Marshal and the Heiress (16 page)

“No reason,” he said. “I've heard of arranged marriages in Britain. Alliances. A system with some advantages, I suspect,” he added with a shade of bitterness.

Lisbeth hesitated. Her marriage
had
been arranged. Jamie's father had been demanding that he marry, and since the Hamilton name was finer than her own, her father agreed readily enough. She had few illusions that Jamie loved her. She had been in the right place at the right time when his father demanded marriage: she had a sufficient dowry and she was suitable, since her father was a clan chief, if not titled.

“I cared deeply for Jamie,” she said simply. She didn't add that he had been the first person to show her any affection at all.

Ben's gaze left her face and went to the brandy in the glass. She watched him study its rich color for a moment, then she asked the question nagging her.

“Sarah Ann's mother? Did you love her?”

His mouth quirked upward in that enigmatic half-smile. “I cared deeply for her,” he said, turning her own words back on her.

“You've never wed?”

“No.”

“Why? You obviously like children.”

“I didn't know that until Sarah Ann came along,” he said. “And she is … unique.”

“All children are unique.”

“You and Jamie didn't have children?”

“I lost a bairn before it was born,” she said, feeling tears well in her eyes.

“And Barbara?”

“She was married less than a year when her husband died.”

“How did he die?”

She hesitated. It wasn't her tale to tell, and she'd never known the truth of the matter. “Her husband was shot,” she said shortly.

“Another accident?”

Lisbeth shook her head. “A duel.”

Ben's brow furrowed. “I thought they were illegal.”

“They are,” she replied, wondering whether he was avoiding her question by asking others. “Tell me about Sarah Ann's mother and Ian Hamilton.”

Ben finished his brandy, then carefully set the glass down. “I don't know that much. She was married to Ian three years before he was killed during a poker game. Mary May was pregnant then. I know she had a difficult time of it, but she did a damn good job of making sure Sarah Ann was cared for.” He remembered the first time he'd seen her, the way she'd boldly approached him in a saloon. “She was very courageous.”

“It's almost as if the family is cursed,” she said slowly.

“I don't believe in curses,” he stated. “But why did Hamilton leave here?”

Lisbeth had heard whispers, though John Hamilton had forbidden anyone to use Ian's name in the house. “He'd been gone years when I met Jamie, and the family didn't talk about him. There was some scandal …”

“Cheating?”

She nodded reluctantly. “That's what I heard. How did you know?”

“That's what got him killed in Texas. Texans take it very seriously. A man caught cheating at the poker table doesn't simply get banished to another country.”

He stood slowly, as if he were in pain. But once on his feet, he moved gracefully, even with the slight favoring of the one leg. He walked over to one of the bookshelves and read titles for a minute or two, then removed a book from the shelf. “If I may, I would like to borrow this.”

Lisbeth nodded, and rose, too. She picked up the children's books she'd already gathered and handed them to him. “For Sarah Ann.”

“I only have one children's book, and Sarah Ann has memorized all those tales. I'm afraid I'm not very good at storytelling.”

She believed that. He had the look of a man who lived life, not of one who imagined it. And she doubted his real-life tales would be the kind fit for children.

“You're welcome,” she said softly. “There's more if you need them.”

He hesitated at the door for a moment, then turned to her. “You won't reconsider going to Edinburgh?”

Lisbeth was surprised. Why would he want her when he had Barbara? She was tempted, but she knew what would happen. She wouldn't be able to resist needling Barbara, nor Barbara her. And she wouldn't play second fiddle.

“I have too much to do here,” she said. “We're trying to get Shadow ready for the Grand National.”

His blue eyes suddenly turned piercing. There were unfathomable depths to him, and she was afraid she might drown in any attempt to reach the bottom.

“Would you like to go to the loch tomorrow?” she asked. “Sarah Ann can ride her new pony.”

“She would like that.”

“And would you?”

“I think any trip away from Annabelle would be pleasurable,” he said lightly.

“I believe you really admire her.”

“Perhaps I do,” he said. “I've always liked independence.”

Lisbeth swallowed hard. Was he referring to her?

“Will you stay here in Scotland if Mr. Alistair upholds Sarah Ann's claim?”

“I don't know.”

“You could always designate a manager,” she ventured.

“I could, couldn't I?” he said noncommittally. “But this conversation is premature. Thank you for the brandy, the books, and the conversation, Lady Calholm.”

The room had suddenly turned cold. Lisbeth knew she shouldn't have made the last comment. It was far too soon, but guile was not one of her strong points.

“You're welcome, Mr. Masters,” she said just as formally.

He looked disconcerted for a moment, then grinned. “Sounds sort of ridiculous, doesn't it?”

“About as ridiculous as ‘Lady Calholm,'” she replied.

The ice in his eyes turned into heat. Yet she still sensed a distance between them, one she desperately wanted to breach.

She stepped toward him, reluctant to let him go. Whether it was the brandy or the meeting of their gazes, awareness flashed and thundered between them, like a sudden Scottish storm.

His eyes burned through her, igniting waves of heat cascading along her body. Her fingers bunched into a fist as the impact of his gaze became overwhelming. A craving such as she'd never known gnawed inside her. She wanted to touch that hard face and watch it soften. She wanted to kiss that mouth and feel it move against hers. She wanted it more than anything.

He reached out and touched her hair, confined again in its French twist. Then his fingers moved to her face, tracing the line of her jaw with one finger. His hands were infinitely gentle. The gentleness contrasted with the heat those fingers left in their wake.

She fought her racing emotions. He knew she wanted something from him. She couldn't allow him to believe she was willing to trade her body for it. But she'd never felt like this before, barely in control of needs so intense they threatened to explode.

He moved toward her, and his mouth came down on hers. Hard and demanding and searching.

She wanted to respond. Needed to respond. But if she did, he would believe the worst. Her body ached with fierce wanting, but she managed to pull away. Lisbeth stood trembling, her gaze lowered, and slowly she backed away.

“Lisbeth?” When she looked up at him, she saw traces of suspicion and cynicism. She stepped back again from temptation. She couldn't afford the cost, the complete loss of her self-respect. The ache within her grew deeper, more unbearable.

“I won't trade,” she said.

He was silent, and she knew he understood. She turned her back to him, not wanting him to see the tear beginning to leak from one eye.

“I don't trade, either, Lisbeth,” he finally said. “I think—”

“You wanted to see how far I would go?” she asked bitterly. “Well, now you know. Too stupidly far.”

She was shaking now, and she felt cold, so cold. All the heat had drained from her body as if a pail of icy water had been thrown on her. “Please leave,” she said, cringing at the break in her voice.

Silence, then a hand touched her shoulder and guided her around to face him. Fingers cupped her chin, forcing her gaze to meet his searching look. She wondered whether he ever took anyone at face value. She doubted it.

“I'm sorry,” he said unexpectedly, and she suspected he seldom apologized.

“Don't be,” she said, biting her lip. “I just thought … I suppose I didn't think.”

“I'm not very experienced with emotions, but I do understand needs. I'm just not sure what yours are. Or at least which are the most important to you. Whether it's Calholm or—”

“Go to the devil,” she said, then left the room. Her rage got her upstairs to her bedchamber before she started shaking again. She'd made a complete fool of herself.

But damn the man! She didn't understand him at all. For a few moments, he had seemed to feel the same attraction she felt for him. Or had he been testing her all the time?

Henry whined, asked for permission to join her on the bed, then climbed up slowly. Her usual amusement at his tentative approach—one leg at a time—was missing. She simply hugged him.

“Oh, Henry,” she said. “What have I done?”

Ben broke his own rule. He had a second drink, then a third.

Christ, he ached for her.

But he couldn't quiet his suspicions that Lisbeth wanted something from him that he wasn't willing to give. He sure as hell wouldn't trade Sarah Ann's heritage, and neither did he ever plan to give his heart away again.

But she'd looked so pretty in that library. The light from the oil lamp had glinted off her auburn hair, and her cheeks had been rosy, her lips inviting. She'd been the picture of a polished young woman at home in this elegant room full of books. She belonged here. He didn't.

Hell, he didn't even want to be here.

He thought back to what she'd said. A manager. That's what she wanted from him: a manager of her choosing. Perhaps she was even thinking that she should be the manager. He was a fool to think there was anything more to her feelings toward him. Not that he wanted more. She was pretty enough and she did stir a need inside him. But it was nothing more than lust.

Well, perhaps a need for companionship, too, he admitted reluctantly. But that was all. He refused even to consider anything more. He'd been a fool once in his life, and he had no intention of repeating that folly. Love between a man and a woman was a romantic fairy tale. In reality, there was lust, affection, companionship if one was lucky. He'd had all that with Mary May. But love?

Ben ignored the loneliness slicing through him. He had Sarah Ann, and he
did
believe in love between child and parent. It was, he thought, probably the only thing he truly believed in. Even his long-held belief in what was right and wrong had changed. An outlaw named Diablo had been responsible for that.

Hell, he wished he hadn't thought of Diablo. He didn't want to remember the looks that had passed between Diablo and the woman who had since become his wife, didn't want to think about the sacrifices each had been willing to make for the other.

Ben closed his eyes against the memory. With disgust, he placed his half-filled glass on a table, quenched the oil lamps and left the room. He'd had little sleep last night. Perhaps tonight … but he doubted it.

“Where's Lady Lisbeth?”

Sarah Ann looked around anxiously as their luggage was loaded onto a handsome coach.

Ben wondered, too. He had seen only fleeting glimpses of Lisbeth since their meeting in the library two nights before. She hadn't joined them for dinner last night, nor had there been any further mention of a visit to the loch.

Ben didn't really blame her. He had been insufferably rude, and his only excuse was one that made him cringe. He had been protecting himself, striking out because she had hurt his pride, because, for a time, he thought she might be trying to use him. He had no intentions of ever being used again—by anyone.

God knows, he'd used people for his own purposes before. So he should be the last one to take offense.

Those days were over though. At least, he hoped they were.

Ben had wanted to apologize to Lisbeth yesterday, but he'd never found her. When he'd asked Callum Trapp where she was, the dour Scotsman had merely scowled at him. “Tending 'er business,” he'd said, implying that Ben should tend his own.

“Papa.” Sarah Ann tugged at his hand. “Where's Lisbeth? I want to say goodbye and ask her to take care of Pep'mint.”

“She'll take very good care of Peppermint,” he said. “You can be sure of that.”

“I wish Pep'mint could go with us.”

“I know, Sugarplum, but you'll be very busy and he would get lonesome in a strange place.”

Barbara came down the steps, smiling. She was wearing a violet traveling dress and a small hat that perched fetchingly on one side of her head. Her dark hair glowed, and her eyes danced with the prospect of going to Edinburgh.

She gave him her gloved hand so he could assist her into the coach. Her hand was soft, not hardened by riding calluses like Lisbeth's. Barbara gave him a grateful smile as she settled down on the seat. Ben lifted Sarah Ann into the coach, then placed Annabelle's basket next to her. Sarah Ann refused to go anywhere without the cat. Ben squeezed in between the basket and the door.

“You will like Edinburgh,” Barbara said. “And I hope you might reconsider using the town house.”

He shook his head. “I think we should stay at a hotel.”

“You need someone to take care of Sarah Ann while you attend to your business. We have very reliable servants.”

He considered that. He couldn't take care of Sarah Ann every moment, nor did he wish to take her to see the solicitor. Too much needed to be discussed, and she was too smart not to comprehend at least some of it.

A loud meow rose from the basket and Sarah Ann took Annabelle out and set her in her lap. The cat got up and stretched before sitting down in regal silence. Her eyes seemed to drill into Barbara.

Barbara ignored the cat and waited for Ben's response.