Julia London - [Scandalous 02] (12 page)

T
he sitting room felt as if it were encased in ice. The bit of heat that had filtered through the small crack Lizzie had allowed him had dissipated in the middle of the night. Cold, damp air had seeped in through the floorboards and now it was so cold one could store meat.

As a result, Jack slept poorly and rose early in ill temper.

He did not in the least appreciate being stuffed into some storage room like a bad relation. If the situation had been reversed, he would have given Lizzie an entire floor of his bloody castle.

He stalked into the bedroom and stumbled over Dougal, who was curled in front of the hearth. “What in the bloody hell are you doing there?” he demanded.

“Sleeping, milord!” Dougal cried.

“No’ any longer, lad,” Jack said, and nudged him with his foot. “You will draw me a bath. Off with you now.”

Unfortunately, the bath that Dougal reluctantly drew—which was as cold as the sleet that fell outside—did not lighten Jack’s mood. Nor did the cold scone Dougal brought him. And that he donned the last articles of clean clothing only increased his ire, as he supposed he’d be
made to launder his own clothing at this way station to hell.
That
he found insupportable. He’d never laundered as much as a handkerchief, and he would not forgive Miss Lizzie Beal—that blood-stirring kiss notwithstanding.

His first order of business was food. That damn kiss had left him hungry, and if he couldn’t feast on Lizzie, he’d find something to fill him.

With a grunt of displeasure, Jack swept up his greatcoat, marched across the room, and threw open the door of his ice cave.

The letter handed off to Mr. Kincade for posting, Lizzie strode to the kitchen. As she neared it she heard voices and slowed her step, coming to a halt just outside the door. That sounded like
him.
She laid her palms against the door and leaned in. The voices were muffled, but she could just make out Mrs. Kincade asking, “Is the belly
completely
bare?” To which
he
responded, “Aye, completely bare.”

Lizzie pushed open the door and sailed through. Her entrance startled Mrs. Kincade, whose cap, Lizzie couldn’t help but notice, was askew. But Jack looked up at her with sultry gray eyes and a hint of an unapologetic smile, as if he were expecting her, and with his gaze steady on her, he casually took a bite of a large piece of ham from a plate before him.

“Miss Lizzie, you gave me a fright, you did!” Mrs. Kincade said.

Lizzie glanced at Mrs. Kincade and noticed the feathers that lay on the table and the floor all around the elderly woman. She had a chicken. But Lizzie hadn’t fetched the chicken yet.

Mrs. Kincade nodded at Jack in answer to Lizzie’s
unspoken question. “He brung it in, along with the eggs.”

Lizzie looked dubiously to Jack, who smiled imperiously as he ate another bite of ham. “
He
brought it in?”

“Donna let my refined manner confuse you, lass. I am quite capable of gathering eggs and catching old hens,” he said dryly.

“Are you also capable of cooking food?” she asked, gesturing to his plate.

“Oh, ’tis my fault, Miss Lizzie,” Mrs. Kincade said as she scraped feathers off the table and into a basket. “I got a wee bit caught up in his stories, I did,” she said with a funny shake of her head.

Lizzie leveled a suspicious glare on him.

“I was regaling Mrs. Kincade with tales of London and the wonders of Oriental dancing,” Jack said. He winked and popped another nice cut of ham into his mouth.

“It’s scandalous, that dancing! Miss Lizzie, he knows the Prince and Princess of Wales!” Mrs. Kincade said, sounding awestruck.

“Mrs. Kincade has no’ been to London,” Jack added, and glanced up from his plate. “Have you had the pleasure, Miss Beal?”

Lizzie had never been even as far as Edinburgh. “If you donna mind, sir, Mrs. Kincade has quite a lot of work to do—”

“Oh no, miss, I’m quite all right. His lordship helped me. He made a new fire and brought more oats in from the pantry.”

Jack smiled, obviously and inordinately pleased with himself. “Imagine that—eggs, chickens,
and
oats.”

This was absurd! He was far too comfortable and inserting himself into her household. Just thinking of him being about gave Lizzie a tick of panic; he could ruin ev
erything. “How very helpful of you,” Lizzie said sweetly. “Mrs. Kincade, will you please go to Charlotte and help her from bed? I’ll finish in the kitchen.”

Jack lifted his brows and smiled as if that pleased him.

“Aye, of course,” Mrs. Kincade said. She put down the bucket of feathers, paused to clean her hands, and then removed her apron.

Amusement dancing in his eyes, Jack blithely continued to eat what seemed to be an entire ham as Mrs. Kincade puttered about. When she finally quit the kitchen, Lizzie braced her hands on the table and leaned across to him. “You
helped
her, did you? You carried a bag of oats and a pair of eggs and thereby helped yourself to our ham?”

“Why do you seem so surprised? Have I no’ shown myself to be
most
willing?” he asked, his gaze wandering the length of her body.

“You have shown yourself
quite
willing to charm meat from an old woman and…and…” She couldn’t think when he was looking at her like that, as if he could devour her alongside his ham, head to foot.

“And?” Jack prompted. When Lizzie did not respond, he put aside his fork and wiped his mouth with a napkin. He stood from the stool where he sat, braced his hands on the table, and leaned forward, piercing Lizzie’s gaze with his. “And charm the maidenhead from a young woman such as yourself? I’ll have you know,
leannan,
that Mrs. Kincade heard my belly growl with hunger, understood the conditions to which I have been subjected here, and kindly offered me some bread and ham. I did no’
charm
her…any more than I charmed you.”

The fire behind him suddenly crackled and flared, and Lizzie felt it reverberate in her. They were so close, only
inches apart. How could she not think of the fiery kiss that still simmered in her veins?

She slowly leaned back, away from him and his gray eyes. She was not a debutante. She was not a shy, socially inexperienced woman who was easily intimidated by the unearthly magnetism of this man. Seduced by it, perhaps, but not intimidated. “You must think me awfully dull if you believe that I donna know what you are about, Jack.”

“Oh?” he said, his gaze sweeping over her. “And just what am I
about
?”

“You think us fools here. You think yourself superior in every way and take advantages that no gentleman would dare take. You’ve been forced upon us like…like an ague we canna overcome. But donna mistake us—you’re no’ welcome here. So please keep your distance from us.”

“From us? Or from
you
? What is it, Lizzie? Are you afraid you’ll want me again?”

“I donna want you—”

“Ah,” he said, putting up a hand to stop her. “I know want,
leannan,
and last night, you wanted me.” His voice was a dangerously low caress. “As for Mrs. Kincade, I was hungry. Your cook fed me.”

Lizzie swallowed.

Jack casually touched her cheek. “There is one more thing I would say. You may think me a rakehell, but for some inexplicable reason, I kissed you because I was attracted to you in a way I’ve no’ been attracted to a woman before, aye? I apologize if I offended your tender sensibilities. And while I know quite well I was no’ the only one who enjoyed it,” he said, his eyes darkening, “you may rest assured that it will no’ happen again.”

A current of unexpected desire quickly slithered
through her, and Lizzie took a step back. “Good!” she said, folding her arms tightly across her chest.

“Never you fear, little Lizzie Beal,” he said silkily. “I will be gone from your sight the moment I can find my way out of this calamity.”

A small sliver of disappointment nicked her. “Splendid. Perhaps you will go now and find a quiet place to plan your departure that does not include anyone in this house.”

His face darkened. He walked around the table, intentionally brushing against her as he passed on his way to the door. But he paused there beside her, his eyes sweeping over her face. “Say what you like, Lizzie. You may convince yourself until your toes cock up, but you wanted that kiss as much as I did. You may fool yourself, but you canna fool me.”

She bristled indignantly with the sting of truth in his words. “You are too bold by half! Mr. Gordon is coming, and he’ll no’ abide your insolence!” The moment the words were out of her mouth, Lizzie wanted to kick herself. Not only did she sound like a miffed schoolgirl, but now she’d put herself out on a limb, for what if Mr. Gordon didn’t come?

But it was too late. Jack was grinning wickedly. “How very sweet—the knight comes to rescue the damsel after all. I look forward to meeting the man who will saddle himself to you for all eternity.”

That did it. Lizzie swiped up the butcher knife.

He chuckled. “I am going, damsel,” he said, and kicked open the kitchen door as he strode through.

Lizzie dropped the knife on the table, gripped the edge, closed her eyes, and tossed her head back. “I am such a bloody
fool,
” she moaned.

Jack did not think Lizzie a fool, but he did think she was possibly the most exasperating woman he’d ever met.

Quite honestly, Jack had, from time to time, failed to charm a member of the opposite sex. It happened rarely, as he normally kept the company of women who were looking for a match or a lover, and he was, he recognized, a rather desirable match and a desirable lover.

But to Lizzie Beal, he was only trouble. Never had he met a woman who was as immune to his charm as she was. And never would he have believed he would care quite as much as he did.

He could not stop brooding about it. Lizzie had enjoyed that kiss. Jack would stake his reputation as a rogue and a lover on it—Lizzie Beal had savored that exquisite kiss every bit as much as he had. Bloody stubborn she was, as stubborn as an old mule.

Jack was so annoyed that he didn’t see Newton until he was almost upon him.

The lumbering giant was standing in the entry, a pair of dogs with him, removing dead flowers from a vase. He glanced at Jack. “There you are, milord.” He walked to the front door, opened it, and tossed the dead flowers outside.

Jack grunted and strode past the dogs, who were rather pleased to see him, judging by the furious wagging of their tails.

“I’ve something to show ye,” Newton said before he could get around the dogs.

“What?” Jack snapped.

“A drawing room,” Newton said.

“I have
seen
the drawing room.”

“No’ that one,” Newton said. “Your drawing room.”

“Mine?”
Jack demanded dubiously.

“Aye. It is away from the lassies. They donna want ye near.”

“I bloody well donna care,” Jack said, and moved to continue on his path.

But Newton caught him by the arm. “Bloody well care, then,” he said, and shoved Jack into a small receiving room just off the entry. It was painted the color of Lizzie’s eyes, the drapery blue French toile. At least the hearth was lit, for which, had the circumstances been different, Jack might have kissed Newton.

But the circumstances were not different. “Is this some sort of jest?” Jack demanded irritably. “You’ll keep me locked away, is that it?”

“No,” Newton said. “But I found a room where ye might pass the time.”

“Then please tell me a card table and three willing players will be arriving shortly.”

Newton didn’t even blink.

Bloody hell,
so this was Carson’s idea of freedom. “Splendid.”

Newton returned to the door, but he paused there. “Milord?”

Jack glanced impatiently at him.

“If I may?”

Jack sighed heavenward. “If there is something you’d say to me, Mr. Newton, I beg of you,
say
it.”

“Only that I trust ye will respect their privacy.”

“What in the name of Scotland have I done to incur the low opinion of everyone at Thorntree?” Jack demanded, exasperated.

“These lassies are no’ accustomed to the ways of high society, if ye take my meaning,” Newton said stoically. “Donna toy with their affections, or ye’ll have me to answer to.”

Jack didn’t know if he should be insulted or amused that a man who, he presumed, farmed sheep on some godforsaken hill would lecture him.

“And donna mind Miss Charlotte,” Newton continued. “Her speech is her way.”

“Her way of what, precisely?”

Newton shrugged. “Of hiding,” he said, as if that was obvious. “She’s frightened.”

“Of?” Jack asked, expecting to be told that the poor lass lived in fear that he would steal her virtue in the middle of the night or something equally absurd.

“Of everything,” Newton said. “Of life.” And that was apparently all he would say on that subject, for Mr. Kincade entered the room.

“Miss Charlotte asks for ye,” he said simply, and Newton immediately quit the room, the dogs trotting behind him as if he were lord and master here.

I
f Jack thought he’d be allowed to roam the house freely, he was mistaken. He found Dougal outside his little drawing room, sitting in a chair he’d tilted back against the wall on two legs, a gun draped across his lap.

Jack cocked a brow as he looked at the gun.

“I’m to keep an eye on ye, milord,” Dougal explained unnecessarily.

“And a gun cocked to my head?”

Dougal glanced at the gun in his lap. “Mr. Newton said ye might think to run. Or bother the lassies.”

“Mr. Newton seems to have formed a swift and unalterable opinion of me,” Jack drawled. “Is that loaded? Never mind—pick up your gun, Dougal. I should like a walk about the grounds.”

Dougal dutifully picked up the gun and stood. As Jack walked down the corridor, Dougal followed like one of the ever-present dogs that appeared from nowhere.

“I am reminded of time spent with George in Bath,” Jack said. “He’d decided to pen a bit of poetry and had a poor chap follow him about in the event the muse struck.”

“George?”

Jack glanced over his shoulder at the man. “George. The Prince of Wales. Your future king.”

“Ye…ye are acquainted with the Prince of Wales?” Dougal asked, in disbelief.

“He is—well,
was,
really—my friend. Aye, Dougal, I know him quite well.” They had reached the front door. Jack opened it, walking outside into the gray light. One of the sheepdogs trotted out ahead of him to sniff about the hitching post. The clouds were beginning to break, and weak sunlight darted around Jack, teasing him as he walked, before disappearing behind the clouds again.

“Did…did ye meet him in London, then?” Dougal asked, hurrying to keep up with Jack’s determined stride.

“Who?” Jack asked coyly.

“The prince.”

“Ah, the prince,” Jack said with a smile. “At Windsor, actually, in the course of a fox hunt many years ago. He’s no’ a particularly good hunter.”

“No’ a hunter?” Dougal asked in a tone that suggested he thought it impossible.

The Highlander listened with rapt attention as Jack regaled him with tales of the prince. This morning such tales had at least earned him a bit of ham. Jack hoped Dougal might be persuaded to put away that blasted gun.

Lambourne looked quite cozy with Dougal when Carson rode up the drive to Thorntree with his two men. The earl was leaning against a split rail fence, enjoying a cheroot Dougal must have given him, looking like a vicar in the throes of a philosophical rambling.

Dougal stood with his legs braced wide apart, a gun held loosely at his side, his attention on Lambourne. Whatever the earl was telling him had him engrossed.

The earl struck Carson as a glib man, someone who had made his way in this life on the strength of his sil
ver tongue and his ability to ingratiate himself into fine salons.

When Lambourne spotted him, he gave Carson a derisive smirk.

As Carson dismounted, Lambourne tossed the end of the cheroot to the ground and crushed it with the heel of his boot. “And the day grows happier and happier,” he said, bowing low.

“Spare me false pleasantries, Lambourne,” Carson said, but Lambourne’s smile only widened. He enjoyed annoying him, Carson realized.

“Rather cold day for riding, is it no’?” Lambourne asked, glancing in the direction from which Carson and his men had come. “What’s down that way?”

“By the bye, milord,” Carson said, removing his gloves, “I hosted two of the prince’s men at Castle Beal last evening. When they did no’ find you in Crieff as they’d hoped, they backtracked. But they brought along an additional six men—Highlanders all—to help them find you.” He glanced at the earl.

“Indeed?” Lambourne said, looking damnably casual as his gaze flicked over the men who flanked Carson, their guns clearly evident in their belts.

“I thought you might like to know that Sir Oliver Wilkes was hanged a fortnight ago for treason and conspiracy,” Carson said. “I understand he was a friend of yours.”

The earl’s arrogant smile faltered a bit. “Wilkes?”

“Then he was a friend, aye?” Carson said.

Lambourne laughed. “I am friend to all, Laird. Even to you.”

Aye, but the man was smooth. Carson stepped forward and said low, “I know your sort, Lambourne. There are those in London and beyond who believe you had
something in common with your friend Wilkes. The bounty has been increased by one hundred pounds. That would feed a man’s family for more than a year, aye? I would suggest you stay close to my niece, lest the same end come to you. Where is she?”

“Oh, I hardly know,” Lambourne said pleasantly. “Feeding chickens or stomping about the house in her boots, I’d wager.”

“You are careless, sir,” Carson said with disdain, and walked on, to the house, his men on his heels.

“You might clean your boots before entering,” Jack called after him. “You’d no’ want to muddy the clean floors, aye?”

Carson glanced down at his boots. They were covered with mud. He muttered a curse under his breath and continued on.

Lizzie heard voices through the flue in the library. She kept the hearth cold in this room, as she rarely occupied it for more than an hour or two at a time, and it was not worth the expense of peat. Bundled in her father’s greatcoat as well as her fingerless gloves, she worked and reworked the figures in her account books, trying in vain to find a way to stretch the little money they had and pay the smithy for the repairs to their worn carriage: two new wheels and an axle. She’d had to do it—that carriage was the only means Charlotte had of leaving Thorntree, should the need arise.

“‘The worth of a thing is known by the want of it,’ as Papa always said,” she muttered to herself. But then she paused and frowned. “Aye, but Grandmama said ‘willful waste makes woeful want.’” She shook her head. There was a Highland saying for everything, and if she looked hard enough, she’d find one to justify what she was
doing. She resumed her work, her feet tapping an old Highland tune on top of Red’s body, who had stretched out on the floor beneath the table.

When Lizzie heard the voices, she assumed they were those of Charlotte and Newton. But when the voices rose, she recognized the faint but unmistakable tones of her uncle. She was instantly on her feet, striding out of the parlor, Red trotting alongside her.

In the drawing room, Charlotte was sitting near the fire with Bean in her lap. Carson was standing over her.

“Someone should drown that bloody dog,” Carson growled, glaring at Bean.

“Why are you here, threatening a small dog, Uncle?” Lizzie asked angrily. “Is there someone else you wish to abduct? Another life you wish to ruin?”

“And a jolly good day to you as well, Lizzie,” her uncle responded as he unfastened the clasp on his cloak. He tossed it carelessly on a chair and ran a hand through his thick silver hair. “I have come to tell you that I have paid your debt to the smithy.”

“What?”
Lizzie demanded.

“Why, Uncle,” Charlotte said with false lightness, as she gathered Bean in her arms, “how
generous
of you.”

“We are perfectly capable of paying our debts,” Lizzie said angrily.

“Oh? Then why did you no’ pay it? What did you think would stop him from taking your carriage as payment?”

A flush of anger heated Lizzie’s neck. Several months ago, a merchant had taken some of the furniture their father had commissioned when that bill went unpaid. “I intended to speak to him,” Lizzie said curtly as she shed the greatcoat, “but I was taken from my home and forced into a handfasting.”

“Speaking is no’
money,
Lizzie. You are a young woman and naïve to the ways of tradesman and merchants. I had to take matters into hand.”

Oh, but she despised his domineering manner! Their debt to Carson kept mounting, and it was precisely what he wanted: the more they owed him, the tighter his stranglehold on them and Thorntree. “You’ve put us deeper in debt to you.”

Carson shrugged indifferently. “If you honor your vow to the handfasting and turn that bloody Gordon away, we might find a satisfactory arrangement for you to repay your debt to me.”

“I’d rather live in debtor’s prison than be beholden to you. I donna understand why you go to such lengths, Uncle! What is Mr. Gordon to you?”

“A
Gordon
! The name itself is vile! I’ll no’ have a Gordon on Beal land!”

“Aye, but this is
our
land—no’ yours,” Lizzie said evenly.

“This is Beal land!”
he thundered. “I might ask the same question of you, Lizzie—why do you go to such lengths to turn away an earl? He is wealthy and may solve all your troubles. He is titled—”

“He is wanted to hang and he was coerced into this union.”

“As most men are,” Carson scoffed. “How fares your husband?”

“He is no’ my husband.”

“Are you treating him as you ought? Is he sleeping in your bed?”

“Uncle!” Lizzie cried. The heat of humiliation spread up her neck, to her face.

But Carson was ruthless. “Get his seed in you. Carry his child.”

Lizzie gasped with shock.
“Diah!”
Charlotte exclaimed.

“He’ll go off and leave you, aye, he will as soon as he is able, but if you bear his child, he’ll provide for you and all your problems will be solved, no?”

“You…you are reprehensible,” Lizzie said, her voice shaking. She turned away from him, strode to the door, and yanked it open. “Please go.”

“No’ so fast,” Carson said. “I have come to tell you that you’ll be hosting a supper party on Friday evening. The McLennans and the Sorley Beals will be your guests. It is near enough to Candlemas that you will use the occasion to end your mourning. Now then, I have chosen the McLennans and the Beals to attend your supper party for they are family, and they will no’ let on to an outsider that the man the prince so desperately wants in his custody is here. But you’d best show your regard and your happiness at your handfasting, Lizzie.”

“I will do no such thing!” she cried. “You can no’ command us to entertain and to pretend all is well!”

“Donna be stupid,” Carson said coldly. “If you donna do as I say, it will no’ be long before someone in this glen believes that a royal bounty is theirs for the taking, and they will justify it by your wretched behavior and disregard for the man. But if they believe one of their own is happily married, they’ll protect his identity and your happiness. That is the way of the Beals, aye? We look after one another.”

“Do you hear the irony in your own words?” Lizzie asked incredulously.

But her uncle was not listening. “In other words,” he said, “if you donna want to see the man hang, you’ll do as I say. Every Beal in this glen must believe that your
troth has been happily pledged. If you would get yourself with child, that would ensure our secret is safe.”

Lizzie gaped at him.

“God in heaven, will you leave us?” Charlotte cried.

Lizzie opened the door. Carson’s two men, standing just outside, came to attention. Carson’s face mottled with anger and, with a glare for Charlotte, he picked up his coat and walked to the door. He paused there and looked back at them. “You two are awfully high and mighty, eh? Just remember that I am the only one who stands between you and complete ruin.”

“You’ve done nothing but hasten our ruin!” Lizzie snapped. “And for what? For a tiny estate with nothing to recommend it! How deep your greed runs, Uncle Carson.”

His face turned darker and he clenched his jaw. “There are things that you are incapable of understanding.” He shifted closer. “I’ll say it once more, Lizzie. If you donna do as I tell you, you will feel the full force of my wrath,” he said menacingly. “If you donna mind yourself and this handfasting, I will personally see to it that you are as incapacitated as your sister.”

His threat had the desired effect—Lizzie was speechless.

“I’ll be back,” he said sourly, and quit the room, leaving bits of mud on the carpet.

Lizzie shut the door behind him and gaped at Charlotte in disbelief.

“What are we to do?” Charlotte asked helplessly.

Lizzie angrily removed the fingerless gloves. “Donna allow him to intimidate us, for that is precisely what he aims to do.”

“He is succeeding,” Charlotte muttered.