Marshal and the Heiress (29 page)

While Ben was patiently trying to answer two elderly Scotsmen's questions about Indians, he saw Duncan admit the one guest he had hoped wouldn't come: Andrew Cameron. The damned Scot swept in as if he were Bonnie Prince Charlie.

Sarah Ann saw him, too, and before Ben could stop her, she ran to Cameron. He swung her up into the air, earning gales of laughter and demands for a repeat. Cameron complied, then headed straight toward Lisbeth, who was sitting on a sofa in deference to her ankle and looking lovely in a gray silk gown. Cameron took her hand and held it much too long for Ben's taste. The two exchanged greetings, then Sarah Ann whispered something in Lisbeth's ear and Lisbeth whispered back, and Sarah Ann giggled. Then Cameron said something that made both females giggle.

Ben felt left out, and thoroughly irritated. He didn't want to believe his reaction had anything to do with jealousy.

“Ben said you two had met.”

Ben barely heard Lisbeth's words to Cameron. His ear was being bent by Alex Douglas, who was rambling on with some nonsense about Indians he'd read in a book written by an author who obviously had never set foot in America.

When the man paused for breath, Ben heard Cameron say to Lisbeth, “And how do you like the new … master of Calholm?”

And then Alex Douglas began talking again, and Ben couldn't hear anything else. But he saw Lisbeth laugh, and the beat of his heart slowed. His throat felt constricted, and he wanted to march the few feet toward Cameron and land a fist in his face.

“Don't Indians scalp their enemy?” Douglas said. “And run around naked?”

Ben wanted to retort that compared to the Scots and their kilts, Indians were overdressed.

“I heard your Scots army fought naked,” he said instead.

“But that was hundreds of years ago,” Douglas pointed out.

“Have you ever been in an Arizona desert?”

“I have not.” The Scot drew himself up indignantly.

“I suspect if you had, you might think nakedness rather desirable,” Ben said. “And now if you will excuse me …”

He made his way over to Andrew Cameron and Lisbeth. “Cameron,” he acknowledged shortly.

“Drew,” Cameron said. “Friends call me Drew.”

Ben nodded, his gaze dropping to Lisbeth's, noting the slight flush on her cheeks. Even Sarah Ann looked at Cameron with uninhibited adoration.

The jealousy he'd tried to deny sliced through Ben like a sword. He'd never known anything like it before, had never tasted its bitterness.

He hated it. And he didn't understand it. Drew Cameron didn't threaten anything he had, or wanted.

Liar
! an inner voice mocked him.
You want Lisbeth, and you know it.
The voice was so strong, so honest. He did want her. Not just for an afternoon or a night. He wanted her forever. He wanted her laughter and her determination, and her gentleness with Sarah Ann, and her love for Henry, whom no one else had wanted.

“Drew is going to ride Shadow for me tomorrow,” she said, and Ben realized only an instant had passed, not the lifetime that such a soul-shattering discovery should take.

The jealousy cut even deeper. The hunt would be for grouse in the morning, followed by races over the steeplechase course in the afternoon. They would take the place of a fox hunt, which Lisbeth refused to sanction. The race would give her a chance to show off Shadow, and she had planned to ride herself until her fall.

Ben raised an eyebrow. “I thought Geordie—”

“He's not experienced enough,” Lisbeth said. “Drew's raced in steeplechases before. That's how Jamie and I met him. He's a superb rider.”

Ben realized his resentment was unreasonable. He had consciously played down his riding and shooting abilities. He was also intelligent enough to know that riding through mountains and deserts and valleys was not comparable to navigating a steeplechase course, with its closely placed hazards, some six feet high. He had few doubts he could keep his seat, but he would hold the horse back.

“I wish you luck,” he finally told Drew. “I know how much this means to Lisbeth … and to Calholm.”

“It will be good to have a Calholm mount again,” Drew said. “They're the best in Scotland.”

“In Britain,” she corrected him.

“In Britain,” he agreed with a smile.

And I might be the one who has to take them from her.
Ben's lips pressed together into a thin line. There had to be another way.

Drew turned to him. “You've decided to stay in Scotland?”

“I'm still waiting for word from your Parliament,” he replied.

“I'm thinking about going to your American West,” Drew said.

Ben hid his surprise.

“Where would you suggest?”

“Depends on what you're after.”

“Money.” Drew shrugged. “Gold. Excitement.”

“Like Ian Hamilton?” Ben knew it must be common gossip now how Ian had died, shot down during a poker game.

“I don't intend to end up like Hamilton.” There was something suddenly hard in Drew Cameron's voice, and Ben wondered whether he had underestimated the Scot, dismissing him as an aimless young lord who made a precarious living at gambling.

“There's gold fields in Colorado, silver mines in Montana. Mining camps are good places for gamblers … if you're honest. If you aren't, you'll likely end up at the end of a rope. There are few formalities in the west.”

Drew nodded. “I'll take your advice. As you've probably discovered, there's many an impoverished gentleman in Scotland. Ships headed for America are loaded these days.”

Ben thought of two other impoverished Scotsmen: Ian and Hugh. It had to be difficult to be born in wealth, grow accustomed to it, and then be left with little or nothing because of archaic inheritance and tax laws.

Regardless, he would be glad as hell to see Drew Cameron leave Scotland.

Barbara came over then, drawing Ben away to meet two new arrivals. Sighing inwardly, he followed her. He would have sold his soul at that moment to be able to toss Lisbeth and Sarah Ann, even Henry and Annabelle, onto the nearest ship and take them to Colorado. He wished for his own horse, and he longed for the mountains and rich valleys. He longed for the home he hadn't really considered a home until he thought he might lose it. He longed most of all for Lisbeth to share it with him.

He longed for much more than he'd ever had.

But at the moment, a kilted Scot and his wife stood waiting for introductions, and Ben could see the questions about barbarous Indians and ruthless gunslingers on the tip of their tongues, waiting to be asked.

Lisbeth couldn't dance with her twisted ankle, but she watched and tapped her foot to the tunes provided by the small band of musicians Barbara had hired. She loved the fiddles and flutes, the infectious gaiety of Scottish music.

Barbara, as usual, was in great demand, but she was saving most of her dances for Hugh, which was odd. Usually, she flirted with everyone, giving no man more than a dance or two. She had been unusually attentive to their distant cousin lately.

And Ben. Dear God, he looked magnificent in the plaid and jacket. His primal strength was emphasized by the heavy belt and jeweled dirk. He towered over everyone present, and his hard bronzed visage was striking among the paleness of many of the other faces. He looked, in fact, like a chief of old, dominating the room with his very presence.

Lisbeth noted that despite Ben's bad leg, he danced well. She'd already known by his speech and manners that he'd been raised as a gentleman, and this evening she'd seen further proof of it. In selecting partners who had few offers, he showed an innate kindness and compassion.

Ben Masters was truly an extraordinary man. She only wished he wasn't such a puzzle, a living, breathing contradiction. She was quite convinced he was a man who had lived on the edge of danger and had never stopped looking for it, even though he claimed to be a lawyer. He was also a man used to being alone. What else could explain the distance he tried to maintain between himself and anyone else, including her?

“Lisbeth?”

Lisbeth tore her gaze from Ben and looked up to see Drew Cameron standing beside her. “You look lost in thought.”

“What do you think of Ben?” She shouldn't ask such a question, but she trusted Drew's judgment. There was much more to him than the profligate gambler he appeared to be. She often wondered why he flitted around like a gadfly when he had a mind like a steel trap.

His face screwed up thoughtfully. Then, sitting beside her, he said, “He's what he seems, and he's not.”

“That's cryptic enough.”

Drew grinned. “'Tis the best I can do. I have few doubts he's a solicitor. He thinks like one. But he's more than that. I can't put my fingers on it, but … there's a sharp edge to him. He doesn't trust me, but I can't fault that.”

“I think you're one of the most trustworthy people I know,” she protested.

“Few would agree with your discerning generosity concerning my character,” he returned lightly.

“I don't think he trusts me, either,” Lisbeth confided. She needed to talk to someone, and Drew was the one person, other than Callum, she really considered a friend. He always made her feel comfortable and worthy of respect, perhaps because he too came from the Highlands.

“I've seen the way Masters looks at you,” Drew said. “He practically devours you. And your eyes shine when you look at him.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“I'm afraid it is, my dear.”

She sighed. “Barbara wants him.”

“I think Barbara is occupied with Hugh. And in Edinburgh your Ben Masters didn't look at her the way he looks at you.”

“He isn't mine. I'm not sure I even want anyone to be mine.”

“Why?”

“I like being independent,” she said, biting her lip. “I didn't know how much until …” She stopped, realizing she'd almost said “until Jamie died.” She said a quick prayer for forgiveness.

“It's all right,” Drew said gently. “You didn't cause his death. Don't blame yourself for finding a measure of freedom.”

She reached out and touched his hands. “Thank you,” she said. “And now you'd better go and dance with Miss Carmichael. She's been looking at you expectantly.”

“And Masters is looking at me as if he'd like to cut my throat,” Drew said with amusement. “Always a good sign.” He rose and went in the direction of Flora Carmichael.

Flora's father took the seat next to Lisbeth. “Tha' Masters looks like a sensible lad, not a wastrel like some.” His eyes went to Drew Cameron and his daughter.

Lisbeth held her tongue. She knew Drew was not considered good husband material, but she also knew Drew
would
make a good husband. Like Ben, there was a kindness in him that some mistook for weakness or even deception.

Alex Carmichael grumbled a few more sentences about ne'er-do-wells, then switched to the subject of horses. “I've been hearing about that jumper of yours. Lookin' forward to seeing him. Too bad there's no fox hunt. Can really test a horse that way.”

“He's a fine, spunkie lad,” she said. And Carmichael had a stallion she would dearly love to mate with Shadow's dam.

“We'll see,” Carmichael muttered. He'd brought two of his own horses to race Shadow, one for each of his sons.

“Mourning's 'bout over,” he said, abruptly changing the subject as he eyed her gray silk gown. “Been two years since young Jamie fell.”

She nodded, afraid of what was coming next.

“My two lads are anxious to marry,” he said hopefully.

She doubted that. His sons had populated the midlands with bastards.

Lisbeth was saved from an answer by the arrival of Ben, who had completed a dance with one of the Fleming daughters. Something dangerous sparked in his eyes, and that menace she sometimes sensed in him vibrated like a scream in a Highland valley.

Alex Carmichael must have sensed it, too, because he quickly excused himself, heading toward Drew Cameron and his daughter, who were whispering in a corner.

Lisbeth could almost taste Ben's fury, so strong was it, and she couldn't imagine what it was all about. Surely not because Drew had been sitting with her.

Ben stared at her as if he'd never seen her before, and she felt a sense of foreboding. His mouth twisted as if he'd discovered a very unpleasant truth.

Was it something Barbara had said? Or someone else?

“Are you enjoying … this?” she asked inanely, desperate to break Ben's menacing silence.

“Your Scottish dances are confounding,” he said. His jaw was clenched and his eyes wintry.

“I'll teach you when this ankle works again.”

“Will you, now?” he asked.

A shiver passed through her body. He was a stranger, as much a stranger as when she found him in the wrecked coach.

“Aye,” she said, puzzled.

She would have given anything to know what he was thinking. She felt small, as if he'd suddenly found something lacking in her. How many times had that happened before? She bloody well wasn't going to endure it again.

She looked directly into his eyes and went on the offensive. “You seem to be doing well enough. You don't need anyone, do you, Ben Masters?”

“No,” he said, and turned away. He headed toward Flora Carmichael, who, with the exception of Barbara, was probably the prettiest woman at the manor that evening. Pain tugged at Lisbeth, and she struggled against tears that formed rebelliously in her eyes.

She stood unsteadily for a moment, trying to regain her composure. It was too early to leave without being noticed, but she couldn't stay in the same room with Ben Masters.

“Lady Lisbeth?” Duncan was at her side. “The little lass. Effie took her up to her room, but she … willna go to bed. She wants her fa.”

Lisbeth looked at Ben, who was dancing with Flora Carmichael as Flora's father watched and beamed. If that was what Ben wanted, he was bloody well welcome to it. Flora Carmichael didn't have a brain in her head.