The Laird Who Loved Me (25 page)

“No, thank you.” He smiled, a cool glint in his eyes.
“I think perhaps I may play some lawn billiards. I haven’t done so since I was a child.”

He bowed, turned, and strode off the terrace. Moments later, he joined the group on the lawn.

Georgiana had seen more than enough. She tossed aside her blanket and stormed inside, taking out her wrath on the first servant she saw.

The time had come for her to take matters into her own hands. And Caitlyn Hurst didn’t stand a chance.

Do wha’ ye say ye will, and the world will be kinder to ye than no’.

O
LD
W
OMAN
N
ORA FROM
L
OCH
L
OMOND TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ONE COLD EVENING

Caitlyn went to dinner that night distracted by a number of things—her upcoming challenge, certainly, but also the thought of Alexander MacLean.

He’d surprised her by joining their lawn billiards game. She’d been winning until MacLean showed up and, taking the black cue stick, showed them all how the game was supposed to be played. With deadly precision he passed by her and Sally and spent the remainder of the game repeatedly knocking Dervishton’s and Falkland’s balls into the shrubbery until both men protested heartily. Their antics had been quite amusing, and Caitlyn didn’t know when she’d laughed so hard. She’d seen a side of MacLean she’d never thought to see. While she couldn’t really imagine him being playful, he’d gleamed with a dark
sense of humor that had even Sally watching him with admiring eyes.

The other members hadn’t been so fortunate. By the end of the game, Dervishton had been thrown into a sulk, while Falkland lodged a formal protest with Caithness, who, having had his ball knocked into a stream, had finally offered himself as game official.

Caitlyn’s original reason for playing had been to garner information from Dervishton about Lord Dingwall’s current situation. She quickly discovered that the young lord had none, though; his family had been out of the countryside for too long to be of any use. Though disappointed, she hadn’t allowed that to spoil her enjoyment of the afternoon.

The only thing that had threatened her enjoyment had been the sight of MacLean watching from the terrace, the duchess reclining on a chair beside him. Though Caitlyn could see little of the duchess’s expressions, she had the uneasy feeling she was being mocked. Lately, it seemed the duchess couldn’t talk without hinting that Caitlyn was inadequate in some way. Worse, the older woman was becoming more and more possessive of MacLean.

Now, finally ready to go down to dinner, Caitlyn paused at the foot of the grand staircase and adjusted her long gloves, glancing in the large mirrors that flanked the foyer to make sure that her white-and-rose silk gown hung just right. The duchess might
mock many things, but she couldn’t say a word about Caitlyn’s wardrobe.

A noise at the top of the step caught Caitlyn’s attention, and she turned to find the Marquis of Treymont and his lovely wife coming down the stairs. Her red hair swept into a pile of graceful ringlets on her head, Honoria smiled as she reached the foyer. “Miss Hurst! Good evening.”

Caitlyn curtsied. “My lady. My lord.”

“I see you caught a bit of sun today,” Treymont said.

Caitlyn smiled ruefully. “I’ll never be fashionably pale, as I can’t seem to stay out of the sunshine.”

Honoria grimaced. “I’m the same way, though I burn like a lobster. I just cannot give up my rides.”

“You both look beautiful.” The marquis’s smile glinted, his blue eyes striking against his dark hair.

Caitlyn chuckled. “Very well said, my lord.”

“Absolutely brilliant,” Honoria agreed, looking at her husband with a loving, laughing gaze. “I’m impressed.”

“You should be,” he answered promptly. “Miss Hurst, how was lawn billiards? We were going to join you but decided to instead take a ride to the loch in this fine weather.”

“You missed quite a match!”

“Did everyone play?”

“Oh, no. Lady Elizabeth had a headache, Lord Dalfour was determined to take a nap, and Lord Roxburge was indisposed—”

“Which means he was sleeping in his favorite chair in the library,” Treymont said with a smile.

“Exactly. Lady Kinloss is unimpressed in general, so she stayed away, as did her grace.”

“Her grace.” Honoria sniffed.

Caitlyn raised her brows.

“Honoria,” her husband said in a warning tone.

“I’m sorry, but it’s unfair how that woman has treated poor Dingwall!”

“You know Lord Dingwall?” Caitlyn asked.

“He’s a distant cousin of my wife’s,” Treymont said, “which is why she tends to be a bit protective of him, whether he deserves it or not.”

Honoria sighed. “He’s suffering, poor man.”

“I feel for his tragedy, but he didn’t need to set the dogs on us.” Treymont shook his head. “He’s a mean old codger.”

“He set the
dogs
on you?”

“Yes, four of the vicious creatures,” Honoria said. “I can only recall one time, years ago, when Dingwall was pleasant to us.”

“I remember that. I happened to see the duchess riding through town just as we spoke to Dingwall.” The marquis grimaced. “I’d just had a dealing with her that had left me rather out of sorts, and I said—”

“Something he shouldn’t have.” Honoria shot her husband a dry look. “Dingwall brightened right up and even complimented Treymont on his coat. It’s the only time he’s said a nice word to either of us. It’s as if he felt united with us against a common enemy.”

Caitlyn could understand. She felt a connection with the marchioness already.

Honoria smiled at Caitlyn. “Why did you wish to know about Dingwall?”

“Idle curiosity. Shall we join the others?”

The three of them entered the dining room.

There, Caitlyn listened with amusement to Sally teasing Caithness about his lost billiards ball and barely noted the roast duck. But her attention was thoroughly caught several dishes later when she was presented with a chocolate trifle set in sweetened crème.

Thick and rich, the trifle soothed her stretched nerves. Smiling to herself, she closed her lips over the spoon and allowed the sweet treat to melt over her tongue. The rich cream sent a shiver of satisfaction through her. She was just lifting the final spoonful to her mouth when she caught Lord Dervishton staring at her. The man’s gaze was locked on her mouth, his expression a combination of sensuality and greed.

Caitlyn’s cheeks heated and she quickly finished her dessert, looking anywhere but at Dervishton.

In not looking at Dervishton, she found herself looking at MacLean. He met her gaze and quirked his brows, a mocking smile in his eyes as he glanced at Dervishton. She smiled at MacLean in return, and without a word, from opposite ends of the long dining table, they reached agreement that Lord Dervishton was a fool.

Then Georgiana said something in a rather loud voice that required an answer from MacLean, and
he reluctantly turned away from Caitlyn. The duchess was looking especially pretty this evening, her red hair swept up into a complicated style decorated with emerald pins that made her bright blue eyes glow. She wore a lovely yellow silk gown with cap sleeves, set with an emerald bow at each shoulder that screamed elegance and grace.

Blast her.

As Caitlyn watched, Georgiana leaned in and placed her hand on MacLean’s by his plate. Then, with a deliberate smile, she looked at Caitlyn and murmured something to MacLean.

He quickly glanced Caitlyn’s way, his brows snapping down when he found her gaze on him. Embarrassed, Caitlyn returned her gaze to her own plate, but not before Georgiana said something in a low voice that made MacLean flash a wicked grin.

The duchess was mocking her and MacLean was going along with it. Caitlyn hid a scowl, fighting a desire to dump her water goblet all over the duchess’s fine gown. But such behavior would cause Caitlyn and her family far more harm than it would the duchess.

Blast it, but life wasn’t fair. It would be better if—

Something caught Caitlyn’s eye. Mrs. Pruitt stood outside the dining room doors, vigorously dusting a vase on a stand.

Caitlyn frowned. Mrs. Pruitt was a housekeeper with a large staff; such housekeepers did not dust, especially in the hallway outside of a dinner party.
Something
was going on. What was the housekeeper up to?

Caitlyn didn’t have to wait long. A liveried footman entered the hallway. He looked around, and seeing no one else in sight, he casually walked toward Mrs. Pruitt. When he was level with her, he dropped something on the floor without looking at her, then casually walked past.

Mrs. Pruitt barely waited for the young man to leave before she pounced upon the folded note and stuck it into her pocket. As she turned toward the servants’ hall, she caught Caitlyn’s gaze.

Mrs. Pruitt looked right, then left, then slipped the folded note from her pocket and waved it meaningfully, mouthing something unintelligible. Caitlyn frowned. Mrs. Pruitt went through the charade again, with more exaggerated motions, which made it even more unintelligible.

Caitlyn shook her head and Mrs. Pruitt sighed, then pointed to the steps.
That
Caitlyn could understand and she nodded. Mrs. Pruitt brightened, then disappeared up the stairs.

Caitlyn was dying to know what was in the note. Did it have to do with Lord Dingwall?

“That’s odd” came MacLean’s rich voice.

Caitlyn held her breath. Had he seen?

“What’s odd?” Georgiana asked.

MacLean looked right at Caitlyn, though he spoke to Georgiana. “I thought I saw something it the hallway.”

As Georgiana turned to look, he shrugged and said, “But whatever it was is gone.”

Caitlyn had to count to ten to keep from letting the oaf know what she thought of him, especially as he continued to smile as if hugely amused.

She waited until a lull in the conversation, then announced, “I’m afraid I have a headache. I hope you will forgive me if I retire to my room?”

Sally led the cacophony of well wishes, and Dervishton offered to escort her to her door. Caitlyn held him off with the suggestion that not only was her head aching but her stomach, as well.

That killed the light in his eyes and she was able to leave the room alone. The moment she was out of sight, she lifted her skirts and ran up the stairs to her bedchamber.

“Ye aren’t goin’ to like what we discovered,” Muiren said, looking aggrieved.

“Aye,” Mrs. Pruitt said, clicking her tongue. “ ’Tis no’ good news.”

“Verrah bad news,” Mrs. Sterling added darkly.

Caitlyn had been surprised to find the seamstress waiting in her bedchamber with Muiren and Mrs. Pruitt.

According to Mrs. Pruitt, the older woman would be of great help. Inordinately tall and angular, with broad shoulders and a large, hooked nose, her bristly gray hair pulled back in a severe bun, Mrs. Sterling was an imposing character.

“So what have you discovered?” Caitlyn asked.

Mrs. Sterling said, “If ye arrive like a regular guest and just walk up to the front door, ye’ll ne’er get in. His butler is told to toss into the street anyone who knocks on the door. Of course, ye dinna have to worry about that until ye’ve faced the barbed fences and a field of thistles and—”

“Fences and thistles?” Caitlyn rubbed her forehead, her mind spinning with images of bully butlers and thistle fields. “Goodness, this is going to be difficult.”

“Aye,” Muiren agreed. “Which is why we’ve brought ye Mrs. Sterling.”

“She can help us,” Mrs. Pruitt said.

“She knows a back way into the house?”

Muiren beamed. “Och, no, ’tis better than that: Lord Dingwall’s butler is her son.”

Mrs. Sterling puffed up. “Aye, miss. Little Angus is old man Dingwall’s butler. I’ll go with ye an’ make sure he lets ye in. He willna turn out his own mother.”

“There’s more, miss,” Mrs. Pruitt said proudly. “Mrs. Sterling knows his lordship’s stomach, too. Cook’s been working on a basket fer ye to take with ye in the morning.”

“That’s so nice of her! I’ll stop by the kitchens and thank her.”

“Och, miss, we’re all fer ye,” Mrs. Pruitt said, as Mrs. Sterling nodded. “The upstairs maids, the belowstairs washing staff—all of the women in the house are behind ye.”

“And Sean, too,” Muiren said earnestly, turning pink when Mrs. Pruitt sent her a dark look. “Well, he is! He brought ye a map o’ Dingwall’s house.”

Mrs. Pruitt said in a stiff voice, “Muiren’s Sean had his cousin’s wife’s sister draw up a map of how t’ get to Dingwall’s house—”

“—
and
,” Muiren continued, “a rough sketch of th’ house itself, should ye need it.”

“That’s so nice of him!”

“It is,” Mrs. Pruitt said, though she eyed Muiren darkly as she added, “Dinna think that just because we’ve an emergency on our hands, ye can get away with breaking the house rules by courting a footman.”

Muiren looked as if she very much might like to argue, but Mrs. Sterling held up her large hand. “Och, Muiren, dinna fear. I’ve known Brianna Pruitt fer nigh on forty years now, and she has a soft spot fer a good romance, especially one o’ her own.”