The Earl's Secret (4 page)

Time passed so very quickly. Christopher prayed for the day when Sandra would do as she had promised him years before and tell her daughter about her real father. “I'm just waiting until she's old enough to comprehend all of this. It's a delicate issue for a young girl,” she reminded him whenever he asked.

Now he was beginning to wonder if she ever would reveal his identity to Lisa. Fear alternated with helpless anger. His hands were tied, his silence expected, and emptiness gnawed at his soul.

He knew it wouldn't be right to act without permission from the child's mother. After all, she must understand her daughter better than anyone. What if he risked revealing all to Lisa, and the girl refused to believe him? Their warm relationship would be destroyed. Worse yet, she might feel betrayed because he had lied to her all of these years, pretending to be an honorary uncle when he really was her father. She might hate him. He couldn't bear that.

And so he continued to wait and hope for a time
when he could embrace his daughter and tell her how much he loved her…had always loved her.

As it turned out, Lisa's class was on a field trip that day and he couldn't see her at all. Disappointed, he picked up his copy of the builder's contracts for the addition from the administration office, then drove back into the city. He would need to review them before the board meetings. The urge was stronger than ever to cherish and protect the little girl who might never know his secret burden.

 

“The Royal Mile was wonderful!” Jennifer cried when she saw Christopher waiting for her outside the Caledonia. “I bought a ton of great stuff, and I almost never shop while leading a tour!”

He had been under such an oppressive cloud since he left St. James that he'd feared his spirits would not be lifted even by seeing her again. But just the sight of her sunny face and sparkling eyes did wonders for him. She gave him something other than his troubles to think about.

“I'm glad,” he said, at the moment more interested in the lovely glow of her cheeks than her shopping victories. An intriguing thought shot unbidden through his mind. Just how far down her body did that glow extend? The length of her long, sweet throat was rosy with excitement, but her collar stood obstinately in the way. Would her breasts be flushed as well?

He felt himself react to the image, then immediately warned himself to get a grip. He liked her; she excited him. That, after all, must be the end of it. When he was younger, he had effortlessly picked up girls and, if they were willing, made careless love.
American coeds had been attracted to his English accent like moths to the proverbial flame. And when he let slip his title in casual conversation…instant melt-down. A quick hop into bed.

But after Lisa came into the world, he took sex far more seriously. His liaisons became infrequent, cautiously and safely executed. He had learned he wasn't the sort of man who could spread his progeny with abandon. He considered himself responsible for little Lisa.

There was also a change in the way he allowed himself to feel about women. If they were so easily able to enjoy one man's pleasures then go off with another for reasons of prestige or money or pure flightiness, he would never again let himself feel anything enduring for one of them. It was a matter of self-preservation.

But Jennifer was incredibly desirable. She would tempt any man to throw off caution as quickly as a topcoat at the first bloom of spring. He must be careful…very careful, he reminded himself.

Having completed the afternoon's tours, the group had returned to the hotel for a hearty meal. Early-evening excursions had been arranged by those wanting to pack more into their day, while others discussed going to the theater or a quiet game of cards in the lounge.

“Looks like you'll have some time to fill before turning in,” Christopher said after Jennifer bade her crew a good evening.

“Yes,” she said. “But I need to check in with my mother and pack for London.”

“I see.” So tomorrow she would indeed be gone. He sighed inwardly. In the little time he'd spent with
her, she'd been good for him. When he was with her, his thoughts seemed lighter, the day somehow brighter, more tolerable. He dwelled less on his mistakes. Or maybe that was all romantic hogwash, and he just wanted to sleep with her. A good dose of lust definitely took a man's mind off his troubles.

“Thank you for all you've done,” she murmured, laying her hand on his arm, making him even more aware of the sweet scent wafting up from her skin. She stood close to him. So close he could easily slip his arm around her waist and pull her against him. Right here in the lobby. Why not? “Everyone has said,” she continued breezily, “what a wonderful treat it has been, your taking us around today.”

He forced out the correct, civil words and even gave her a polite smile. “No trouble at all. I enjoyed myself.”

She beamed up at him in appreciation, and he thought he had never liked green eyes as much as he did now. “Yesterday…I was serious about my invitation. If you ever do come to America, and you're near Baltimore—”

“It's unlikely,” he said, interrupting. “You can do me another favor, though.” He hadn't thought through his words. They simply arrived on his lips, and he had no power to stop them.

“Anything,” she said. “What is it?”

“You wouldn't have dinner with me last night. What about tonight?”

She blinked thoughtfully. “I'm not sure I should.”

“Why not? You're free for the night. You need to eat, don't you? I know all the best places in Edinburgh.”

“But—”

“You're leaving tomorrow. I'm not asking for a lifetime commitment.” Lust was a charmer, he was. The muscles in his shoulders and back tensed as he waited for her answer.
Don't say no…don't say no!
a voice chanted from inside of him. “I'm harmless,” he added, flashing her a deliberately wolfish grin.

She laughed out loud. “I'm not sure of that part.” Still, she hesitated. “Listen, I don't know any tactful way of asking this, but… Are you attached in any way?”

He chuckled. “You mean married? Good Lord, no.”

“I meant…
seeing
anyone.”

“No. Although I do keep the phone numbers of a few ladies who graciously accompany me on social occasions. Would you like references from them?”

Jennifer rolled her eyes. “I'm sorry, it's just, you never said and—” she shrugged, looking prettily flustered. “Yes, I'll have dinner with you. You pick a good place to eat.”

“I know the perfect one,” he said.

 

Two hours later Jennifer was certain she'd made a mistake when Christopher pulled his car off the A7 and onto an unpaved road that looked suspiciously like the one leading to Donan. “I thought we were going to your favorite restaurant.”

“My favorite place to eat isn't a restaurant.”

“You can cook?” she asked.

“No,” he admitted. “I have a wonderful woman who prepares my meals. When I was given a choice of the family's estates as part of my inheritance, I chose Donan. Half the castle was in ruins, as it still is, the other half hadn't been occupied in years and
was in need of serious renovation. But I wanted it, and the Clarks, who had been with my father for years in Sussex, have kin in the area and were eager to take it on for me.”

“You're lucky you can run your business from a place like this.”

“Yes,” he said quickly.

Having already seen the first floor, she knew the way to the dining room and turned in that direction as they passed through the great hall.

Christopher touched her on the arm. “Hold on a moment. Let me check with Mrs. Clark to see how close our dinner is to being ready.”

Jennifer wandered into a side room and contentedly browsed along the dark-paneled walls. When she had been here with her group, Christopher had pointed out one of Alexander Nasmyth's oils of a Borders landscape. The mist-enshrouded body of water in the center looked a lot like nearby Loch Kerr. Then there were two portraits that appeared somewhat older, in the opulent style of John Wright, though she was no expert on seventeenth-century art. For all she knew they might actually be Wrights—in which case they'd each be worth a small fortune.

She followed a narrowing corridor and found a canvas whose artist she was sure of—one of her favorite painters, Anne MacBeth. Anne had been a member of the so-called Glasgow Girls, at the turn of the previous century, who had rocked the art world with their daring experiments combining art nouveau and Celtic influences. Jennifer was delighted. Either Christopher or someone in his family was a serious collector of female artists as well as the established masters.

Christopher returned, smiling when he found her in
front of another MacBeth painting. “We can sit down now. It's ready.” He stood behind her and rested his wide hands on her shoulders when she lingered just a moment longer in front of the painting. Jennifer felt comfortable beneath his steady palms. “I was going to take you around the rest of the castle, if you'd like, but since the meal is hot and you're hungry…”

“I am famished,” she admitted. “But I'm curious about the upper floors. I would love a tour after dinner.” She wondered what other treasures might be hiding in dim corners or forgotten rooms, waiting to be brought out into the light.

They ate wild duck, prepared with a deep red Burgundy sauce she would have thought a more likely match for beef. It was a surprisingly delicious combination. They drank a local wildflower wine from Cairn O'Mohr, which seemed perfect with the meal. She had never eaten game before. At home, everything in her fridge came from the supermarket, and most of that was in the form of frozen commercial dinners. She favored quick-and-easy, low-fat meals. Tonight the textures and colors on her plate resembled an artist's palette, and the flavors were amazing. She savored every bite.

“I must tell Mrs. Clark how wonderful a cook she is.”

“I'm afraid she's left for the day,” he said. “I told her I'd wash up after we finished eating. It didn't seem fair to make her stay while we indulged ourselves in a leisurely meal.”

Jennifer smiled. “That was nice of you.” She caught a mysterious twinkle in his eyes and wondered if his motives for dismissing the woman were all that pure. Sending the staff home to leave their master
alone in the castle with a female guest…this had all the makings of a classic seduction. She wasn't sure whether she was more nervous or excited at the prospect.

For dessert there were buttery cookies filled with high-country jam that Christopher insisted on calling biscuits despite her arguments. And there was steaming dark coffee, laced with heavy cream and a touch of hazelnut liqueur. Jennifer felt contentedly full at the end of the meal. They sat and talked for a while longer, then she helped him remove the dishes to the kitchen and rinse them before placing them in an enormous stainless steel dishwasher.

“For parties,” he commented when he noticed her staring at the mammoth machine. “It holds service for up to fifty.”

“Very modern for a castle,” she commented. “Do you entertain a lot?”

“Friends come up from London quite often, to hunt and generally laze around.”

She wondered how many of those hunting/lazing friends were of the female variety and single, then reminded herself she had no reason to feel even the tiniest bit possessive. Soon Christopher would be out of her life, and she would be out of his. They were from two different worlds, and she was returning to her own after a day in London.

He led her back into the foyer, then took her hand and started up the stairs. “Time for your tour,” he said, sounding eager at the prospect.

A wave of heat swept through Jennifer at the image they made, climbing hand in hand up the elegant marble staircase to the private chambers above. They were alone in the house. Music from the dining room
rose along the staircase, as if carrying them upward on the delicate notes.

By the time Jennifer reached the top, she was out of breath.

“Sorry, did I take it too fast for you?” he asked.

“No, not at all.” She swallowed and gulped down two breaths…then two more. “I walk every day for exercise. It was nothing.”

Chris frowned at her, his dark brows lowering in concern. “You aren't afraid of me, are you?”

“You? Heck no,” she lied brightly, then rattled on. “I'm just excited, I guess. I love old houses, and this beats anything in Baltimore by a good four hundred years!” But she was nervous, being alone with him here in this ancient, remote place when she still knew so little of him.

He smiled. “Good. Let's start on the right side of the corridor, work our way down the hall, then come back up the other side.” He seemed to hesitate. “If you have energy left, we can climb the turret.”

Jennifer's eyes widened. “A real turret?”

“Very,” he agreed. “Come along. You can tell me what you think I should do with these rooms. Most still need a great deal of work.”

Jennifer was astounded by the rugged beauty of the ancient structure. Although modern plumbing and lighting fixtures had been added over the years, and softening touches—miles of plush carpeting, billowy draperies and immense hanging tapestries—increased the comfort of the building, tons of stone still dominated. It exerted an intensely masculine influence over every room. She felt the power of centuries of English kings and Scottish lords who had battled over Donan, won her, then lost her to the next man. She imagined
the haunting presence of their ladies, too. Women who were protected and loved by their husbands and masters, or perhaps suffered cruelly at their hands.

History changes little, she mused as they strolled from room to room. Men fought for what they believed or longed to possess; women loved and sometimes suffered for their choices in a man. Christopher's ancestors, Englishmen, had come to Scotland and laid siege to this place…then held on to it, no doubt against fierce opposition. She sensed in him that same sort of determination: to hold on to the things he cherished, to be strong in the face of adversity, to fight for what was his.