’t take breakfast. At least, not before noon, and only if he arrives home in time, which he didn’t.”

 “I see,” Fiona said.

 “Yes, my lady. It is not unusual for his lordship to stay out all night.”

 That would have to change; she could not imagine that such behavior was healthy.

 She frowned, catching sight of herself in one of the large mirrors that flanked the hallway. Her gown was hideously wrinkled, her hair barely contained with her few pins, her face flushed. It dawned on her that the gown she wore was the only one she possessed.

 She turned her gaze to the butler. “Before he left, did his lordship make any arrangements for me?”

 “No, my lady. He just called for his carriage and left.” The butler gave her an apologetic look. “Usually when his lordship has aguest, he will tell us she is not to be disturbed and to see to it that she arrives home safely. He did not make such a request in your case.”

 “Mrs. Tarlington, please send a bath to my chambers and have someone come help me with my hair and gown. I was forced to leave my home in a hurry and did not bring anything else with me, so I shall need to have this gown cleaned and pressed.”

 The housekeeper’s lips thinned, but Fiona turned to the butler. “Devonsgate, please send a tray to my room. Just tea and toast will do.”

 “Yes, madam. Will there be anything else?”

 “Yes. I wish to send a note to his lordship. Do you know where he might be?”

 The butler’s expression froze. “I might be able to locate him,” he said cautiously.

 “Excellent. Pray send him this message. Tell Lord Kincaid that hiswife wishes him to come home, and if he does not make an effort to do so soon, she will come and fetch him.”

 Devonsgate paled, but for the first time, Mrs. Tarlington’s wide mouth split in a reluctant grin.

 Fiona turned back to the stairs. “I shall expect the bath and the maid immediately. Breakfast can wait until after that.” She paused, one foot on the bottom step. “Actually, make that breakfast for two. I am certain his lordship will waste no time in returning home.”

 Thatshould set a precedent of no small order. Feeling better, Fiona walked briskly up the steps.

 Mrs. Tarlington said, “Well, I’ll be! His lordship has a wife!”

 Devonsgate stared up the stairway after Fiona, his mouth agape.

 Chapter Eight

 Don’t think the MacLean was not affected as well. He was. He took one look at the White Witch, and he tumbled head over heels. MacLeans are like that, ye know. They only love once, but och! What a love that is!

 OLDWOMANNORA OFLOCHLOMOND

TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ONE COLD NIGHT

 “My lord?”

 Jack looked up at a footman who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. “Yes?”

 “My lord, I have a message for you.” The footman glanced about the table, then back to Jack. “Animportant message.”

 Jack blinked blearily around the room, noting with faint surprise that the company had greatly thinned.

 “What time is it?” he asked.

 “It is almost ten o’clock, sir.”

 Jack squinted at him again and recognized the livery. “You’re one ofmy fellows?”

 The footman gave a sigh of relief. “Yes, my lord.”

 “Well, then, what’s the message?”

 The footman again glanced at the other gentlemen, then bent near Jack’s ear. “It’s aprivate message, my lord.”

 “Ah!” said the duke of Devonshire, filling his and Jack’s brandy snifters again. “Aprivate message, is it? Then by all means, tell it!”

 The footman looked pleadingly at Jack. “Perhaps we could retire to the hall?”

 “Hell, no,” Jack said. “I’m winning!”

 The duke nodded. “He’s right. He is winning.”

 Lord Kennelsworth shook his head. “Aye. He can’t leave with all of our money.”

 “Andmy new jeweled buckle,” the duke said.

 “Sir,please, ” the footman said in Jack’s ear, his expression growing desperate. “We should leave.”

 “I can’t,” Jack said. “I’ll get wet.”

 The footman blinked. “But…the sun is shining.”

 “As if that bloody matters!” Jack snarled. “Just give me the message and be done with it.”

 The footman bit his lip. “But my lord…this is not a message you’d like repeated aloud.”

 “Oh-ho!” Lord Kennelsworth looked up from his cards. “You’d best be ready, Kincaid—here it comes!”

 Jack eyed Kennelsworth blearily. “Here what comes?”

 “You have a new wife, don’t you?”

 Jack nodded.

 “And you left her at home,” Devonshire interjected. “Now here is your man, telling you he has a private message for you.”

 “So?”

 Lord Kennelsworth shook his head. “You don’t see it, do you? Poor bugger! Do we have to spell it out for you?”

 Jack knew he was missing some great truth, but his mind would not focus. “Spell it out.”

 “Good God, Kincaid!” the duke said. “It’s obvious your lovely wife wants you home.Now. So she’s sent this young fellow to fetch you.”

 Kennelsworth tossed his cards to the table. “I’m done here, anyway.”

 “Poor Jack.” Devonshire shook his head sadly, throwing his own cards down as well.

 Jack pushed his cards across the table, then pulled his winnings forward. “You are all mistaken. Fiona would never call me home.”

 Kennelsworth pocketed the coins on the table. “I think you’re wrong, Kincaid. Ask your man for the message.”

 Jack looked at the footman. “Very well. Tell us your message.”

 The footman took a deep breath. “The message is from the woman you left at the house. She says she is your wife—”

 “Aha!” Kennelsworth said, grinning broadly.

 “I knew it.” Devonshire chortled.

 “And her ladyship requests that you come home as soon as poss—”

 “Ha!” Kennelsworth banged his hand on the table, sending brandy sloshing onto the felt cover. “I should have asked you to wager on it, too! Come, Devonshire. Shall we go to White’s and have a bit of breakfast?”

 The duke nodded, clambering to his feet, and the two men wove their way out the door, arms around each other for support.

 “My lord? Should I call for the carriage?”

 Jack scowled. His damned damp carriage. “No. I think I’ll walk home.”

 He rose, stuffing wads of notes into his pockets. “You may accompany me if you wish.”

 “Yes, sir,” the footman said, looking none too happy.

 Half an hour later, they reached the house. Jack staggered as his boot hit a loose cobblestone at the curb.

 The footman immediately rushed forward, but Jack waved him off. “I can walk by myself, thank you.”

 The footman bowed. “Yes, my lord.” He stepped out of the way, but not so far back that he couldn’t catch Jack’s arm if he stumbled again.

 Jack noted that but decided to be magnanimous. It wasn’t the footman’s fault that he didn’t understand Jack’s superior ability to drink and remain unaffected.

 He took a deep breath, straightened his coat, which had somehow come askew, and made his way to the front steps. He stumbled only once more, catching the railing when he did so. The footman, who’d made a grab toward him, stepped back into place and pretended he hadn’t noticed a thing.

 “I didn’t fall,” Jack said, carefully watching the footman.

 “No, my lord,” the footman said immediately. “You did not.”

 Jack grinned, absurdly pleased. “You are a good man…ah…Charles?”

 “I am Peter, my lord. Charles was here before me.”

 “Ah, yes. A shorter fellow with dark hair.”

 “Yes, my lord.”

 Fiona thought he was callous and hard-hearted because he did not take the time to know his servants. Well, he’d show her. He’d find out what had happened to Charles and amaze her with his knowledge.

 Really, Kennelsworth and Devonshire had it all wrong—this marriage thing wasn’t such a difficult proposition. All he had to do was modify his behavior in a few small ways but make a big deal over those changes. That would temper her ladyship’s annoying propensity to think the worst of him.

 Jack turned to the footman. “So, ah…Peter, why did Charles leave my employ?”

 The footman blinked. “Because he wished to marry Jane, my lord. She is the upstairs maid to Sir Broughton.”

 “Ah. And when is the happy day?”

 “The…the happy day, my lord?”

 Jack took a deep breath and enunciated each word with great care. “The marriage. When is it?”

 The footman gulped a bit. “M-my lord, Charles left three years ago. He and Jane have a child now. She just turned two years of age.”

 Jack blinked. “Then…you’ve worked for me since?”

 “No, my lord.”

 Jack relaxed a bit. “How long have you worked for me?”

 “Twelve years, my lord.”

 Jack blinked. “Twelve? You said you’d only recently become a footman!”

 “Yes, my lord. Before that, I worked under your head groom, Mr. Lachney.”

 “There you go!” Jack said, feeling vindicated. “Thatis why I do not recognize you. I daresay I rarely saw you if you worked in the stables.”

 “Actually, my lord,” Peter said, looking miserable, “I saw you every day. I was your outrider since I was twelve.”

 Jack stared. “How old are you now?”

 “Twenty-four, my lord.”

 Good God. The man had been his outrider for nine years and then his footman for three, and Jack could not remember a bit of it. Maybe—just maybe—Fiona was right, and he did ignore his servants.

 God, he needed another drink. He could not think this through now. “Thank you, Peter.”

 The footman managed a bow.

 Jack looked across the portico to the front door. It would be opened by yet another footman, and working with that footman would be others, all of whom had names that he did not know.

 “Bloody hell, I’ll need a bloody list to remember them all!” He rubbed his forehead and wished he hadn’t had that last snifter of brandy; he was rather foxed. Well, it would serve his cheeky wife well—that’s what she got for being so damned seductive and for sending a rain storm after him.

 He needed something to eat. A man could only take so much witchery on an empty stomach.

 Jack paused at the top of the steps, one hand on the banister. He’d have to let go of the banister to reach the door, and he wasn’t certain that was a wise idea.

 He was contemplating his options when a deep voice rich with a Scottish brogue said, “Och, now, what have we here?”

 Another voice, even deeper, answered, “’Tis none other than black-hearted Jack Kincaid, the drunken scalawag who stole away our sister.”

 Jack sighed and glanced up at the sky. Was God angry? Was that why he kept sending these tests?

 “Aye,” replied yet another voice, “that’s who ’tis. Now kill him. I’m famished and there are warm pasties at the inn.”

 “Aye, hurry things along,” said another. There was a distinctive sound, as if someone had cracked his knuckles menacingly.

 Jack turned, one hand still clutched the railing. Fiona’s brothers, all four of them, were standing on his walkway, and here he was, ape-drunk.

 He closed his eyes and said a short, fervent prayer. When he opened his eyes, they were still there, all four of them obviously angry.

 There was nothing for it but to face them, the jackasses. Jack put his foot back on the steps and made his way down, holding on to the railing and hoping they wouldn’t notice the world was slowly slanting to the left.

 The morning sun outlined Fiona’s brothers with rays of gold, as if they were Gabriel and his archangels come to enact vengeance.

 But if there was one thing Jack knew about the MacLeans, it was that the only angel in the family was now residing inhis bed.

 The thought made him grin. They may be furious with him, but it didn’t change things. Fiona was his. They’d not do anything to dishonor their sister or cause her embarrassment.

 The thought gave him courage. Jack squinted in the light, then cursed and moved to the other side of the stairs so the sun did not shine in his eyes.