Once Upon a Highland Summer (24 page)

“What do you want me to do, Caroline?” he asked instead.

A dozen emotions cascaded through her eyes—hope, fear, anger, and resignation—before her lashes swept down to hide what she was thinking. She stood with her head bowed, but her spine was stiff. “I want—I need you to go, before I do something I will regret,” she whispered.

He walked toward her instead, his boots crackling on the woven straw mat. He cupped her cheek, and she pressed into his palm like a cat, sighing at the touch.

“I can’t,” he murmured. “I should walk out that door, but I cannot make myself do so,” he murmured, his other hand finding her waist, drawing her close. He leaned forward, his forehead resting on hers, breathing her in, feeling the warmth of body. He wanted to kiss her. He lifted her chin, but she turned her face away with a murmured objection.

He kissed her cheek instead, her ear, the side of her mouth until she moaned, and kissed him back, her lips meeting his, clinging. She slid her hands up the front of his coat to his lapels, then around his neck, tangling her fingers in his hair as he deepened the kiss.

It hadn’t been the Midsummer ale. It hadn’t been the drums or the firelight. It had been Caroline. He wanted her as he’d never wanted any woman, and not just physically. He wanted to look into her eyes, know how she felt, talk to her, walk over the hills with her by his side, hand in hand, fall asleep and wake up next to her. He tasted the salt of her tears, and he pulled away.

Her eyes were bright with tears, dark with desire. He could have her if he wanted. He could carry her to the bed, lay her down, and make love to her—and she would never forgive him. He felt a flare of anger, at her, at himself. What the hell was he doing?

“I have responsibilities,” he said aloud. “I am betrothed to Sophie. Your brother is here—downstairs.” He looked again at her lips, half parted and luscious, red from his kisses, and his mouth watered. He shut his eyes. “You know what would happen if you stayed. You deserve better. Sophie deserves better.”

“Do you think I would consent to stay here and be your mistress, live under the same roof with your wife, compete with her for the crumbs of your attention? How would you do it, Alec? Would you set me up in a cottage in the village, slip down to visit me on moonless nights?” She was angry, and she had every right to be.

He ran his hand through his hair, wanted to tear it out by the roots. “It was a mistake,” he said. “That night in the tower. It was wrong, but if I make it right now, I will make so many other things wrong, don’t you see?”

She raised her chin. “I have not asked you to make it right! It was my mistake as well, my lord. I have asked you for nothing, and I will not ask, if that’s what you fear.”

“Then where will you go?” he asked again.

“Do you care, so long as I am gone?”

Alec didn’t answer. She took her stockings and went back behind the screen. He stood and waited, not knowing what to say, or how to fix this. She came out from behind the screen and crossed to the dressing table. She wound her hair into a tight bun with fierce efficiency. When she was done, she looked every inch the prim, untouchable governess—except for the vulnerability in her eyes, the set of her shoulders when she met his gaze in the mirror.

“You could still marry,” he said slowly.

She shook her head, and said nothing.

“Look, you could still wed Speed or Mandeville. He might not care that you aren’t a maid. He might not even know,” he said, and she looked up at him in astonishment. To his surprise, she laughed, a mirthless, bitter sound.

“Have I said something amusing?” he said, suddenly annoyed.

“Not at all, my lord,” she said sarcastically. “If you see my brother, you may tell him I will see him at dinner.” She swept to the door and opened it, leaving him in the room alone. He listened to her footsteps hurrying down the steep stone steps as if she could not get away from him fast enough.

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HAPTER
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HIRTY
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F
OUR

C
aroline took Lottie a cup of her favorite peppermint tea when Muira told her the young woman was feeling poorly after her journey.

As expected, she found her niece sitting with Sophie, and also as expected, Lottie was filling her in on the latest gossip from London about friends, acquaintances, and enemies.

“I came to borrow a dress to wear to dinner,” Caroline said as Lottie launched herself into her aunt’s arms.

“Of course, you poor thing. My mother said you’d left without anything at all. I was so worried!”

“You ran away? Yet everyone believes you retired to the country with a serious illness.” Sophie said, blinking. “I believed every word!”

“Mama put that story about, at least to anyone who cared to ask, since we truly had no idea what had become of her!” Lottie replied. “I suspected she’d been kidnapped by pirates, and sold into a pasha’s harem,” Lottie told her friend. “I swore off wearing cashmere shawls forever for Caroline’s sake, and then Papa received Lord Glenlorne’s letter.”

“Glenlorne’s
letter?” Caroline murmured. “Glenlorne wrote to Somerson?” She felt heat rising under her collar. She assumed Sophie had written. How desperately he must want her gone. Her heart dropped into the pit of her stomach.

“When Papa showed Glenlorne’s letter to Mama, she screamed so loudly the neighbors sent three strong footmen to see if anything was amiss. She screamed so long that she fainted, and the doctor had to be summoned to attend her.”

“I didn’t mean to cause such a fuss,” Caroline said, though she wasn’t surprised the household had been turned upside down, both by her departure and by the news that she was safe in Scotland. “I simply didn’t wish to—”

“Oh, I understand completely!”

“You do?” Caroline asked.

“Of course! How sweet you are, Caroline. You didn’t want your wedding to take attention away from mine. You needn’t have worried—I would have welcomed a double ceremony. Now I am hoping we can both marry here, with Sophie, a triple ceremony. I’m sure Papa would not object. He and Mama are most anxious to see you married at last.”

“Oh, Lottie, how marvelous!” Sophie cooed. “We shall put our heads together and make plans at once! You and William, Glenlorne and I, and Caroline and—”

“It doesn’t matter who you’ve chosen. You can announce it at dinner. I’m sure Papa will insist you do, in fact,” Lottie interrupted.

Did Somerson still believe she would choose? Did he not understand why she had fled into the night, or perhaps it was simply that he didn’t care. He couldn’t force her to wed, of course, but as her guardian, he could make her miserable until she did as she was told.

“But—” Caroline began, but Sophie crossed to throw open the door of the wardrobe, and began pulling dresses out. “I think we should all dress alike tonight—perhaps all in the same color. Or should we all wear white, but with the different sashes?”

Caroline allowed them to choose a dress for her—white with a red sash—not caring what she wore. She had escaped from London simply to be forced to make the same choice here, and this time, there was nowhere to run. And it was Alec who had ensured her fate. Her chest ached at the idea that he had betrayed her. She let Lottie’s second maid help her into the gown and looked at herself in the mirror. She was as pale as the muslin. She took a deep breath, and the maid fastened the necklace Sophie had insisted she wear—a violet pendant, made of amethysts and sapphires. Violets grew in the shadow of the old tower. She decided she hated violets. Lottie wore a heart made of rubies on her breast, and Sophie wore a diamond tiara.

The reflection in the mirror told Caroline she was the same woman who’d fled London, and yet she was not. The old Caroline was a lady born and bred to wed a lord, to bear heirs and run a household, and that was to be the extent and purpose of her life. But things had changed. There was a new light in her eyes, a determined—Somerson would say stubborn, and Charlotte would say willful—set to her chin. She managed a smile when Lottie’s happy face appeared in the glass next to her own.

She would not let Somerson decide her fate. She would not be forced into making a decision she would regret all her life, even as she dreamed of Alec MacNabb’s arms around her, his mouth on hers, his joined with hers. She watched a blush bloom over her cheeks, growing brighter still when Sophie looked over her opposite shoulder, the picture of bridal joy.

She was alone in the world, but she’d made it to Glenlorne, found honorable employment. She could do so again. She felt a new sense of purpose and she raised her chin.

“Please excuse me, I must check on the girls before we go downstairs,” she said.

C
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HIRTY
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F
IVE

“L
et me see,” Caroline said. Alanna spun in place, showing off her pink and white muslin gown, trimmed with lace at the sleeves and hem.

Megan was still primping at the mirror, fussing with her hair.

“You look so pretty!” Sorcha chirped, watching her sisters, and pretending she didn’t care that she was too young to be allowed down to dinner in such esteemed company. “Sophie says you’re an earl’s daughter the same as we are, Miss Forrester. Should we curtsy when we see you?”

“Mama said we’re to call you Lady Caroline instead of Miss Forrester,” Alanna said.

“I’m still the same person,” Caroline said. She crossed to Megan, and took the comb to add a curl or two to her hair.

Megan’s reflection looked up at hers. “Mama has invited Brodie to supper. I think she might be able to see at last how very much I—” She swallowed, blushing. “Oh, I wish I had something truly stylish to wear, like Sophie and Lady Lottie.”

Caroline unfastened the necklace Sophie had insisted she wear. She put it around Megan’s neck instead. “There. That looks lovely”

Sorcha leaned in to examine the jeweled violet, and pouted. “I still think it’s quite unfair that I’m not allowed to come down to dinner. I dine with the family every other night.”

“Mama says we must strictly observe English rules tonight,” Alanna said. “And in England you’d be a child, still dining in the nursery.”

Sorcha stuck her tongue out at her sister. “I’ll still be there, watching from the gallery above the hall.”

“I’ll tell Muira to fetch you down and send you to bed,” Alanna retorted, her hands on her hips.

“Muira’s probably more likely to be up there beside her, watching too, muttering about ‘bloody Sassenachs,’ ” Megan said, then raised her hand to her lips and looked apologetically at Caroline. “Oh, I’m sorry, Miss—Lady—um . . .”

“It’s time to go downstairs, or we’ll risk being late,” Caroline said primly, and herded her charges toward the door. She took a deep breath, and wished for a moment that she could stay with Sorcha. Alanna slipped her hand into Caroline’s as they descended the stairs, and Caroline was glad of the comfort, though she supposed Alanna thought Caroline was comforting her. She steeled herself to face her half brother’s anger and the sting of Charlotte’s scorn.

The gentlemen rose as the ladies entered the room. “There you are, Lady Caroline. We were just speaking of mounting a search since the rain has stopped at last, but you would know that since you are quite dry,” Viscount Speed said.

“How well you look, Caro,” William said, coming to clasp her hand and kiss her cheek. He was almost a stranger, though they’d grown up together, had been friends once. She’d dreamed of being his wife, though she couldn’t imagine marrying him now. Or anyone. She avoided looking at Alec, and gave William a brilliant smile.

Her brother stood waiting for her to come to him, his hands clenched into fists, his color high. She curtsied, feeling his blistering gaze boring into her. “Well, well, here you are at last, and looking very well indeed.” He said it as if the fact of her good health annoyed him. “We have a great deal to discuss, and even if your foolish little adventure has lowered your value as a wife, I have other plans for your future. We will speak immediately after dinner is finished.” He made it a command. Caroline felt a wave of anger. Did he truly expect things would simply go back their last conversation, as if nothing had happened?

She raised her chin. “I’m afraid I will be putting Lady Sorcha to bed after dinner. Perhaps tomorrow, after the girls lessons conclude at eleven o’clock.”

She watched Somerson’s face change from red to purple with rage. His fist clenched, and for a moment she feared he intended to strike her. She felt Lottie’s eyes on her, and Alec’s, but she kept her eyes fixed on her half brother. He lowered his hand.

“Of all the nerve—” Charlotte began, but Lottie put a hand on her mother’s arm.

“Perhaps we should take our places at the table,” Lottie said. “Perhaps it’s the Highland air, but I for one am quite famished.”

“Lottie!” Charlotte turned her ire—and the vast bulk of her person—upon her daughter. “A lady never describes herself as famished!”

“O
ch, there’s a laugh—I saw Her Ladyship at tea, devouring all the tea cakes,” Angus said to Georgiana from their perch in the gallery, right behind young Sorcha, who pressed her face eagerly through the railing. “I’ve known warriors who could not eat as much as she—but they weren’t as big, of course.” He laughed at his own joke.

Georgiana was gazing at her granddaughter, pride clear in her eyes. “Caroline does look fetching tonight, doesn’t she? I don’t think Alec has even glanced at anyone else in the room since she arrived. And I rather liked the way she stood up to Somerson. That took courage.”

A
lec felt himself bristle when Somerson had threatened Caroline. He would not allow him to harm her, guardian or not. She had faced him down, and as with most bullies, his bluster had collapsed at her show of strength.