In the Highlander's Bed (3 page)

Gordon immediately realized his error. This was the headmistress the servant by the door had directed him toward. He’d almost walked right by her.

Giving his best bow, he attempted to recoup lost ground with flawless manners. “Mistress Hillary, please forgive my intrusion. I’m Gordon Lachlan.” He used his name. Every ear nearby was cocked in their direction. He dared the English to recognize him.

No one overhearing stirred. Not even the few soldiers. So much for Thomas’s worries.

“I had an interview with Mr. Fryson last week about sending my sister to your excellent school,” Gordon lied smoothly. Fryson was the school’s owner. There had been no such interview the week before, however, a few quick questions of the servant at the door had revealed that Mr. Fryson was not in attendance that evening. He’d been called away and the servant had been gossipy enough to mention the headmistress always had her hands full when left in charge. Gordon gave the Headmistress his easiest and most charming smile. ”He invited me to the dance, but I didn’t know if I would still be in the area.

However, business has detained me and I thought to pay a visit and see this part of your program for myself.”

”Ah, yes, Mr. Fryson spoke of your visit,” the headmistress said, giving truth to the servant’s assessment. ”Social skills, as well as a thorough knowledge of the gentle graces, such as dancing, are an important part of our program. I hope your sister will one day join us.”

“I’m certain she will,” Gordon said, praying Fiona never found out he’d so used her. She’d be furious at being cast as a schoolgirl, but then, lately, any emotion out of her, even anger, would be welcome.

He pushed concerns over Fiona out of his head as Mistress Hillary asked, “Are you from this area, Mr.

Lachlan?”

“No, Speyside,” he said. “My father was Sir John Lachlan.”

“The magistrate?” The stiffness dropped from Headmistress Hillary’s manner. “The man courageous enough to stand with the crofters against the Clearances?”

Pride would not allow Gordon to deny it. “He was my father.”

“He lost his life for it.” She shot a glance at the soldier standing some six feet away and lowered her voice. “The Clearances are destroying my beautiful country. And what is left behind? People who don’t care. Look at my charges, so wealthy and so empty-headed. Their parents want nothing more from me than to make them elegant. I was a vicar’s daughter, sir. I was raised with a conscience. I have intelligence. I have seen for myself how the poor suffer. If we are not careful, everything we once valued will be gone.”

“Not as long as I draw breath.”

A sad smile came to her lips. “I’m older than you, Mr. Lachlan, and I think, perhaps, wiser. Sometimes we can’t stop the changes that are happening.”

“We must always stand for what is right.”

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Her eyebrows rose and she released her breath with a sigh of resignation. “You are a crusader. Good.

The world needs a hero, even if it doesn’t know what to do with him.” She offered her hand. “However, welcome to our small school. I pray your sister will someday be one of our number.”

“Thank you, Headmistress,” he said, genuinely meaning the words. Here was another supporter of the Cause.

Raising her voice, a signal that confidences were finished between them, she said, “May I introduce you to some of the young women who are my charges, Mr. Lachlan? I assure you, they are most eager to make your acquaintance. You can see how they are gathering around.” It was true. Girls had been inching forward, covertly jockeying to be the first to receive an introduction, while the men in the room stood back with arms crossed and frowns deepening.

“As I am theirs,” Gordon replied dutifully. He couldn’t help but take a secret delight in upsetting the other men’s plans of conquest for the evening, especially those of the Sassenachs.

“Your father was a magistrate but what of yourself…?” the headmistress asked.

“I studied law.”

“In Edinburgh?”

He smiled. “No, London.”

Mistress Hillary’s own smile widened. “All the better. My charges live for talk of London.” The feminine faces around her nodded enthusiastic agreement.

“It’s been several years—” he started apologetically, but a young woman with silvery blond curls cut him off.

“That’s fine. We are interested in whateveryou have to say.”

Headmistress Hillary frowned at the chit’s forwardness, but she ignored her. She offered her hand. “I’m Lady Mary Alice.”

Gordon bowed over the gloved hand. “It’s my pleasure, my lady.”

Lady Mary Alice did not pull her hand away. For a second Gordon had no choice but to hold it until Headmistress Hillary cleared her throat and brought the young woman back to her senses.

An English officer wearing a ridiculous wig of tight ringlets across his forehead cut right in between her and Gordon. “Lady Mary Alice, do you not remember? This next dance is promised to me. The musicians are ready to play now.”

Lady Mary Alice’s lips puckered into a moue of protest. “Was it promised, Captain Ardmore? I remember you ignoring me—”

“It was,” Headmistress Hillary interjected.

“Yes. I almost forgot,” Lady Mary Alice said. She placed her hand on the arm the officer offered with
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an obvious lack of enthusiasm.

“Perhaps I may have the next dance?” Gordon suggested, pleased to see the Englishman receive such a snub.

Lady Mary Alice brightened. “Of course—”

“I’mopen for this dance,” a bosomy redhead said, jumping in to fill the void and beating two other of Madame Lavaliere’s pupils to the opportunity.

“I beg to differ,” a lieutenant who had been standing close to Captain Ardmore said. “You promised this dance to me, Miss Heloise.”

“Did I?” the redhead wondered. “I don’t remember.”

“Miss Heloise,” Headmistress Hillary said sternly.

The corners of the redhead’s mouth drooped. “I really don’t remember,” she protested. “But if I did, I suppose I’llhave to dance with you.”

“You did,” the lieutenant said, offering his arm while frowning at Gordon.

Before another young woman could claim the dance, Gordon said to Headmistress Hillary, “Please, may I beg an introduction to the young woman standing behind you—” He broke off in surprise.

Miss Constance Cameron wasn’t there.

He looked around and caught sight of her attempting to slip unnoticed out a glass-paneled door leading into the darkness of the garden. Headmistress Hillary, noticing his hesitation, turned just as Miss Constance glanced back to see that she was safe.

She wasn’t.

Caught, she attempted to cover her actions by making a great pretense of opening and closing the garden door as if there had been some difficulty with it she needed to fix. But Gordon knew differently.

So, apparently, did the headmistress.

“Excuse me,” Headmistress Hillary said. Without waiting for a response, she marched over to Miss Constance. Gordon followed, too aware that if he stayed, a half-dozen girls were lined up to jump on him.

“I just wished a breath of fresh air,” Miss Constance quickly explained as the headmistress approached.

“We have guests, young lady,” Headmistress Hillary said with the irritation of one who has had to repeat herself too often for patience. “A gentlewoman does not leave the room when she has guests to entertain.”

“One breath—” Miss Constance pleaded.

“No—” Mistress Hillary answered as Gordon cut in.

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“I fear I’ve created a contretemps,” he said. An apology was always the best reason to set aside manners.

It worked. “Oh, Mr. Lachlan, I’m sorry for leaving you alone,” Headmistress Hillary replied, a bit rattled by his presence. “Believe me, this is none of your fault.”

“But I fear it is so,” he pressed.

Mistress Hillary forced a smile. “My pupil was feeling a bit faint but she has recovered completely, haven’t you, my dear?”

Constance Cameron murmured an unintelligible answer. Her side glance toward the others standing close by told Gordon that she did not appreciate so much unwanted attention.

But he had what he wanted. “Please, Headmistress, may I beg an introduction?”

Headmistress Hillary frowned, but did as he asked. She had no choice. “Miss Constance Cameron, may I introduce to you Mr. Gordon Lachlan of Speyside. His father was an important magistrate in this country. Miss Constance is related to the Duke of Colster.”

He had the right woman. “Miss Constance,” he murmured with a slight bow.

She didn’t want to play at manners. Her hands stayed at her sides. She was angry that her desire to go outside had been thwarted, and he wondered what waited for her there. Most likely a gentleman. All of London knew the Cameron sisters were opportunists.

Now, how could he play this to his own advantage?

“Miss Constance?” Mistress Hillary prodded. “Perhaps you are not feeling well and wish to be sent to your room?”

A reluctant gloved hand came up and was offered to him. “It is a pleasure, sir.” She even bothered to give him a curtsey, although it was the very swiftest bob of her knees.

Gordon wanted to laugh. Now that he had her, he wasn’t going to let her go. “Please honor me with the next dance,” he begged.

A frown formed between her brows. She blamed him for her being caught, but before the word ”no”

formed on her lips, she cast a swift glance at Mistress Hillary and changed her mind. “I’d be honored, sir.”

Thomas and the lads would be proud of him, Gordon thought. Now all he needed was to discover why she wanted to go outside and promise to escort her. This was going to be far easier than the original plan of scaling a wall and stealing her from her bed.

Gordon offered his arm. She accepted it with all the grace of a princess being paired with a peasant, not even bothering to meet his eye—and he felt challenged.

Women chased him. It was rarely the opposite.

“If you’ll excuse us, Headmistress?” he said.

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The headmistress nodded her assent, her lips pursed in concern.

Gordon waited until out of earshot of the headmistress to confide, “She is not happy with you.” Offering sympathy was often the easiest way to a woman’s heart.

“She rarely is.” Miss Constance kept her gaze forward, her back stiff.

And Gordon realized he was going to have to work harder. His sister Fiona had often said that women came too easily to him. He wondered what she’d say now.

“I’m sorry I upset your plans for a lovers’ tryst,” he said, taking a stab at her motive for going out into the garden.

Her chin lifted. “I wanted a breath of fresh air. Nothing more.”

“Liar,” he said.

Her head whipped around and her gaze met his. “Snitch,” she responded.

Startled, Gordon came to a halt.

He reassessed his original impression of Constance Cameron. She was young but not defenseless. He’d best be on his toes.

“You are a bit older than the other girls, aren’t you?” he said.

“You are a bit rougher than the other gentlemen, aren’t you?”

“I know my manners,” he said.

“I do, too,” she answered, but then capitulated with the truth, “Well, sometimes I do. It seems every time I turn around, Headmistress Hillary makes up new rules for me to obey. And I fear I’ve been a bit gruff. It’s not your fault I received a dressing down.”

Her directness, her honesty, caught him off guard. Shewasn’t like the other preening women in this room.

And for a moment he could imagine himself in another time and place. For a moment he found himself wishing he was nothing more than a country gentleman come to flirt a few hours away at a dance. For a moment he wanted to live in those precious carefree days of what seemed to be long ago.

“Let us start this again,” he offered. He bowed. “I’m Gordon Lachlan of Speyside.”

Her clear eyes searched his face before dropping to the ungloved hand he offered. He gave no apology.

Not for not having gloves nor for the calluses there, a sign that he was accustomed to hard work.

She placed her gloved hand in his, and this time her curtsey was flawless. “It is a pleasure to meet you, sir. I’m Miss Constance Cameron, formerly of the Ohio Valley.” She said this last with pride.

“I had thought your family was from London.”

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“My sisters chose to live there.I’m an American.”

It was as if she was declaring herself and daring him to find fault.

Gordon didn’t. As a Highlander, he understood being an outsider. “I understand American women are of an independent spirit.”

“Yes,” she said, her lips curving into a smile. “We are.”

And for a second Gordon was transfixed.

No one smiled like Constance Cameron. It lit her face. Her skin even seemed to glow. A man would perform any feat to see such a smile, especially if it was directed toward himself—

“Are you two joining the dance or not?” Lady Mary Alice interrupted. “We are waiting for you.”

Her shrill voice broke the moment between them. Miss Constance—Constance, he amended, dropping the fussy “Miss” from his mind, because her name sounded more independent,more American, without it—broke away as if suddenly realizing they were not alone. She hurried past him to take her place among the line of women ready for a lively reel.

Gordon moved to stand across from her, finding himself between Captain Ardmore and the young lieutenant. He could feel the tension in both men. They wouldn’t look at him, but were aware of him.

Across from them, Lady Mary Alice and Miss Heloise were giving Gordon their best dimpled smiles. He couldn’t help but savor the moment, capping it off with a wink at Lady Mary Alice.